As regards the individual nature, woman is defective and

The theologian and philosopher Thomas Aquinas, towering mind of the Middle Ages, once wrote: “As regards the individual nature, woman is defective and misbegotten, for the active power of the male seed tends to the production of a perfect likeness in the masculine sex; while the production of a woman comes from defect in the active power.” These words, drawn from his Summa Theologica, reflect not only his own reasoning, but also the ancient inheritance of Aristotle’s philosophy, which sought to explain creation in terms of purpose, form, and perfection. Yet while Aquinas’ phrasing is severe, it reveals both the limitations of his age and the persistence of an idea that would shape centuries of thought.

The origin of this claim lies in Aristotle, who taught that man was the standard of perfection and that woman, though necessary for reproduction, was formed from a deficiency of the male seed’s power. Aquinas, working within the framework of Aristotelian philosophy married to Christian theology, accepted much of this reasoning. For him, the male was the “perfect likeness,” the intended form, while the female was the accidental result of weakness in the generative process. To his mind, woman was not evil, but a deviation from the ideal—an interpretation that reveals more about the worldview of his time than about the nature of humanity itself.

And yet, history itself shows the flaw in this reasoning. For if woman were merely defective, how then could queens have ruled kingdoms, saints have reformed nations, mothers have borne and nurtured civilizations? How could figures like Joan of Arc, a young peasant girl, have led armies and altered the destiny of France? How could Hildegard of Bingen, a woman cloistered in a convent, have written music, composed theology, and advised emperors and popes? These lives stand as radiant refutations of any claim that woman is merely “misbegotten.” They reveal instead that the so-called “defect” is not weakness but a different strength, overlooked by the lens of medieval philosophy.

It is easy, in our modern age, to condemn Aquinas’ words outright. Yet the wise reader must also see the context: Aquinas lived in a world bound by the intellectual chains of Aristotle, where knowledge of biology was primitive, and where culture exalted man as the universal form. His words are not a revelation of truth, but a mirror of his age. And just as the errors of Ptolemy’s astronomy did not diminish the stars themselves, so too do Aquinas’ errors not diminish the worth of woman. His philosophy is a reminder that even the greatest minds are children of their times, and that truth must be sought beyond their limits.

The deeper meaning of this harsh phrase lies in what it provokes: a call to re-examine human dignity. If the old masters said woman was defective, then let us ask anew, with clearer eyes and fuller knowledge: what is woman? The answer, revealed by centuries of life and struggle, is that woman is no less the image of God than man, no less capable of wisdom, virtue, and greatness. Indeed, the survival of families, the endurance of nations, the flourishing of culture—all have rested as much on women as on men. The so-called “defect” has proven itself to be a foundation of strength.

The lesson for us is twofold. First, we must be vigilant against the inherited errors of the past. Words such as Aquinas’, if taken uncritically, can sow generations of injustice. Second, we must learn to see with new eyes, not bound by the prejudices of former ages, but guided by the truth of experience and compassion. Just as science grew beyond Aristotle’s limited biology, so must our vision of humanity grow beyond medieval hierarchies. To recognize the equal dignity of man and woman is not to discard the wisdom of the past, but to refine it, to separate gold from dross.

Practically, this means honoring the voices that were silenced, uplifting the gifts of women in every sphere, and teaching future generations to see not “defect” but complementarity—not weakness, but shared strength. It means remembering Joan of Arc, Hildegard, and countless others, not as anomalies, but as proof that woman has always borne within her the power to shape destiny.

Thus, Aquinas’ words, though harsh, are valuable: they remind us how far we have come, and how vigilant we must remain. For the conquest of truth is not achieved in one age, but across ages. And if we are wise, we shall take this flawed teaching not as final, but as a stepping stone toward a greater revelation: that in man and woman alike shines the divine image, perfect not in sameness, but in harmony. What was once called “misbegotten” we now know to be essential, noble, and eternal.