Which of these is false?

1. The Christian God is a self.
2. The Christian God is the Trinity.
3. The Trinity is not a self.

One option is to vote that none are false, since all are true. As I write this, 27% have picked this option. But this is a poor pick. This “is” here is the “is” of numerical identity throughout. Given this, it is impossible that all three be true; they are demonstrably inconsistent. (The logical form is: 1. g=s, 2. g=t, 3. -(t=s).)  At least one must be false.

• If 1 & 2, then not-3. If this God is a self, and is the Trinity, and it must be false that the Trinity is not a self.
• If 1 & 3 then not-2. If God’s a self, and the Trinity isn’t, then it must be false that God just is the Trinity.
• If 2 & 3 then not-1. If God’s the Trinity, but is not a self, then it is false that the Christian God is a self.

Why then do 27% opt for inconsistency (affirming all three)? I’m not sure.

• It could simply be desire for orthodoxy being stronger than the desire to avoid believing falsehoods.
• Or perhaps some imagine that “human logic” can be ignored; inconsistent claims may each be true, at least about God.
• Maybe it’s clinging to the mysterian hope that this must be a merely apparent contradiction, though no one can make that appearance recede.
• Or perhaps they’re misreading 1, as if it said only that the Christian God is personal - not a self, but somehow self-like or closely related to at least one self. (Compare: being a king vs. being kingly.) If this is the case, then when tutored on how “is” is meant here, such folk should probably pick another option. To avoid this confusion, we could rephrase the inconsistent triad thusly:
  1. The Christian God is a certain self.
  2. The Christian God is the Trinity.
  3. The Trinity is not any self.

  This triad has a different logical form (1. Ex (x=g & Sx)  2. g = t, 3. -Ex(x=t & Sx)), but the three are still demonstrably inconsistent. It’s just that the proof is harder. I think this is actually a better way to formulate the inconsistent triad. (Reading the logic I just gave: 1.  There exists some x which just is God and which is a self. 2. God just is the Trinity. 3. It’s not the case that there exists some x such that it just is the Trinity and it’s a self.)

Let’s run through the other options briefly. I list the poll percentages as of the writing of this post.

• If you deny 1 (29%), you’re probably some sort of “social” trinitarian. You think God is a group, a community, communion, a quasi-family, consisting of three divine selves.
• If you deny 3 (11%), you’re probably some sort of modalist. You think that God, that is, the Trinity, has a first-person point of view. He’s a self all right, though he operates in three different ways, as Father, Son, and Spirit, or maybe Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier. He’s group-like perhaps, but is not literally a group. He’s a god, and the only god.
• If you deny 2 (33%), you’re probably some sort of unitarian. You think the one god is the Father, and that the Trinity isn’t a god, but is rather God, God’s Son, and God’s Spirit.

And since one can always tell what is true by consulting simple, tiny-sample internet polls, this shows that unitarianism is true… today.

And they add: the Word is God, and the Word became flesh.

Sounds like a change, doesn’t it? First, the Word is simply divine, and a moment later, he’s entered into a “hypostatic union” with a “complete human nature.”

Reformed philosophical theologian James Anderson takes a crack at this one. (HT: Triablogue.) I much like his set-up. I’m less keen on the solution. Short answer: it’s a mystery (apparent contradiction). You’ll have to read his post to see why I chose this pic.

A few quick comments: first, I’m with Craig. I don’t think his position implies any change in God. Rather: if God hadn’t created, he’d be timeless. But given that God has created, he’s “in time.” It seems to me that if there is time, there’s no where else to be. Our spatial metaphors (“outside” time, “above” time) are wrongheaded. So are the trapping metaphors (e.g. “bound by” time). If God freely chose to create, then he freely chose to operated “in time” and he’s not been “trapped” by anything other than logical consistency. Anderson wants there to be paradox (apparent contradiction) in Craig’s view, but I don’t see it.

Like many Christian philosophers, I agree with this crucial point by Anderson:

…the biblical statements about God not changing needn’t be taken in a way that rules out change in any sense. The focus in these texts is on God’s character and his faithfulness to his promises.

That’s right. So the “fathers” never had any good scriptural grounds for their belief in divine timelessness. It was all based on philosophical reasons, and I would say bad ones at that. But that’s another post.

The line that God only appears to change, but doesn’t really change, implies that he cannot ever genuinely respond to human beings. He does not open himself to be influenced either way by us. And arguably, that makes a real friendship with God impossible. But that such is possible, is at the very heart and soul of the whole Bible.

On to qua-stuff:

…we should say that Jesus was omniscient with respect to his divine natureand gained wisdom with respect to his human nature. On this basis, it seems natural to say that God the Son is timeless and unchangeable with respect to his divine nature but temporal and changeable with respect to his human nature.

The problem with this is that it seems that what you know-in-a-nature, you know. And what you don’t-know-in-a-nature, you don’t know. So this seems no improvement on just saying that Jesus knows and doesn’t know something, or that he knows all, and doesn’t know some. Oddly enough, I think James would agree.

Again, if some self has an essential nature which requires X, then he himself must be X. So with the two-natured Jesus, if the divine nature requires the impossibility of change, then Jesus can’t change. And if his human nature requires the possibility of change, then Jesus can change. So he can and he can’t.

But, he did. So, he can. Ergo, he was not divine and/or divinity doesn’t require the impossibility of change. Ergo, “classic” incarnation theory appears to be inconsistent with itself.

Again, I think James would agree! But maybe he’ll set me straight.

(click for image credit)

In his comment on my previous post, Brandon points out that he doesn’t assert the case described there to be a counterexample. Rather, he was wondering why it isn’t a counterexample; he was probing to see my response.

Fair enough. I’ve left the title of the post as is just for continuity with part 1.

The case Brandon described, was an omniscient God, who is both subject and object of knowledge of himself. God as knower is subject of knowledge but not object. But God as object is what is known, and not the subject of knowledge. So, don’t we here have something which is and isn’t intrinsically some way (being self-knowing) at a time? If so, the principle is false.

My response is that there is no reason to think this is a counterexample. At best, it just assumes the principle to be false, but doesn’t give us any reason to agree. “God as knower” just is “God as object” – of course, any self-knower just is that which is known by himself.

In Brandon’s original description of the case, he said, that

itself as object can’t have all intrinsic modes in common with itself as subject, because the intrinsic properties of objecthood and subjecthood themselves are different

I want to say that the concepts being an object of knowledge and being a subject of knowledge are different. Yet, it is obvious that one being may simultaneously satisfy both. Now if one satisfies the latter concept, this is because one presently has a certain mode, a certain mental state. But if one is an object of knowledge, this means that someone or other is knowing you, but it needn’t be the case that this is you. But when it is you, when you know yourself, what makes it true that you satisfy the concept of being an object of knowledge is that same mode that makes it true that you’re a subject of knowledge (of you). One could, I think confusingly, describe this as you-as-knower “intensionally differing from” you-as-known. But this is no difference in you, but only in how we refer to or think about you.

Finally, Brandon makes an interesting point:

x=y -> (Fx < -> Fy),

in other words, is only problematic in the cases you’re trying to work around if in those cases it really does matter (for whether F can apply to something) whether you are plugging something into x or plugging it into y. Since, ex hypothesi, we are plugging the same thing into x and y, that means that x and y must be taking the same value in different ways (i.e., they are intensionally different). The original only needs to be reformulated if intensional descriptions, like temporal or epistemic modalities, already can make a difference; if they don’t, your reformulated principle is unnecessary.

It may be unnecessary to get around “intensional descriptions” cases. For example,

1. Bob believes that Meat Loaf rocks.
2. But Bob doesn’t believe that Michael Lee Aday rocks.
3. Therefore, Meat Loaf isn’t Aday.

I think it is enough to point out that Bob does believe, of Aday, that he rocks. He doesn’t believe that the sentence “Michael Lee Aday rocks” is true. If read all de re (concerning the thing itself) 2 is false. If read read de dicto (concerning the sentence) then 3 doesn’t follow. If you read one premise de re and the other de dicto, 3 doesn’t follow.

I am more worried about intrinsic change. A cruder Leibniz’s Law seems to rule this out.

But the main reason I like my narrower principle is that it is sufficient to make my theological point, and by focusing on modes/intrinsic properties people (or most people!) easily see it to be true.

I think I neglected to answer Brandon’s question in a comment, whether or not I consider all modes to be non-relational. Well, I don’t think that any are relations, which as it were “obtain between” things. But a mode may be directed towards something, itself, or something else, even something unreal. Still, a mode is, as it were, within the boundaries of its owner; but like a vector, it may point in a direction. A mode can be “relational” in that it is part of what makes some statement with a relation-term true. e.g. This basketball is bigger than this golfball. What makes this true is that basketball’s mode of being, e.g. 12 inches in diameter, and the golf ball’s mode of being 1.5 inches in diameter.

Bonus video:

Aside for non-philosophers: philosophers are usually after universal principles, truths which hold in all cases, rather than mere non-universal generalizations, i.e. rough rules of thumb which have exceptions. (An example of the latter: Boys love trucks.) Thus, when a philosophers makes a (universal) claim, other philosophers come along and try to show that it is false with “counterexamples” – real, or even merely possible, examples which show the principle to be false (as it doesn’t apply to them). For example, if someone says that all Texans love tacos, a counterexample to this would be a person who is from Texas and doesn’t like them. Just one counterexample is enough to show a universal claim to be false. When provided with a counterexample, of course, one will often refine, as it were, the original claim (e.g. All native Texans love tacos, or All Texans who appreciate Tex-Mex food love tacos) and the game goes on. This is all in the interest of discovering together what is true and what is false. (In my example, of course, those “refinements” would admit of easy counterexamples too.)

So my principle said, to paraphrase, that for any x and y, x just is (=) y, only if they don’t ever intrinsically differ. (I put this in terms of one having a “mode” at a time if and only if the other also has that mode at that time. Others would call these “intrinsic properties.”)

Here our friend, philosopher and blogger Brandon offered a counterexample, in comment #35 on that post.

if there is any entity that necessarily knows itself completely, its being both a subject of self-knowledge and an object of self-knowledge would seem like an intrinsic property. Now, if its complete self-knowledge is genuine, itself as known by itself just is itself as knowing itself. But itself as object can’t have all intrinsic modes in common with itself as subject, because the intrinsic properties of objecthood and subjecthood themselves are different: objecthood and subjecthood are intensionally different and this is essential to what they are. Thus it would seem that itself as subject and itself as object are intensionally different, that this intensional difference is intrinsic. So it seems at first glance that we have itself as subject just being itself as object, and yet itself as subject being distinct as to intrinsic modes from itself as object. I assume you’ve considered cases like this, so the question is, why isn’t this a counterexample?

Brandon is describing a case where, in his view, x = y and yet it is false that one intrinsically is a way if and only if the other is too. In other words, this is supposed to be an example of it being true that x = y and yet x and y differ. In subsequent exchange (comment 47) Brandon accepts my paraphrase of this in terms of God-as-subject and God-as-object. He’s assuming those are numerically identical yet they differ. How so?

That God as subject is subject and God as object is object.

In other words, the first is subject of knowledge but not object of knowledge, and the second is object but not subject.

I’ve granted earlier in the discussion that being a subject of some knowledge (e.g. knowing that pizza usually has cheese) is a “mode” or an intrinsic property of a person. So if there is any actual or possible case in which something simultaneously has and lacks this mode, then my principle is false.

I’m not sure he’s given us this. But let’s see what else he says:

After all, it’s at least enough to distinguish them that we can put God, under the intension of ‘subject’, into x, and God, under the intension of ‘object’, into y, and keep the two distinct all the way through. If this kind of intensional distinction is or can be a distinction in intrinsic modes of subjects as opposed to those of objects, then the consequent equivalence is broken without breaking the antecedent identity. If extensionally identical values of variables can under any circumstances have intensionally distinct intrinsic modes, the conditional doesn’t hold for those.

Whew – the philosophy lingo is coming hard and heavy here! Let me try to translate or paraphrase:

First sentence: we have concepts of being known, and of knowing. And we can think of God in either way – as being known (by himself) or as knowing himself. When we think of God in the first way, let’s call that x, and when we think of him in the second way, call that y.

Second sentence: this x and y differ, and if this can be a difference of mode/intrinsic property, then Dale’s principle is false. (It would be true that x = y, but false that they don’t differ – so the whole thing, that x = y only if they don’t differ, would be false).

Third sentence: the x and y refer to the same thing (are “extensionally identical”) yet x differs from y. Booya!

Brandon continues:

All identity statements have to assume that some intensional distinctions don’t matter. In x=y, we obviously are intensionally treating x and y differently in some sense — they get different letters to indicate that they are different variables and they have different locations in the equation (to the left and the right of the equality sign, for instance). We simply assume that these can be ignored to make sense of the statement as an identity statement; this allows us to focus on purely extensional matters. It’s when we get into the sorts of intensions that are typically handled by things like modal operators that things get tricky. It’s precisely this that causes problems for the standard version of the Indiscernibility of Identicals — it fails in certain kinds of plausible temporal logics, epistemic logics, etc. (because it fails to take the quirks of the relevant intensions into account), which is equivalent to saying that you can propose temporal, epistemic, etc. scenarios that are plausible counterexamples.

I would say yes, an identity sentence treats “x” and “y” as different terms. But this doesn’t assume any difference whatever in that to which those terms refer. But a sentence like “x = y” is not asserting the terms to be one, but rather the things. I don’t think any differences are being ignored; all agree that we can refer to things using different words. About these other alleged counterexamples – let’s just deal with this one first.

I’ll pause here to make sure I’m getting all this right; I’ll respond in my next post.

• someone: Jesus is God.
• me: You mean, Jesus is God himself?
• someone: Yeah.
• me: Don’t you think something is true of Jesus, that isn’t true of God, and vice-versa?
• someone: Yes. e.g. God sent his Son. Jesus didn’t. God is a Trinity. Jesus is not a Trinity.
• me: Right. Then in your view, Jesus is not God.
• someone: But he is.
• me: So, you think he is, and he ain’t?!
• someone: [silent puzzlement]

In this post, I want to explain the part in italics. First: a point of clarification. The second and third lines are important. When many say “Jesus is God” they just mean that in some sense or other Jesus is “divine.” (This could mean a lot of things, depending on one’s assumed metaphysics.) But this sort of person (line 3) understands Jesus to be “divine” in the sense of just being one and the same as God – that Jesus is God himself – one person, so just one (period).

In the italicized line, I’m applying  something called Leibniz’s Law, or the Indiscernibility of Identicals. I sometimes put this roughly as, some x and some y can be numerically identical only if whatever is true of one is true of the other. That’s a sloppy way to put it.

In logic, a more precise way of stating it (used e.g. by Richard Cartwright) is:

(x)(y)(z) ( x= y only if (z is a property of x if and only if z is a property of y))

Literally: for any three things whatever, the first is identical to the second only if the third is a property of the first just in case the third is a property of the second.

The basic intuition is that things are as they are, and not some other way. So if x just is (is numerically the same as) y, then it can’t be that x and y qualitatively differ. This seems undeniable.

There are a few problems, though, with the above formula, which any person trained in philosophy may spot.

First, don’t things change? e.g. Last year you weighed 200, and now you weight 210 lbs. But does this mean that the you of 2010 is not numerically the same as the you of 2011? Ridiculous! Things can qualitatively change while remaining numerically the same. That’s just common sense.

Second, what about this property: being believed by Laverne to be innocent. Suppose that Casey Anthony’s lawyer mounted this defense:

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury. I submit that we can be sure that Caylee’s killer is not one and the same as my client Ms. Anthony, for the killer has a feature she does not: being believed by Ms. Laverne Shirley of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to be guilty of murder. I’ve got Ms. Shirley right here, so you can just ask her.

This would move the defendant to tears, as it is such an obviously stupid defense.

Strictly, then, there are two sorts of counterexamples to the principle I stated above.

I haven’t concerned myself much with this so far in print or online. I’m more concerned with the fundamental intuition (that is, the evidence) imprecisely gestured at above, than I am with coming up with a counter-example-proof universal principle. When arguing about God and Jesus, I just stick with differences which are at a time (or eternal) and which are intrinsic, or which are relational, but don’t have to do with intentional attitudes of third-parties, like beliefs. (I take mental states or actions or stances to be intrinsic to the self whose they are.)

Thus, one of my favorite examples has been that one night in the Garden of Gethsemane: at that time, Jesus didn’t want Jesus to be crucified (he was asking that this may be averted, if God would so permit) yet God did want Jesus to be crucified (that was his plan all along). Or again: if you think God is triune – that would be intrinsic to God and eternal – either something which holds at all times, or in timeless eternity. If one thing is always triune and the other ain’t – we’re not talking about one thing here.

But here’s a crack at a principle which is necessary, exceptionless, and self-evident: sadly, it requires 4 variables. It requires in addition just one 3-place predicate W (a, b, c). This is to be read: a is a way b is at c, or a is a mode of b at c, or a is how b intrinsically is at c. Here then, is my preferred version of Leibniz’s Law:

(w)(x)(y)(z) ( x = y -> (W(z, x, w) <-> W(z, y, w)))

Literally: for any four things, the second and third are identical only if the fourth is a way the second is at the first just in case the fourth is a way the third is at the first.

Dang, that’s ugly. Perhaps better to use the variables:

For any w, x , y, and z: x just is y only if: z is a way x is at w if and only if z is a way y is at w.

Call these, from left to right: z, y, x. (click for image credit)

This gets around the two sorts of problems noted. This principle would not let us infer that I’m not numerically the same as my slimmer, younger self. Nor would it license a foolish juror to exonerate Anthony on the grounds that the killer, but not she, has the feature being thought by Laverne to be guilty, for that phrase does not pick out any intrinsic way Casey Anthony ever has been, is, or will be.

The predicate W (_,_,_) can be interpreted in different ways. Not believing in properties, but believing in primitive modes of things, I like to understand it as above. But if you like, interpret W in terms of property-instantiations (if you believe in universal properties) or individual properties (tropes) if you believe in those. It is just meant to refer to things we’re all familiar with, like my being happy now, that ball’s present redness, etc.

It seems to me that this formula captures the intuition gestured at above, and that it is self-evident – something a normal, adult human knows to be true upon coming to understand what it means.

Dear reader: you understand it, with a bit of effort, no? And so, does it not have that obvious shine of truth to it that this has:

For any x, y, and z: if x is bigger than y, and y is bigger than z, then x is bigger than z.

You know this to be true not just of the cartoon here, but of any three things there are or could be, right?

And so, if you’re very sure this version of Leibniz’s Law is true, you should be as sure that Jesus and God are two, as you are that they have ever, do, will, or just could differ (be different ways). You too are now a dastardly “denier of the divinity of Christ,” but only in the sense described at the top of this post. Whether Christ is divine in some other sense, e.g. possessing the divine nature, or being the member of a perfect society, is another question.

Back to the conversation above, last two lines. You think them to have differed. Yet, things which have differed can’t be numerically one. Ergo, in a sense, you already believe them to differ. Or at least, you’re already in a sense committed to their non-identity. If you don’t believe this outright, you should, once it is pointed out that it follows by a self-evident truth from things you do believe. You then have a choice – revise those old beliefs, so they no longer imply this new one, or accept this new belief, and adjust other beliefs according. I suggest that your beliefs about = and Leibniz’s Law are not good candidates for revision, though.

Interestingly, I never have these sorts of conversations with people who understand what identity is and believe there are truths about it – i.e. philosophers, philosophy majors, theologians who have studied a bit of philosophy and logic. They simply accept that Jesus and God aren’t one and the same (aren’t identical), and go on to theorize accordingly.

Dear philosophical readers: can you provide a counterexample to my version of Leibniz’s Law?

In his excellent entry “Relative Identity“ veteran logican and philosopher of language Harry Deutsch says about the best that can be said for relative identity theories – that maybe, arguably, they solve or help to solve various metaphysical problems. See his sections 2 and 4 for these. His section 5 is a penetrating analysis of Geach’s very hard to follow arguments.

Deutsch’s point of view is very different from that held by most philosophers. For this, see chapter 1 of Colin McGinn’s Logical Properties. (NDPR review.) This is more or less  the “orthodox” view that most philosophers hold, atheist or theist, trinitarian or not. I largely agree with it, except for its Platonic aspect. I uphold the logic of identity as McGinn understands it, but do not want to commit to the existence of abstracta like relations. I think the truthmaker of a sentence like “Dubya just is George Bush” is going to be a concrete object, the ex-president himself. In this, I’m in the minority; most philosophers find abstracta indispensible.

Another place one can start is Harold Noonan‘s excellent “Identity” entry. He’s an excellent philosopher, and the piece has many virtues; in particular, see his section 2 on Leibniz’s Law vs. substitutivity principles.

The best thing I’ve ever read on identity and relative identity is John Hawthorne’s chapter “Identity” in The Oxford Handbook of Metaphysics. A version is available to scribd users here.

• This piece is very rich, and defies easy summary.
• A basic point is that “identity” in a basic, unanalyzable concept, and so we ought not worry about circular definition. Geach’s failure to recognize this is a core problem with his whole project. (p. 122)
• Hawthorne’s section 3.1 brings out the many problems facing Geach’s project. His conclusion: “In sum: it is no mere artefact of philosophical fashion that Geach’s relative identity approach has few adherents.” (p. 123) You’ll have to read the piece to see why.
• Another basic, crucial point, I would paraphrase as follows. (p. 100) We all understand “something is cold and fizzy”. The shows that we have a concept of identity; if that sentence is true, the cold thing just is the fizzy thing. Contrast with the sentence: “something is cold, and something is fizzy.” That we have this concept of identity, of course, doesn’t imply that we understand identity-logic, or have any theoretical opinions on the subject at all.
• Hawthorne’s main point is that “Puzzles that are articulated using the word ‘identity’ are not puzzles about the identity relation itself.” (p. 99) When I think about the many metaphysical treatments I’ve read recently of the puzzles Deutsch discusses, I think this is an emerging consensus. There are always other moves to be made, and all sorts of weird metaphysical doctrines to be brought into play. But the emerging consensus is that identity is to be held constant; the concept of identity is common coin in these disputes, just as is, say, the assumptions that modus ponens is valid, or that no contradiction is true.
• By the examples he gives, it is plain that Hawthorne is well aware that evaluating Trinity and Incarnation theories necessitate careful thinking about identity, but he doesn’t ever entry the fray. (But he almost does – see p. 120 fn. 38.)

Be forewarned; there are pervasive confusions about numerical sameness among Christian theologians nowadays, in particular about personal identity (the relation being the same self as). This is largely due, I think, to uncritical reliance on poorly done philosophy. This is not due to any intrinsic difference between the fields or any commitment intrinsic to Christianity, as there are and have been theologians who are thoroughly clear-headed about identity. The solution is to digest well done philosophy, so as to be able to make clear distinctions and to reason surefootedly; that’s the reason for this post. Don’t give in to the temptation to foolishly heap scorn on “absolute” identity or on Leibniz’s Law, as if they were mere speculations, and things to which you yourself are not committed.

Last time I said that I thought Waterland was a social-mysterian-trinitarian. But I’m not so sure about the “social” part! He’s very unclear on whether the “Persons” are selves. They’re different somethings, in any case. But in this series, I’m sticking to an exegetical issue.

Here are excerpts of Waterland’s second salvo about the “only God” texts.

[Clarke] had produced John 17:3, 1 Cor. 8:6, Eph. 4:6, which prove that the Father is styled, sometimes, the one God, or only true God; and that he is the God of the Jews, of Abraham, etc. I asked how those texts proved that the Son was not? You say… “very plainly… Can the Son of the God of Abraham (Acts 3:13) be himself that God of Abraham, who glorified his Son?” But why must you here talk of that God, as if it were in opposition to this God, supposing two Gods; that is, supposing the thing is question. …I tell you that this divine Person is not that divine Person, and yet both are one God… (A Second Vindication of Christ’s Divinity in Waterland’s Vindications of Christ’s Divinity, 422-3, original italics, bold added, punctuation slightly modernized)

This is wheel-spinning. Clarke does, and Waterland does not take the passages in question to identity (assert to be numerically identical) the Father and Yahweh.

Clarke had asked whether Waterland thought that the term “Father” in these texts actually includes, i.e. refers to, the Son as well. Waterland clarifies,

…we do not say, that in these, or the like instances, both persons are included in the term Father; but that the exclusive terms, alone, or only, are not to be so rigorously interpreted, as to leave no room for tacit exceptions. To make this a little plainer to you.

Rev. 19:12 it is said to the Son, “He had a name written, which oudeis, no person, knew but himself.” This was not said in opposition to the Father, or as excluding him from that knowledge; for, it is still tacitly supposed,  that he knew as much as the Son… (A Second Vindication of Christ’s Divinity in Waterland’s Vindications of Christ’s Divinity, 424, original italics, bold added, punctuation slightly modernized)

Clarke pounds the table, insisting that if something is the only F, then there can’t also be other F’s. This is correct, and yes, it is obvious.

But Waterland is also making an important point, though he’s unable to put it clearly. This is that quantitative statements (all, none, at least one, exactly one, etc.) are always relative to some domain of entities, and this is almost never explicitly stated.

Thus, one may truly say: “There is only one redhead” when one is assuming the domain: kids in my class. Of course, it’s false that there’s just redhead in all the universe. But when the teacher asks, “How many red-haired children are here?” it is clear that the domain in which we’re quantifying is: kids in this class. So Waterland’s point is that not all quantification has to be universal, i.e. within the domain of all things whatever, a wholly unrestricted domain. So there can be “exceptions” to true “only” statements. But here’s where he’s muddled. They are not exceptions at all to the assertion, when they are outside the assumed domain.

Thus, in our classroom scenario, if a kid yelled out “What about Carrot Top?” he’d be missing the point. That is not an exception to the truth “There is only one redhead [in our class].”

And in the Revelation passage, the assumed domain should exclude the Father. There’s a background assumption, Waterland correctly points out, that God knows all. And so, if Christ is the only one who knows the name given to him, this must be the only one in the domain including all intelligent beings other than God.

Waterland thinks that Clarke cannot allow these sorts of  ”exceptions” to only-statements, and so will have trouble interpreting various passages.

But Clarke can and does. (e.g. There’s nothing God didn’t create – Clarke doesn’t think this implies, absurdly, that God created himself.) It’s just that in these instances, in the three passages above, unlike the cases Waterland gives, he’s assuming an unrestricted or maximal domain – that is, that the Father is the only God period  - not the only God in Romania, or the only God out of this set: Jimmy Carter, Yahweh, Mickey Mouse, Zeus, Hera, Elvis.

Now, concerning this issue, either Clarke or Waterland is correct; the three texts above either do or do not assume a universal domain. We’ll return to this point eventually.

 In the next post, I’ll try to parse some points Waterland makes about the Father “emphatically” or “primarily” being called “the only God.” 

Daniel Waterland (1683-1740) was by all accounts the most important disputant of Samuel Clarke about the Trinity.

Waterland spent his career at Cambridge, where he rose through the ranks, eventually becoming Vice-Chancellor, and also serving as a Chaplain to the King, and as an Anglican clergyman in a number of cities.

He had a good reputation, and was an energetic, but normally cool-headed controversial/polemical writer (aganist Clarke, and other other theological topics, against other respected men), and he gained somewhat of a reputation in Anglican circles as a defender of catholic orthodoxy.

Many, including himself, contemplating his becoming a bishop, but in 1740 he died after complications, seemingly, from surgeries on an ingrown toenail in one of his big toes! He was survived by his wife of 21 years. (His only children were his books.)

I’d describe Waterland’s views on the Trinity as social, with a liberal dose of negative mysterianism. Like Clarke, he insists that his is the ancient catholic view, and much of the dispute concerns pre-Nicene fathers. Like Clarke, he wants to stick to those fathers and to the Bible, and takes a dim view of medieval theology.

About the pre-Nicene catholic “fathers,” I’d say both Clarke and Waterland somewhat bend the material to their own ends (I mean, they tend to see those authors as supporting their view, and being perhaps more uniform than they were), but I think Waterland bends the materials more. In his view, catholics had always believed the Three to be “consubstantial” in a generic sense, yet which, somehow, together with their differences of origin, makes them but one god. Like Swinburne and Clarke, he agrees that the Father is uniquely the “font of divinity.” He continually hammers Clarke with the claim that there’s no middle ground between the one Creator and all creatures.

In this series, I’ll examine the way he deals with some favorite unitarian proof-texts, which, unitarians think plainly assert the numerical identity of the Father with the one true God, Yahweh. According to Waterland, these unitarians are making a mistake like the one I made.

You [i.e. Clarke] next cite John 17:3, 1 Cor. 8:6, Eph. 4:6, to prove, that the Father is sometimes styled the only true God; which is all that they prove. But you have not shewn that he is so called in opposition to the Son, or exclusive of him. It may be meant in opposition to idols only, as all antiquity has thought; or it may signify that the Father is primarily, not exclusively, the only true God, as the first Person of the blessed Trinity, the Root and Fountain of the other two.

You observe that “in these and many other places, the one God is the Person of the Father, in contradistinction to the Person of the Son.”

It is very certain, that the Person of the Father is there distinguished from the Person of the Son; because they are distincly named: and you may make what use you please of the observation against the Sabellians, who make but one Person of the two. But what other use you can be able to make of it, I see not; unless you can prove this negative proposition, that no sufficient reason can be assigned for styling the Father the only God, without supposing that the Son is excluded.

…As to 1 Cor. 8:6, all that can be reasonably gathered from it, is, that the Father is there emphatically styled one God; but without design to exclude the Son from being God also: as the Son is emphatically styled one Lord; but without design to exclude the Father from being Lord also. Reasons may be assigned for the emphasis in both cases; which are too obvious to need reciting.

…observe… that the discourse there, v. 4, 5, is about idols, and nominal gods and lords, which have no claim or title to religious worship. These the Father and Son are both equally distinguished from: which may insinuate at least to us, that the texts of the Old or New Testament, declaring the unity and excluding others, do not exclude the Son, “by whom are all things…” (Daniel Waterland, A Vindication of Christ’s Divinity: Being A Defence of Some Queries, Relating to Dr. Clarke’s Scheme of the Holy Trinity [1719]  in Van Mildert, ed. The Works of the Rev. Daniel Waterland, Vol. I., pp. 279-80, broken into shorter paragraphs, bold added)

Next time: Is he right about this?

Here, and here.

There’s some heat in addition to light, but it gets better as it goes on, and the inimitable James Anderson weighs in.

We discuss probably the favorite unitarian proof-text, John 17:3, as well as contradictions and methodological things.

Perhaps the most interesting point is Steve’s & James’s desire to somehow separate concern with consistency from exegesis. I think that isn’t, can’t, and ought not be done.

Check it out.

Update: some 4 posts so far. Have left lengthy comments.

Update: next to last installment.

Update: last.

I find that I’m still stuck in the late 1990s and early 2000s. It was in the late 1990s that I discovered two Christian authors who were to have a big effect on my thinking. In both cases, I’m still processing their thoughts, still going back to them, still re-reading.

In this post, I’ll discuss the first of these: Dallas Willard, professor of Philosophy and USC, and well-known writer on Christian spirituality. While at Biola I’d heard him talk at an SCP, and was vaguely aware that some profs at Biola had studied with him, such the man who introduced me to philosophy, Del Hanson. His philosophical work that I’ve read is well done and helpful. But his magnum opus is his Divine Conspiracy, clearly the product of many, many years of studying and reflecting on the Bible, and learning to live it out as a disciple of Jesus.

I found this book staggering for many reasons. It took me a long time to read it the first time; each chapter required a lot of thought to process, and I’d read one, then stop to think about it for several days or weeks. To call it a book a Christian spirituality is to shortchange it. It is that, but it’s also a theology of the Kingdom of God, and a practical one at that.It is dripping with insights about the New Testament, about Jesus and God, about human psychology and relationships. Name a Christian classic – Augustine’s Confessions. The Imitation of Christ. C.S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity. I hold that Willard’s book is far superior, and affords far more insight.

Back in the winter of 1999-2000, based on my study of this book, and taking its advice, I went on a spiritual retreat, alone at a Catholic retreat house in Massachusetts. I read through all four gospels, and rededicated my life to God, to discipleship to Jesus. It gave me a huge boost in faith, in trust in God, which saw me through the process of job hunting, c. Oct 1999-April 2000. Most find this process terrifying, but I thought it was fun!

I’ve read it maybe five times or so (I’m reading it again now), and I’ve worked through it with about three groups of people. But I wouldn’t say that I’ve really learned and lived its message. I’m still working on that. Other Christians I’ve read it with have usually either (1) pooped out before the end, or (2) thought it was really neat, but they seemed to go on understanding the message of Jesus and Christianity as they always had – like, in one ear and out the other. These responses, I could never understand.I’d be a happy man if I could be a part of a group of Christians who really got the good news of the Kingdom, and who would throw aside all tradition, if that’s what it took, to get it.

The content of the book is hard to summarize. But he expounds on the good news of the Kingdom of God, which was Jesus’ central message. He shows, I think, how this fits with Paul’s emphases, and with the Old Testament. He provides a reading of the Beatitudes on which they make sense! He expounds at great length on the theme of discipleship to Jesus. He devastatingly critiques the theological Right as well as the theological Left in contemporary America as inadequate “gospels of sin management”. Although Willard writes as an evangelical to evangelicals, in many ways he’s profoundly out of step with them. I don’t think he always realizes to what extent this is so – or at least, he never draws attention to these issues.

Someone – I think it might have been J.P. Moreland – once described Dallas as a sort of Christian Jedi Master. That’s not far off the mark!

One big theme Willard hits is the centrality of God to Jesus’ world view.

Now God’s own “kingdom,” or “rule,” is the range of his effective will, where what he wants done is done. The person of God himself and the action of his will are the organizing principles of his Kingdom, but everything that obeys those principles, whether by nature or b y choice, is within his kingdom. …the kingdom of God is not essentially a social or political reality at all. Indeed, the social and political realm, along with the individual heart, is the only place in all of creation where the kingdom of God, or his effective will, is currently permitted to be absent. (p.25)

You can tell here that he’s no Calvinist. In fact, it turns out later that he’s a sort of open theist, though he doesn’t advertise it. He also, much of the time, sounds like a unitarian – someone who thinks God just is a certain self, namely the Father. It’s  important, he argues, that we think rightly about this magnificent self.

You cannot call upon Jesus Christ or upon God and not be heard. You live in their house… We usually call it simply “the universe.” But they fully occupy it. …Only as we understand this, is the way open for a true ecology of human existence, for only then are we dealing with what the human habitation truly is. And the God who hears is also one who speaks. He has spoken and is still speaking. Humanity remains his project, not its own, and his initiatives are always at work among us. (pp. 32-3)

To [Jesus'] eyes this is a God-bathed and God-permeated world. …Until our thoughts of God have found every visible thing and event glorious with his presence, the word of Jesus has not yet fully seized us. …We should, to begin with, think that God leads a very interesting life, and that he is full of joy. Undoubtedly he is the most joyous being in the universe. (pp. 61-2)

Here, as through the book, God isn’t Jesus – rather, Jesus is someone else, someone other than God, a go-between relating humans to God. He’s quite far from the Jesus-is-God-himself strain of thinking that is so prominent in American evangelicalism. When you go to look at the New Testament, you see that this is how it is – Jesus and God are, as it were, two characters. And God is held up as fundamental and central, although Jesus is exalted to his right hand, to sit on his throne with him.

Just like in the New Testament, Willard often uses “God” to refer to the Father. But totally unlike the New Testament, eventually it becomes clear that Willard is a social trinitarian! For him, God is a group, a society which is a close-knit community of divine persons. (e.g. pp. 382-4)

What? How can God be both a group (so, not a self) and a “He” (a self)? Clearly, Willard thinks the one God is both. If he’s a self, though, he must be a thing, a concrete entity, an individual substance. But at times, Willard describes this “God” community as neither a thing nor a self. He seems to think that the fundamental reality is really a group of three realities, a group which isn’t itself a thing.

…the advantage of believing in the Trinity is that we then live as if the Trinity were real… a self-sufficing community of unspeakably magnificent personal beings… In faith we rest ourselves upon the reality of the Trinity in action – and it graciously meets us. For it is there. And our lives are then enmeshed in the true world of God. (p. 318)

What gives with those last two “it”s? I don’t know! Is the one God an it, or a he? It matters! I see the unfortunate influence of late 20th c. “social trinitarian” theologians here, injecting incoherence into what is otherwise a magnificent scriptural picture. It’s pretty hard to read the New Testament and come away thinking that the Father is either a member or a proper part of the one God. The New Testament is firmly on the “he” side, and assumes that the God of Jesus (the Father) is one and the same as the God of Israel.

If you’ve read my philosophy papers, it’ll probably come as a surprise that my favorite Christian book (outside the Bible) is by a social trinitarian. But I’ve found that subtracting the confused social Trinity theorizing from the book leaves it as valuable as it was; in other words, those theories are inessential to nearly all that Willard says. Even Jedis have their bad days.

Next time, another Christian classic which changed my life.

“We’re not saying that God is exactly one A and exactly three A’s. That would be a contradiction. We’re saying that God is one A and three B’s. Where’s the contradiction?”

On the face of it, this is a good and reasonable reply to the charge that the doctrine of the Trinity includes or implies a contradiction (and so is false). In general, we must be careful with facile charges of contradiction; often, such claims are easily rebutted.

But it is only an opening move, and it is a shallow one, as I’ll explain. In fact, it leaves you as exposed as our friend with the raised leg here.

Suppose you say that right now there are ten on the field, and also exactly two on the field. By this, you mean ten players and two teams. This is consistent.

How about ten bugs and two players. No problemo.

Now suppose you say that there are now ten players on the field and exactly two human beings? That is not consistent, for each player just is a certain human being.

Thus, the sort of logical point I made at the outset of this post works sometimes, but sometimes it fails. It all depends on what the terms are, and how they are related.

But does this work or not, in the case of the Trinity?

With creedal Trinity claims, as often understood, A = divine being, and B = divine person/self. So we’d be saying that God is one divine being who is (or maybe, in some sense contains) three divine persons.

Now any self just is a certain being; the concept of a self just is the concept of a certain sort of being. So if there are exactly three persons, each will be a certain being, and they can’t be the same being, for we’ve said there are three selves (hence, three beings). Thus, if there are three divine persons/selves, this seems to imply that there are three divine beings. But the creedal doctrine is supposed to include monotheism – that there is exactly one divine being.

D’oh! Not consistent.

Thus, it is not clear that this defense works; it seems to sweep the dirt under the carpet, leaving a large lump showing.

But maybe something’s gone wrong. Let’s try again. Maybe we used the wrong terms.

Here’s another way, much tried: A = divine being, B = personal mode of a being / way of living.

So the doctrine would be: God is one divine being which has exactly three personal modes of being / ways of living.

Consistency achieved. But Houston, we have a problem! Jesus Christ is, in the catholic tradition, identical to the second person of the Trinity. Here, a “person” of the Trinity is understood to be a way or mode in which the one God lives. But wait - Jesus is a self, a living, knowing, agent – a being with intelligence and will. And it appears that such a thing isn’t and can’t be a mode of some being – a way some being lives; no, a self is a being in its own right. Leaving aside that metaphysical point, we seem to have made a loving, interpersonal relationship between Father and Son impossible, replacing it with one self (God) in a certain mode (Father) interacting with himself in a different mode (Son). Arguably, this flies in the face of the New Testament. In short, we’ve lept into a boiling pot of modalism. Bad move!

Here’s another try: A = divine being, B = something, I know not what

So the doctrine would be: God is one divine being in which there are exactly there something-we-know-not-whats.

And yet one of those something-or-others, you hold, is the Lord Jesus Christ. And you think he’s a great and glorious self, and so not some sort of inconceivable thing. Sorry: not consistent.

Which way to go? Unclear. There have been suggested other ways out, but in these two popular second moves I’ve just outlined, one runs straight into a contradiction – not in the resulting Trinity theory itself, but rather, between that theory and something else any Christian is, as such, committed to.

There may well be laziness on the part of the objector here; he hopes for a quick knock-out blow against the Trinity, a proof (compelling, knock-down argument) that it’s self-contradictory. Good luck finding one of those.

Maybe the best I can say for this opening move is that it’s a lazy reply which may fit a lazy objection. I call the reply lazy because it leaves unclear just what the doctrine is. It merely makes a point about the creed using different terms. Moreover, it merrily ignores some other inconsistencies which lie right around the corner, as soon as one tries to clearly say what the doctrine is supposed to be.

One way a doctrine can be patently false is to be formally inconsistent – in terms of propositional logic, asserting P and not-P.

But another way a doctrine can be patently false is for it to include claims P and Q, while it is obviously true that: if P then not-Q. Here, there’s no formal contradiction between the component claims (P, Q), for neither is the negation of the other (e.g. P, not-P). Yet, if it is true that if P then not-Q, the doctrine (P, Q) implies a falsehood, and so includes a falsehood, for it can’t be that both P and Q are true.

Any Trinity doctrine worth is salt ought to be such that its component claims can be understood and examined to see if they’re all consistent each other, and with other things we all know. If so, then the doctrine would appear to be consistent, and so, may appear true, if supported by our sources. But if the claims contradict one another, or if by adding some self-evident truth to the mix we can logically derive a contradiction, then the doctrine would be patently false, whether self-contradictory, or inconsistent with something else which is evidently true.

Who is willing to pony up such a Trinity theory? In my experience: Many a Christian philosopher. Fewer theologians. Even fewer apologists. For the non-lazy, there’s a lot to consider.

God, is that you?

Sam Storms, in a post at Parchment and Pen:

Conception: God became a fertilized egg! An embryo. A fetus. God kicked Mary from within her womb!

Birth: God entered the world as a baby, amid the stench of manure and cobwebs and prickly hay in a stable. Mary cradled the Creator in her arms. “I never imagined God would look like that,” she says to herself.

…Some are bothered when I speak of Jesus like this. They think it is irreverent and shocking!

But his purpose is not to shock, but to amaze.

The Word became flesh! Amazing! Merry Christmas!

It certainly is shocking and amazing, this claim that God (or a divine person within God) became a man. But why?

• Not just because it is unusual. (It certainly is – I haven’t met any human claiming to be a god, although claims like this are found in many polytheistic religions.)
• Not just because it involves a miracle. (i.e. the miraculous conception of Jesus without a human father)
• Not just because it involves a change in God. (i.e. not being human, to being human)
• Not just because it involves God having surprising qualities.

No, the reason the claim shocks is that it seems contradictory, and for that reason, it seems false.

But it takes some effort to see this. Storms simply bombards us with claims that sound a little off. e.g.

…the invisible became visible!

the untouchable became touchable!

…the unlimited became limited!the infinite became finite!

the immutable became mutable!

…spirit became matter!

…the almighty became weak!

He wishes to produce amazement, but not disbelief (which would result from straight up saying the contradiction). Thus, the reader is left to discern – and be amazed by – the contradiction which is always just out of view.

Take the last one – the omnipotent God becomes a weak fetus or baby. That’s just a change – no contradiction there.

Problem: most careful, reflective theists – Christian and not – think that God is essentially omnipotent. It is a contradiction to say that a being which is essentially omnipotent became weak, for what is to any degree weak is not omnipotent. Again, the ancient, classical view of God has him being essentially immutable – not something which happens to be immutable, but might have been mutable. It is a contradiction to say that something which is essentially immutable changes.

I humbly suggest that we ought not indulge in amazement that a contradiction is true, for we all know that no contradiction is or can ever be true. No, not even on Christmas, and not even if this sort of mystery-mongering is traditional, which it is.

There are orthodox/catholic theories which attempt to solve these problems – kenosis theory in particular, and unitarians (who chime in with dismayed comments on Storms’s post) have their own solutions. But apparently “Reclaiming the Mind” is put on hold this time of year. Kenosis theory, as developed by recent Christian philosophers, holds that what are usually thought of as essential divine features – e.g. omnipotence, omniscience – are not essential to a divine being after all.Thus, the divine Word can at least temporarily be, e.g. to some degree ignorant, weak.

Interestingly, this move – demoting a traditional divine attribute from essential to non-essential doesn’t work in the case of immutability. The concept of any being changing from being immutable (unchangeable) to being mutable (changeable) is a contradiction – even if at the start it was only contingently (non-essentially) immutable. It looks like if something’s unchangeable, it must be essentially inchangeable. Interesting.

(Don’t get it? Suppose that a thing changes from being unchangeable to being changeable. That’s a change, right? So, it wasn’t, at the start, unchangeable. And yet – we stipulated that it was. The scenario as a whole is contradictory.)

This is why sophisticated contemporary proponents of kenosis theory like Stephen T. Davis simply deny that God is immutable in the classical sense. In their view, God can and does change – not in his character, but in some of his other features. In patristic times, they would have dismissed this out of hand, but I think theists are on strong grounds to think that God changes in some respects. Any real response, any free action on God’s part, is going to involve him changing, is it not? e.g. His creating the cosmos from nothing.

So this Christmas, do be amazed that God sent his one and only Son to redeem sinners like us. But, don’t be amazed that God makes contradictions true, ’cause he doesn’t. And if you agree that Jesus is the most important and interesting man in history, make it your project in 2011 to find for yourself a consistent and biblical christology.

Perhaps the clearest picture of this distinction and union [of the Trinity] is Jesus’ baptism, where the Son is anointed for his public ministry by the Spirit, descending as a dove, with the Father declaring from heaven, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matt. 3:13-17) All three persons of the Trinity are present, and each one is doing something different. (p. 2514a, emphases added)

This is an example of the sheer laziness and sloppy reasoning that so mars contemporary theology. Think about it - how exactly is the unity of the Trinity displayed here – either their oneness of an individual essence (godhead, divine nature) or the sharing of a universal property of deity? Where exactly do we see portrayed here the absolute equality of the three, or the “full divinity” of the Son and Spirit.

Would anything in this episode cause trouble for, say, an “Arian”? Nope. Tritheists? No – they should be OK with coordinated actions by the deities. Consider those unitarians who think the Holy Spirit is a force or divine action, not a person in his own right. They won’t have any problem with this “descending as a dove” – which of course needn’t mean that a literal dove (or something that looks just like a dove) dropped from the sky. Finally, consider modalists, who think that each person of the Trinity is really a personality of the one divine person, or a way that person acts. They’ll just say that this omnipotent, divine person can easily pull off these three actions simultaneously: getting baptized as a man, speaking from heaven, and coming down from heaven to empower the man.

The one sort of Christian theology that would trip on this, would be a strictly serial modalism – which holds that God acts, in sequence, as Father, Son, and Spirit, but only one at a time. But who holds this? (Apparently, not even these guys – see #56.)

In sum, this episode, spiritually inspiring and important to christology though it is, is nearly worthless when it comes to arguing for or just finding evidence for any particular understanding of the Trinity. Theologians should be more nervous about just repeating these tropes. A narrative which is compatible with almost any view of the Trinity neither implies, asserts, assumes, nor even illustrates “the” catholic/orthodox/historical mainstream view of the Trinity.

He noted that one may easily have a false belief about what one believes, and he noted that there can be strong social pressures to believe that one has beliefs one doesn’t (and that one lacks beliefs one in fact has). As an example, he noted that every Biola University employee’s continuing employment requires that they yearly affirm, I assume in writing, Biola’s doctrinal statement.

As an aside, here’s the core part of their statement on the Trinity:

There is one God, eternally existing and manifesting Himself to us in three Persons: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

This sounds like an expression of modalism - one great self, with three aspects or personalities (“Persons”), and yet Biola’s statement  goes on to describe Jesus as a man, and surely no man is a mode of anything, but is instead an entity/substance, and no mode is a substance or vice versa. Surely, they’re assuming the identity of the second member of the Trinity (the Son) with Jesus. So, it looks paradoxical.

But that isn’t what concerns me here. In our recent debate coverage, we noted that  most evangelicals assert that Jesus is God. And by that, it seems that most mean that Jesus and God are numerically one being, one magnificent self, one divine person. They confess and assert this. But do they believe it?

I wonder (seriously – I really wonder – this is not a sarcastic pseudo-question). See, I assume that most hold the two to qualitatively differ. How they differ depends on one’s views on the Trinity. God has three persons, or centers of consciousness, or rational faculties in him. Jesus doesn’t. God has never not been omniscient; Jesus has. God sent his Son. Jesus didn’t. God is like a loving community, Jesus is not. So, when it is time to confess, they say “Jesus is God”. But their actions – specifically, the way they talk about Jesus and God in various non-argumentative contexts – show that they don’t believe that. Or do they?

Is this self deception (falsely believing yourself to believe Jesus to be God) or is it inconsistent belief (you believe they are one, and that they are two)? Or does it vary by person?

Here’s one angle on it. Consider these three claims:

1. Jesus and God are numerically one.
2. Numerically one things can’t differ.
3. Some things are true of Jesus which are not true of God, and vice-versa.

If you believe all 3, you have inconsistent beliefs. I would guess that a lot of evangelicals hold 1 as a central belief, don’t notice too often that they also believe 3, and actively ignore 2. I think that’s were I stood, before I started reading the recent philosophical literature on the Trinity.

But how does one tell three inconsistent beliefs from two consistent ones and an imaginary third (which is inconsistent with the conjunction of the first two)?

Go back to Gregg’s example of the old lady who falsely believes that she believes all races to be equal. That she’s self-deceived is one interpretation of what we observe.

But maybe in church she thinks that, but out about town, she doesn’t. If a belief is a tendency to think a certain way, maybe she believes both that blacks are inferior and that blacks are as good as whites – but different circumstances trigger each tendency in her, and she conveniently ignores the obvious inconsistency of the resulting thoughts and claims. (It helps that everyone at her church is white.)

But back to 1 – Could it be that many believe both 2 and 3, and believe that they believe 1, even though they do not?  Given that they know 2 and 3, they’re also aware at some level that 1 is false. And yet there is tremendous social pressure to verbally affirm the words of 1.

Imagined train of thought:

But of course I believe 1 – anything less is denying Christ. And I don’t deny Christ. I believe him, and in him. If were a Christ-denier, I wouldn’t be a Christian, but I am. And I’d be going to Hell – but I’m not. So, surely I do believe 1. How could I not?

Christian philosophers (philosophy PhDs), interestingly, are different. They’re trained to ferret out inconsistencies – at least, to expunge inconsistencies from their statements and thoughts. (But I reckon we’re about as prone to self-deception about our beliefs as people generally.) A good many, I would guess most conservative Christian philosophers, deny 1. (In fact, while I was an undergraduate at Biola I distinctly remember a philosophy professor clearly and firmly denying 1 in class.) This is surprising, but I think they are able to do this because they continue to say the words “Jesus is God” meaning something other than 1. (But, disconcertingly, they are aware that others understand those words as 1.) Others deny 2. I think the average evangelical pew-dweller would be befuddled by this, but at least on the surface, it is consistent (accepting 1 and 3 while denying 2.) I’m not aware of any who deny 3; both the Bible and the catholic tradition imply it.

In any case, for those of you who like me are offspring of the American evangelical world – are either of my diagnoses above accurate,when it comes to evangelicals in the pew, in your experience? I confessed to having had inconsistent beliefs (having believed 1-3 above), but I suspect that some more mature, more reflective evangelicals are forced into self-deception as described above.

(Commenters: If you comment anonymously, I will respect your anonymity. I don’t have the slightest interest in endangering jobs or reputations.)

While you’re thinking about it, here’s some more gratuitous Styx.

First, he tweaks his formula (here’s the previous version):

The doctrine of the Trinity is biblical if and only if all of the following propositions are biblical teachings:

1. One eternal uncreated being, the LORD God, alone created all things.
2. The Father is the LORD God.
3. The Son, who became the man Jesus Christ, is the LORD God.
4. The Holy Spirit is the LORD God.
5. The Father and the Son stand in personal relation with each other.
6. The Father and the Holy Spirit stand in personal relation with each other.
7. The Son and the Holy Spirit stand in personal relation with each other.

The only theological position that affirms all seven of the above propositions is the Trinity. However, each of these propositions finds affirmation in at least one or more non-Trinitarian doctrines.

I think the changes are verbal, not substantial. But he’s doing a couple of things here. First, he wants to show that he’s not presupposing any Trinity doctrine, but just inferring it from what the Bible clearly teaches. Thus, he makes the point that each of 1-7 is affirmed by at least one non-trinitarian theory. Second, he wants to show that his theory is most faithful to the Bible, of the available theories.

When I first saw this, I thought he was re-formulating to get around the problem that this theory is apparently contradictory. But I don’t think this is his aim, as at best, the contradiction is slightly papered over. If 5-7 are true, then f, s, and h must each be selves (capable of being in personal relations) and since by “personal relation” we assume Bowman means friendship with another (not with oneself), then f, s, and h must be three – none can be numerically identical to either of the others. And yet, 2-4 seem to say that each is numerically identical to one thing, the self who created (1). And things identical to the same thing, are identical to each other – ’cause they’re just one thing, after all. So, each of the three is and isn’t God; in my view, the battleship remains sunk.

BUT, to his credit Bowman puts up a manly and forthright defense of positive mysterianism (comment #3 here). He smacks down a misinterpretation of John 4:22, and makes the excellent point that it is irrational to dismiss a theory at the first sight of an apparent contradiction. One must be patient enough to work through things – oftentimes those contradictions turn out to be merely apparent.

Mind you, I don’t agree with positive mysterianism, and I’ve explained in gruesome detail what I think is wrong with it. Moreover, I think Bowman is mistaken in saying that catholic Christians have always held paradoxical views about God (e.g. in the NT “mysteries” have nothing to do with apparent contradictions), and he doesn’t seem to recognize the crucial difference between a belief which merely strikes one as implausible, and one which appears to be contradictory. Moreover, he attacks a straw men (that believable theological claims must be proven consistent, and that to believe that something is so one must understand how it is so). But he here expresses a view popular with a good many Christians, and with evangelicals in particular. And IF this defense is reasonable, then it is not enough to merely point out the apparent inconsistency of Bowman’s views. Point, Bowman.

In the rest of his closing statement, Bowman

• Gives a pretty fair summary of Burke’s biblical points.
• Insists that he’s shown his interpretations of the passages to be better, including some surprising ones, e.g. 1 Cor 8:6, which he reads to assert Jesus and the Father to be one self.
• Denounces as “slanderously false” Burke’s claim that trinitarianism somehow compromises the genuine humanity of Jesus. Although I think Bowman lost the debate about temptability, I think not enough in this debate has been said about the consistency or inconsistency of incarnation theories. Burke would need to show that on Bowman’s view of the incarnation (whatever that is), Jesus can’t be a man, or the right sort of man. Bowman points out in a comment (#7) that Burke hasn’t done enough to definitively show this.
• Objects to Burke’s claim that Jesus is the “literal” Son of God.
• Asserts that he creamed Burke re: Philippians 2.
• Ditto on John 1. I agree that Bowman points out some apparent inconsistencies in Burke’s position, but he seems blind to the difficulties of his own reading. (To wit: Isn’t Pr. 8 the background here, as well as some statements in the apocrypha about the non-literal incarnation God’s law? And what would it mean to say that the logos both is God and is with God? Burke has a natural answer here – Pr. 8:27, 30 And strangely, Bowman’s reading has “God” being applied, confusingly, in short order to the Father (“with God”) and to the Son (“was God”) and then quickly (v.2) back to the Father.)
• And the NT obviously teaches Christ’s existence before his conception. Plus, Bowman accuses Burke of quoting out of context “Mowinckel, who “shows that the Jewish ‘Son of Man’ was really (not ideally) pre-existent.” It seems that Dave was mistaken about Mowinckel’s overall position; but this sort of “gotcha” doesn’t advance the discussion, in my view, though it may delight partisans. On a close look, though, Burke didn’t say or imply that Mowinckel agreed with his overall view. It’s fair to point this out, but Burke has no obligation whatever to draw attention to the fact.
• Finally, Christ in various places receives “divine honors” and “divine names” – and not just in any old way, but in “religious contexts” (whatever those are!) which show that the disciples etc. took Jesus to be God himself. Religion scholar James McGrath shows up in the comments are pertinently asks what “religious” worship consists in, and what Bowman makes of an interesting OT text. (Comments 1, 10, 19, 67, 69)
• In a long, labored comment (#4) Bowman accuses Burke of deliberately distorting the “Athanasian” creed, when Burke says that it does and doesn’t teach three Lords. Bowman confidently pounces because the creed explicitly denies there are three Lords. Well, sure. But Burke wasn’t saying that the creed has an explicit contradiction (asserting “P” and asserting “not-P”) but rather that it is implicitly contradictory – explicitly saying there aren’t three, and yet implying that there are. I got Burke’s point. (More here.) Bowman should be slower to accuse his opponent of bad faith. Clear implicit contradictions are just as obviously false as explicit ones. Bowman also objects that Burke is begging the question, but Burke is only assuming self-evident truths, which one may reasonably assume in any context. Bowman needs to state and defend his controversial assumption of relative identity relations. Point Burke.
• In the rest of that long comment, Bowman tries to deduce the Trinity doctrine (understood paradoxically as above) from the Bible without using the word “person”. He asserts that the concept of a person is just the concept of “someone other than” one or more selves. (That can’t be right – the notion a solitary person/self isn’t contradictory.) In any case, as he reformulates “the” doctrine, he comes up with “There is one God, i.e. one divine Being, existing in three Persons… But now I notice that the word “Person” in the above statement cannot be identical in meaning to the word “Being” without resulting in a contradiction. Thus…” (he none too clearly asserts that in this context two things can be different “persons” but the same being). But why the sudden dislike for apparent contradictions? Embrace the mystery, my friend – don’t go rationalist on us at this late date.
• The comments on Bowman’s post are cantankerous and interesting. Bizarrely, at one point (#65) a Bowman partisan assures him that he should quit, that further discussion would be a waste of time (too many unitarians involved!) To his credit, Bowman discusses historical matters (#14-15, 63) and the objection about why the NT weren’t more up front with their views on the Trinity (#66 – to me, his answer is unsatisfying ). Points to Bowman for patient and thorough follow-through.

On the negative side, here’s Bowman’s final reply to McGrath re: worshiping Jesus as an agent of God:

…I agree that in a limited sense, the Israelite king (David or Solomon especially) functioned as God’s “agent” in that they ruled Israel on his behalf. I even agree that this motif establishes some precedent for the NT teaching that Christ rules from God’s throne. In the NT, however, what was a very limited, circumscribed agency with regard to the Israelite king is expanded to include Jesus Christ in the very identity of God.

In the last sentence Bowman repeats a confused trope from contemporary theology. But that’s not essential to his case; if Jesus just is (is numerically identical to) God, then we don’t need any talk of his being “in God’s identity”, whatever that might mean.

Though not every punch lands, Bowman fights hard and on many fronts in this round, and I’m awarding the round to him.

Score through all six rounds:

Bowman: 1
Burke: 3
draw: 2

Next time: some concluding reflections on the debate.

First, he reiterates that the Bible doesn’t explicitly talk of any triple-personed god, but instead calls the God of the Jews the Father. His Son is Jesus, and they stand in a hierarchy as two persons – the Son “under” the Father – over the realm of angels. He says that “Scripture never includes the Holy Spirit in this hierarchy”, but this begs the question – Bowman’s fifth round focused on passages which he thinks puts the Spirit at the top of the hierarchy alongside Father and Son. Again, I complain about the format of the debate, which forces the debaters to talk past one another.

Second, he cites numerous passages to show that his unitarian take on the Trinity is consonant with apostolic teaching – with their language but also with their concepts, to throw the burden on the trinitarian. About the triadic passages Bowman focuses on, he says only this: “all three were recognised as sources of apostolic authority… It is therefore natural that they appear together in ways which reflect this relationship…” Sources? Like, authorities (selves possessing authority)? I think this needs more spelling out, to make it clearly consistent with Burke’s other views, and to show that it is well-motivated. I read something interesting on this recently.

Can of worms #1: early catholic theology. The most famous of 2nd c. catholic theologians were subordinationists – they held that Jesus was “generated” by the Father through a mysterious act of will prior to the creation of the cosmos. Although they thought of this as the expression of God’s internal and eternal “word” or thought, this is incompatible with later orthodoxy, because the Son isn’t eternal, and is arguably not “fully divine” – as he exists because of something else – God. At times, they even call the Son “a second god”. Burke observes:

None of these early church fathers were Biblical Unitarians – but they weren’t Trinitarians either… even as late as the 4th c…. Christians were hopelessly confused… [even then] the Trinity was still not a fully established doctrine. …Rob is vague about the point at which he believes the church embraced true Trinitarianism, but I receive a general sense that he perceives an implicit Trinitarian Christology within the NT which quickly gave rise to fully-fledged Trinitarianism. …But the history of Trinitarianism… reveals an excruciating mess of debate, controversy, and confusion… How can Trinitarianism be the doctrine once preached by the apostles…? …It is contrary to reason, antagonistic to Scripture, and undermined by the record of history.

So Burke’s point is that trinitarianism can’t have been part of the apostolic message. How does Bowman respond to this blast? Tune in next time, in which I discuss his long response in a comment, and bring up some other relevant historical information.

Can of worms #2: Could a fully divine Jesus have been tempted? A fully divine being can’t sin. Bowman holds that Jesus is and has always been fully divine. So, there can never have been any possibility of Jesus sinning. But, counters Burke, the Bible says outright that he was tempted. And a being which can’t sin, can’t really be tempted. Saith Burke: “the statement ‘Jesus could be tempted but was not capable of sin’ is both self-refuting and utterly meaningless.” (BTW – he should stick with the first – that statement is not meaningless - apparently contradictory statements have meaning, which is how we can tell they are contradictory.) Moreover, the NT says that he could be tempted and could have sinned.

Bowman fires back in a lengthy comment, #18. He says some interesting things regarding this issue, but the gist is that Burke “confuses capability with moral capacity”. Jesus was capable or sinning, but never had any moral capacity to sin. Bowman here makes a move here akin to what compatibilists about human freedom say – that a choice being free doesn’t require ever having had an unconditional ability to choose otherwise, but only conditional abilities – one would have chosen otherwise had various other factors been otherwise. (Factors over which one never had any control!) This is worrisome – in my view compatibilism (about determinism and human freedom) has been refuted by van Inwagen’s famous “consequence argument”. Many philosophers would agree with me, although philosophers are heavily divided on this.

Suppose that tomorrow, a voice boomed from the heavens, “No more dynamite explosions!” And lo and behold, all dynamite in the world was, by the hand of God, rendered inert – incapable of exploding. Either God has changed the laws of nature, or he’s just determined to constantly intervene. For the time being, your dynamite collection is ruined. No more redneck fishing for you and your buddies.

But on a street corner, you’re seduced by the promise of a black market explosives dealer – “I promise, son, that I’ve got some explodable dynamite here.” You examine it – it really is dynamite, and purchase some. You find that it won’t explode. But the salesman says “I meant it had the capability of exploding – not the actual capacity of exploding. It has what it takes to explode were God to rescind his decision to disallow dynamite explosions.” You feel that you’ve been deceived, and you and your redneck buddies proceed to kick the salesman’s derrière - but the fact is, what he said was consistent. By “explodable” he meant only that in some possible, non-actual situations, this stuff gets set off – never mind that those situations are ones inaccessible to us (unless we change God’s mind).

Contrast this, though, with what Bowman is saying. Jesus is God. Are there any possible situations in which God sins? No. So, Jesus sinning is no more possible than it being true that 2 + 2 = 5 – Jesus exists no matter what, and is essentially perfect in every way. Bowman says

Jesus had the capability, physically speaking, of committing sins (e.g., he had a mouth and knew enough to lie; he had hands and was physically capable of stealing)…

But none of those, or even all put together are sufficient to make Jesus able to sin. That he has capacities which other beings might be able to sin with is irrelevant. God has these, but we (most of us) say that God can’t sin. (e.g. smiting power, which God shares with murderers) To say that a person can do X only if some contradiction is true (or if some absolutely impossible situation is actual) is just a way of saying that it is absolutely impossible for that person to do X. Bowman holds that Jesus can sin. But supposing Jesus to sin is, in his view, to suppose that a being which is essentially impeccable sins – which is a contradiction. Could, say, a ping-pong ball sin? By this sort of reasoning, sure! I has no actual capacity of sinning, but if it were a self with moral knowledge (which I take it is not possible for this little plastic globe) then it could. Could a potato perform a waltz? Sure – if it here a living human being. (But wait – that’s not possible…)

In short, Bowman is urging that we believe in abilities or powers or capacities which in principle can’t be exercised or realized – in philosophical lingo, such that in no possible world does the being in question actualize it. This, however, is absurd – the notion of an absolutely (or in principle) unrealizable potentiality. Such a thing isn’t a potentiality at all – we’re being urged to believe in a sort of property or characteristic – one which is and isn’t a potential for being a certain way. Let’s not dignify this with the title “paradox”; it is but a lowly contradiction, and one that in any other application we would all dismiss out of hand. Also, notice that this point has nothing to do particularly with theology. It is a serious cost if a theology needs such a questionable claim.

Bowman here urges a false dilemma – either his view of Christ is true, or (if Burke is right) Jesus might have at any moment sinned, thus imperiling God’s whole plan. But this is a mistake. Being able to sin at some time or other isn’t the same as being able to easily sin at any moment. Thus, nothing about Burke’s view commits him to a shaky, easy-to-fall-away Jesus. Nor is it obvious that Jesus or God would have to be 100% certain that Jesus would never sin – it depends on one’s theory of divine providence. Molinists and others would urge that they could be certain of that, even if Jesus was free to sin.

In his comment, Bowman helpfully formalizes the argument:

The anti-Trinitarian argument, superficially, looks unassailable:

P1. God cannot be tempted.
P2. Christ was tempted.
C. Therefore, Christ was not God.

Bowman argues that “being tempted” is equivocal. If it mains actually giving in to a temptation, that P1 is true but P2 is false. But if it means a certain feeling or quality of experience, then P2 is true but (I take it) P1 is false – God can experience that feeling. He urges that James 1:13 can be reading as having to do with giving into temptation.

Be that as it may, what if “tempting” is putting one into a situation in which one has the ability, in that situation, to as it were say yes to a desire to do something wrong? In that sense, Bowman must say that P2 is false. Problem is, this is the sense most readers are going to see in the texts talking of Christ being tempted. I suspect that his merely experiential sense of “being tempted” has been concocted to save his theology – can he point to any case in the Bible or anywhere in the ancient world where “being tempted” is merely experiential (i.e. it merely describes a certain felt quality of experience), and doesn’t imply some actual capacity for and actual pull towards sin?

Finally, Bowman probably holds, like I think most evangelicals, that after our glorification – after you and me are resurrected, and living in the presence of God in the new heavens and the new earth –  we won’t be able to sin. But if he grants this, he grants that a normal human may, by the action of God, be rendered incapable of sinning. So even if he’s right that Jesus was incapable of sinning, that doesn’t show or suggest that he was divine. Moreover, if he grants this, he can’t complain about the alleged weirdness or obscurity of Burke’s claim that Jesus was made able to completely avoid sin by the Holy Spirit. So, does he grant this – that a human may be rendered impeccable?

Next time: history.

[Burke:] “This week I hope Rob will show Biblical evidence for the essential relationship formulae of Trinitarianism:
1. Father = ‘God’, Son = ‘God’ and Holy Spirit = ‘God’
2. ‘God’ = Father + Son + Holy Spirit  . . .

[Bowman] I have already responded to this argument of yours. Your demand that I must prove these two statements “independent of each other” is an absurd demand calculated to place an unreasonable burden on me that you know cannot be met.

As you know, Dave, if statement #1 is true, and if there is only one God (one single eternal divine being), then statement #2 follows. However, you and I already agree that there is only one eternal divine being. Therefore, I do not need to argue for this premise of the doctrine of the Trinity.

Gentlemen, forgive me, but this is confused. We must clarify the meaning of “=” here. I believe that Bowman means  numerical identity in 1. (I’m not sure – I think  his position forces him to be unclear about this – but let that pass.) Let us, then, add the extra premise Bowman mentions (as being held in common). We then get this:

f=g & s=g & h=g

(x)(y) (Dx -> (Dy -> x=y))   [For any x and any y, x is divine only if, if y is divine, then it just is x.]

The first premise is trouble, because it implies f=s=h.

But what to make of “‘God’ = Father + Son + Holy Spirit”. What does the “+” signify? One may (and some will) think of it as the combination of parts, or some kind of conjunction of different things. But this would shift the meaning of “=”. Numerical identity is a one-to-one (actually, always a reflexive) relation – never one-to-many. So if the right hand side is read to mean some kind of conjunction, addition, or combination, then the “=” cannot mean identity. It might mean something like “consists of”, “is a whole constituted by”, or something like that. But whatever it means, it does not logically follow from 1 & 2.

But this interpretation makes 2 irrelevant to 1. It may be that Bowman is thinking this:

Df & Ds & Dh    [Father is divine and Son is divine and Spirit is divine. (This "is" of predication, not the "is" of identity.)]

(x)(y) (Dx -> (Dy -> x=y))

From these, there is no reason to think any interpretation of “g = f+s+h” follows. (First we’d have to clarify the meaning of this latter claim, and then we’d have to add one or more premises, until we had a valid and sound argument.)

But this follows: f =s=h. As Homer Simpson would say: D’oh! Homework for interested readers. Why exactly is this something Bowman can’t accept? (There is more than one reason, I think.) Comment at will.

Bowman then retreats to familiar ground:

What you are really trying to do here is to claim that unless I can show some Bible verses in which the word “God” specifically refers to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit together, my case for the doctrine of the Trinity fails.

But that is a red herring. All we need is a seemingly sound argument, for a conclusion with which Bowman agrees, and which is arguably trinitarian! Instead Bowman brings back his apparently inconsistent set of five claims; we’ve looked at those before. Insofar as they seem inconsistent, the argument will not seem sound.

Jesus is MELTING!

Looking for a present for that theology geek in your life?

Wear your modalism in t-shirt form.

(Why is this modalism?)

Is this one also modalistic? Discuss. This one surely is.

“Social” trinitarians may prefer this one.

And: for your skate-boarding needs.

Something for paradox lovers and fans of non-standard logics (explanation). Similarly, for people who also like Escher.

Fan of the multiple personality analogy? Look no further.

Here’s the definition of the Council of Chalcedon (sort of) in shirt form.

Then there’s a glaring theological non sequitur, in mug form. And another one, this time on a shirt.

Babies too. People who need help with spelling. Even anti-trinitarians can get in on the action. Happy little monkeys. And people with non-standard “trinities”.

Props to the commenter who can discern the intended message of this one. Or this one. Or this one.

And there’s wearable proof (-texts) that Jesus is God. Lastly, if Jesus just is God, and it was God who miraculously impregnated Mary, then… (Please, no complaints – I’m just the messenger.)

Wasn’t that a fun bit of time wasting? The internet and capitalism rule.

(PS – None of these sellers are affiliated in any way with trinities, nor do I or we get any cut of the $ – this post is just for our mutual amusement.)

By contrast, I argue that the Bible provides us with explicit doctrines about the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, which… I have shown to be firmly rooted in OT theology.

Burke has a point here, although it can be overstated. Burke’s theology allows him to stick more closely to the words of the NT and the message as preached, e.g. in Acts. Surely, considered by itself this is an advantage. Trinitarians will argue that it is outweighed by the fact that the unitarian message leaves out other essentials, if somewhat implicit ones. Burke complains that Bowman hasn’t defined “implicit“, but this is a general philosophical issue outside the realm of the debate. Burke emphasizes that his approach is “Hebraic” whereas Bowman’s is “Hellenic”. In some sense this may be true, but I don’t think it advances the debate. It is surely possible that God providentially used Greek philosophy to help uncover the true implications of the NT. Further, both debaters are to some extent using Greek-philosophy-originated concepts and logic. Another place in which they’re talking past one another is this issue of the importance of what is and is not explicit in the NT, and specifically in the preaching of the apostles. Bowman is surely right that, e.g. Peter need not assert every element of the apostolic teaching in one sermon, and that Luke’s summary of that sermon surely wouldn’t include all of it. But Burke is right that if it is an essential part of the faith, and necessary to believe for salvation, that e.g. the Holy Spirit is a fully divine person in God distinct from the Father and Son, then we would expect this to be explicitly taught by the apostles, up front, prior to baptism. And we do not find this. But I don’t believe that Bowman has said that one must believe this to be saved. But if he affirms it, and holds that the apostles teach it, then Burke has a strong argument against him. This is surely a pressing, practical question that should be raised.

It is striking that Acts 2 does not contain what are often nowadays held up as core, essential doctrines of the Good News. As Burke says,

In Acts 2 alone, thousands of people were baptised on the basis of the preaching they heard at Pentecost. That preaching is described in considerable detail, and the Holy Spirit is referred to prominently, but I find no reference to the Trinity or the deity of Christ, let alone the Holy Spirit as God. I have previously asked Rob to teach me the Trinity (or at least the deity of Jesus), in the way the apostles taught those they baptised.

This fact has impressed most unitarians, as well as trinitarians who believe that “the” doctrine truly developed later than the NT, and is not logically implied by it.

Concerning the Holy Spirit, Burke starts with the OT. Although it is arguably in a few places personified,

Throughout the OT, God’s Holy Spirit is described as something that belongs to Him, like a property or a power… This is amplified by the many passages in which the Holy Spirit is presented as something that can be bestowed upon others, for various purposes and with varying effects…

Burke concedes that in a few places this Spirit is spoken of in personal terms, i.e. as if it were a self. Might it not be a self? Burke makes an interesting move here, citing examples of “wisdom” being personified in passages in eight books of the Bible:

Judged purely on the basis of accumulated proof texts, it could be claimed that we have a stronger prima facie case for the literal personality and deity of wisdom than we do for the Holy Spirit. But is this a legitimate proposal?

Now the payoff:

Despite a number of theological developments between the OT and NT eras (including the expansion of wisdom language in apocryphal literature), Jewish pneumatology remained static. Those Jews who still retained a belief in the Holy Spirit, saw no reason to deviate from the original OT conception.

I have a concern here. Philo of Alexandria (rough contemporary of Jesus) the Hellenistic Jewish theologian / OT interpreter cannot be overlooked. Clearly, he was massively influential on 2nd century catholic biblical interpretation and theology, and he so enthusiastically personifies the Holy Spirit, inspired by the creation myth of Plato’s Timaeus, that it is unclear whether he only means to be personifying. We know that the Hellenizing of Jewish thought outside of Palestine goes back to the 200′s BCE; it is possible that some Jews, at least in Alexandria, had a view of the Holy Spirit as a being long ago derived from God, a helper in creation, so that God can as it were keep his hands clean of the material world. BUT, arguably there is little trace of deep Platonistic influence anywhere in the NT. So maybe the NT can be read whilst largely ignoring Greek philosophical theology.

Following a 1996 monograph by Max Turner, Burke neatly summarizes all the ways in which the Holy Spirit is spoken of in personal terms in Acts. But piling up a big list of these shows nothing; what matters is how the language is functioning. Is it mere personification or not? Burke points out that a number of these examples involve speaking; he then lists 10 references in which Scripture is said to speak.

How many Christians would claim that Scripture is a person? None that I know of; they would tell me that this is just a form of poetic license. Yet when faced with verses in which the Holy Spirit “speaks”, they insist that it must be a literal person. But why differentiate in this way? Which interpretation is more likely: that the same use of language implies a completely different conclusion in two identical cases, or that the same use of language implies the same conclusion for both? (emphasis added)

But is the language use here really “the same” in the two cases? Certainly, the Spirit is spoken of more often, and more pointedly, in personal terms. Again, as I mentioned last time, and as is argued in a Biblical Unitarian article which Burke links, many unitarians urge that there is a dual usage of “the Holy Spirit” in the NT – it can be a title or name referring to God (in which case what it refers to is literally a self) or it can be used to refer to an impersonal thing, God’s power. In the first usage, to say that “The Holy Spirit told us to go to Macedonia” would mean that God told them to do that, it being understood that this was through some “gift of the Holy Spirit” – impression, prophecy, dream, etc. If this is right, then it won’t do to accuse trinitarians of failing to treat like cases alike, for they are not (enough) alike.

This may also explain why Bowman thinks unitarians are weaselly about this topic – they have a thesis about two uses of the phrase “the Holy Spirit” (etc.), and he conflates this with their making two incompatible claims about one thing. Burke is clear about that one thing – he holds God to be a self, and not in any sense a complex of three selves. But he’s needlessly inflexible about NT language. He wants to hold the like that all Spirit-talk is personification. But this is a needless over-reaction to the trinitarian tradition.

And the end of his case, Burke concludes with a few comment on Revelation 4-5. There, the Father is presented as God, and as creator, and Jesus is represented as a Lamb – a separate being from God. And the Holy Spirit is arguably not portrayed there at all, at least not as any sort of self or agent. People may be tempted to deride this is an “argument from silence”. But it is no fallacy, for it is plausible that if the Holy Spirit was “together with the Father and the Son [to be] adored and glorified”, then he’d make an appearance here, as an object of worship. It doesn’t follow that the Holy Spirit isn’t a divine person (that’d be a fallacy); rather, this passage is evidence against the view that the Holy Spirit is a divine person – fallible, overridable evidence, but significant evidence nonetheless. Other such negative evidence is there too – see the article Burke links for some examples.

This raises the issue: isn’t Jesus worshiped here, with “religious worship” no less? And can’t only God himself be worshiped? (Or does Rev 4-5 refute that claim?) But more on this later; Burke says some things about this in a long comment on a previous round.

Though there may be important rebuttals and back and forth coming, for now I have to award this round to Burke. He shows that given the OT background of the NT, the burden is on someone who thinks that Jewish thinking about the Spirit of God radically changed during the ministry of Jesus. Bowman essentially bets it all on John 14-6 plus Acts, arguing, not too convincingly, that he can deduce the true personhood of the Spirit from these. But he does very little to show this is a person other than the Father, alongside and equal to the Father, which is what he needs to show. Although Burke’s case is needlessly over strong (about the usage of “the Holy Spirit”) and marred by some ineffective charges (“Hellenism”), he builds on a solid OT foundation, and makes a plausible case that this pattern of thinking continues in the NT, e.g. in Luke 1:35. He focuses on (what he takes to be) personifications of the Spirit in the NT. He might have said more about NT spirit-talk which doesn’t involve that – are there other usages which sort of balance out the personifying?

Score:
Bowman: 0
Burke: 2
draw: 2