First, a few clarifications. By “modalist” I do not mean “Sabellian” or “monarchian.” (Those ancient catholics probably did hold to various forms of modalism, but the term is not a historical one, and can refer to other views which probably no ancient person held.) Nor do I mean modalism by definition to be heretical relative to orthodox/catholic creeds. What I mean is that at least one of these – Father, Son, Spirit – is a mode of the one God, in some sense a way that God is. That last phrase is deliberately ambiguous.

In his recent Christmas sermon the Pope said:

In all three Christmas Masses, the liturgy quotes a passage from the Prophet Isaiah, which describes the epiphany that took place at Christmas in greater detail: “A child is born for us, a son given to us and dominion is laid on his shoulders; and this is the name they give him: Wonder-Counsellor, Mighty-God, Eternal-Father, Prince-of-Peace. Wide is his dominion in a peace that has no end” (Is 9:5f.). … A child, in all its weakness, is Mighty God. A child, in all its neediness and dependence, is Eternal Father. …

God has appeared – as a child. It is in this guise that he pits himself against all violence and brings a message that is peace. (emphases and link added)

This last phrase, X has appeared as S, is ambiguous. It could mean that X has manifested as it really is, really being S. Or it could mean that X appeared to be (whether or not X really is) S. But given the Catholic theological tradition, I assume the first is meant here. God has appeared as a human baby, meaning, at least at that time, he really was a baby. This is not to comment on a quality or property he has; rather, the idea is that he was numerically identical to this baby. This baby, this little human self – was the same self as God. The one true God, that is, the Father, just was certain baby.

But doesn’t the Father differ from the Son, and from the Spirit? Sure. The child just is the Son. And this is a “guise” of God/the Father. The Son is a different guise than the Father, and both are different guises from the Spirit. Which is just to say, these three ways God acts are really three such ways.

The view seems to be this: God is a single self: the Father/Son/Spirit – call him what you will. Any two of those are the same god as one another, and so the same self as one another. If considered as guises, as ways of appearing to us, then they are different – the Father-guise is not the Son-guise, etc. But it is one and the same self who may, as it were, put any of them on.

Coincidentally, the Pope brings up St. Francis, saying that

Francis loved the child Jesus, because for him it was in this childish estate that God’s humility shone forth. God became poor. His Son was born in the poverty of the stable. In the child Jesus, God made himself dependent, in need of human love, he put himself in the position of asking for human love – our love. (emphases added)

Again, the baby (and so, the Son) is a guise of God – a way God appears and is. He continues with a bit of traditional human-reason-bashing, and then back to his main point:

…if we want to find the God who appeared as a child, then we must dismount from the high horse of our “enlightened” reason. We must set aside our false certainties, our intellectual pride, which prevents us from recognizing God’s closeness. … We must bend down, spiritually we must as it were go on foot, in order to pass through the portal of faith and encounter the God who is so different from our prejudices and opinions – the God who conceals himself in the humility of a newborn baby. (emphases added)

Suppose that a priest named Len is very learned. Yet when among simple folk, he adopts the persona of a simple man, so as to relate better to them. Learned Len conceals himself in Simple Len – for there is far more to Len than we see in Simple Len. In those moments, Len really is Simple Len – that’s really him, using simple words, eschewing the airs and manners of a scholar – he is really acting in that way. And yet, that way, that guise, is inherently misleading; it would naturally lead one to think Len to be unlearned. One could call Learned Len a “guise” of Len too, though it doesn’t tend to mislead about how he really is.

Simple Len and Learned Len aren’t two men any more than the Father and Son, in the Pope’s view, are two gods. They “are” the one God. Or more accurately, he thinks that God, the Father, appears as a human – the Son, the human being, is a guise of God. Of course, there’s more to God that we see in this baby (child, man) but that’s while God conceals himself, that is, certain features of himself, by appearing to us in this way.

This view of God and Jesus is arguably a theological disaster.

But am I right that this is the current Pope’s view? Can anyone point us to some other relevant statements by him?

I read most of MacDonald’s Deuteronomy and the Meaning of ‘Monotheism’. I found it helpful, but had some fundamental disagreements with it. Those another time.

The two have very different views of the OT & the issue of monotheism. To oversimplfy, MacDonald thinks that for a long time, Jews were polytheistic, then they became monotheists of a sort and changed older polytheistic OT texts to fit their new views. In contrast, Heiser thinks that all along they believed YHWH to be unique, although many could be called “elohim.” This is a very interesting disagreement, but  I won’t join the fray here.

Just a couple of comments.

Yes, monotheism is the belief that there there exists exactly one god. This sounds silly to say, but this has been denied repeatedly as of late.

Contra MacDonald’s first answer in the interview, the only real unclarity in this is what counts as a god, i.e. the concept of godhood.

The important issue here is the idea of monotheism, not the word “monotheism.” Yes, it is a fairly recent term, but I would argue, a helpful one – at least, once we make clear what is meant by the term “god.”

Heiser says, 

I don’t care for the modern definition as someone who accepts the Judeo-Christian canon.

Eh… how would accepting the authority of the Bible tell you that “monotheism” is or is not a helpful term? What matters, I think, would be theoretical considerations like classification and explanation. The question is: can the term earn its keep?

Heiser again,

The biblical writers used the term elohim to refer to half a dozen figures or entities in the unseen spiritual world (Yahweh, the elohim of Yahweh’s council, “demons” [Deut 32:17], the disembodied human dead [1 Sam 28:13], and angels [at least I’d argue for that on the basis of the plural verb in Gen 35:7 and its referent point]). The fact that they do that should tell us loudly and clearly that that they did not associate the term elohim with a specific set of attributes.

Oh, to the contrary – attributes implied would be: selfhood, being normally invisible, being powerful, being interested in what various humans are doing. What he means to say, is that “god” for the ancient Hebrews was not a kind-term, not assumed to refer to whatever has some metaphysical essence. That is correct, and I think the point applies far beyond ancient Hebrews and the term elohim.

We do that reflexively as moderns—we use “g-o-d” thinking of the singular being we know as the God of the Bible.

No, this is a different point than the previous, but again, he’s right. The point could be put thusly: we use “God” as a name or title for the God of Abraham (etc.).

Elohim is what I like to call a “place of residence” term. It doesn’t tell me what a thing is in terms of attributes; it tells me the proper domain of a thing. All elohim are members of the unseen spiritual world, their place of residence.

I don’t think that’s part of the meaning of “god,” but rather an image or assumption that may accompany it… But again, by his own words, it does imply that the bearer has certain attributes – what he means to say is that it doesn’t attribute any essence to the bearer, or assume that any being to whom the term applies has an certain essence (roughly, defining features).

He does believe monotheism, and that monotheism is assumed in all parts of the Bible. It’s just that they would deny that there was only one elohim, even while holding that one of those elohim was unique.

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.

A while back I posted on a short, popular piece by Biola theologian Fred Sanders. He’s now responded. I’m going to continue the conversation, I hope shedding light on the differing assumptions and methods of present-day academic theologians and philosophers. I agree with Fred that responses-to-responses are usually boring. Here’s a greater crime: a (long) response to a response to a response.

I guess what set me in motion was his claim, which struck me as unreasonable, that it’s a good thing that there’s no “Trinity verse” in the Bible – i.e. one which explicitly and clearly  states the doctrine.

In fact, up until I think some time in the late 19th c., trinitarians thought they had something pretty close: 1 John 5:7. (Compare the KJV with any modern translation.) This was shown by Isaac Newton and a number of others to be a late corruption. Needless to say, this verse was much appealed to – none of the trinitarians were wishing it gone, so they could instead appeal to the whole Bible.

Surely, I argue, it’d be better if there were such a verse (assuming there is a true Trinity theory), because then Christians wouldn’t spend so much time puzzling and fighting about the matter, as we fairly frequently have through church history.

Now to Sanders’s response:

Tuggy the analytic philosopher working on trinitarianism was interesting to me… Tuggy the analytic philosopher working on anti-trinitarianism drops several notches on my scale of interestingness. Arguments are still arguments, and need to be dealt with on their own merits, of course. But research programs are motivated, and knowing the motivation helps me decide where to invest my study time.

The assumption here, it seems to me, is that all this unitarian-trinitarian stuff was settled long ago, and so anything Tuggy says will only be a tiresome rehash of crummy arguments. I used to assume this, but then I went back and looked at the arguments, the arguments, that is, on both sides. On some core points, the unitarians come out better, as I see it. And I found out that their arguments were not so much answered as smugly forgotten by the mainstream. Don’t take my word for it, by all means; weigh the arguments for yourself.

As to motivations, Fred seems to suggest that my motive all along has been to promote my present views. Not true. I started thoroughly confused (like most evangelicals). Then I was a social trinitarian. Then, a subordinationist unitarian (but sort of thinking this was really trinitarian). Finally, my present view. I’ve been motivated all along to make some orthodox theory or other fly! This is why I set off trying to find a workable version of the doctrine – which is what most evangelical philosophers do. (I’m referring to the theories in the main body of my SEP entry.) Frankly, it was an embarrassment to me that the mainstream did not seem to have a coherent, believable view in mind, in asserting those famous formulas.

I think we disagree already: I think trinitarianism is a spiritual reality, owned by the people of God since the Father sent the Son and the Spirit, and confessed rightly by those without special training. Philosophers and theologians are allowed to work at the task of clarifying and refining it, but they didn’t invent it.

So from the beginning, Christian have “owned” (interacted with?) the Trinity – sure – if there is such a thing. But Fred here seems to assume that they also (imprecisely) believed it all along, i.e. since biblical days. But this is demonstrably not so – by the standards of 500 CE, there were no “orthodox” trinitarians in 170CE. What there were (in the catholic mainstream)  were unitarians of various sorts! Pretty clearly for many of them, not even that vague picture was there.

Tuggy thinks there is no such thing as “the” doctrine of the Trinity, and that there couldn’t even be one until thought rises above a certain threshold of analytic clarity and terminological precision. I’m all for clarity and precision, and I need collegial help attaining it in my doctrinal thinking. But when I say Trinity, I am not pointing to a successful thought project or mental model. I’m pointing to something real, something given by God, something that Christian devotion and orthodox categories pick out, but sub-trinitarian theologies fail to.

If I understand Fred here, the “something real” is sort of like a mental image or a vague way of thinking, expressed by the standard formulas. I think there is something to this – roughly, that God is somewhat like three selves but those are somehow unified – which often does accompany use of the traditional words. But it is not the sort of thing that can be true or false, or for which one could seek evidence in any form. I think – and please correct me if I’m wrong – Sanders is in the Negative Mysterian camp, which it comes to interpreting the traditional formulas. Yes, to me, this is just one way to read them, a way which must be weighed against the others, others which have been suggested by smart, sincere, and faithful men.

Compare: the claim that God is provident. The Calvinists, Arminians, open theists, Molinists, Thomists, process theists – they’re all understanding divine providence in incompatible ways. I think one can be a mysterian too here, either positive or negative… and perhaps that’s a fairly popular way of interpreting “providence.” Yes, I think that for many purposes, just sticking with the vague idea that “God is in charge” is enough. But some of us are compelled to get more precise.

About “logic,” no I got the point; like a lot of philosophers, I get a bit grumpy with logic-rhetoric. I didn’t meant to offend, or to suggest that Sanders knows no logic. By “logic” here, I think he just means something like structure, not what he says – “principles of demonstration that are appropriate to a subject” – but maybe a point of structure could be a source/principle from which to argue, i.e. the grounds for some premise.

Here’s the pattern, the flow of thought, the drift, of my little article: I wasn’t just “quoting a few passages in which the three are mentioned.” Instead, I was building a pattern of expanding scope. From 3 verses, to 5 verses, to 12 verses, to 6 chapters, to 16 chapters, to a whole gospel, to the whole Bible.

Right – in Sanders’s view, the whole Bible shows a pattern of the members of the Trinity at work together. I don’t think this is true, and if we’re careful with what we mean by “members of the Trinity” here, many through church history would also demur.

In any case, I criticized Sanders is “spinning” an obviously bad thing as a good thing – this lack of any clear statement in the Bible about the Trinity, as opposed to it being (supposedly) discernible diffused through the whole Book.

But I think that in Scripture, God succeeded in revealing the Trinity the way he wanted to. I understand why that seems like “merely spin” to Tuggy, but I mean it in earnest.

Now, I wasn’t accusing him of being insincere. But I think if there was a secure verse like 1 John 5:7, or more specific, Fred would gladly use it as a lead proof-text, and never lament its presence. The key point here is “the way he wanted to.” Because it is this way, and because God is all-provident, Sanders holds this to be the best way. This, in my view, is a serious intellectual vice in present-day theology. Assuming, in theology, that things are as they are because they’re supposed to be that way. This is in practice an all-purpose reason to stay mentally “in the box.”

To be clear: I believe wholeheartedly in divine providence. I’m an open theist, so for me the mechanics of providence will be different, but I think nothing occurs without God’s permission, and that he constantly guides the course of events, above all, those involving the followers of Jesus. But I think lots of things happen that go against his will. For whatever reason, he seems to govern, on a grand scale, with a loose hand.

Think about how this sort of providential conservatism would’ve hurt you in the past:

• What? Who’s this Jesus guy, teaching all this new stuff. WE KNOW Judaism, buddy. God himself has evolved us Pharisees just how he likes us. This Jesus is a PUNK!
• What? Who’s this off-the-reservation clown trying to interpret scripture apart from the magisterium of the one holy, catholic church. Why, all Christians are catholic (i.e. Catholic or Orthodox), or, nearly so. Who does he think he is? We have no tradition of reasoning on one’s own – and this is plainly how God intended it.
• What? This fellow thinks churches should be autonomous? That’s crazy-talk. God himself ordained the system of bishops. If you are not under a catholic bishop, you are not under the headship of Christ, and you are out of God’s will. Opposing the bishop is opposing God.

God is who he is. He’s the same God in charge c. 30 or 1520 CE, and this is but a later stage in the same cosmos. So, we have to leave a mental door open to the possibility that mainstream theology has gotten fairly off track, even on core things. To a Protestant, this should be a trivial point. And yet, this safe, assuring assumption that one’s theories are guaranteed by divine providence is rampant among conservative, Protestant theologians.

Now, this is accompanied by the idea that their own ideas, e.g. about providence, church structure and government, or the Trinity are just sitting right there, obviously in the texts. We thinking Christians should maybe get this verse tattooed on our bodies somewhere, preferably not the face.

The first person to speak in court always seems right until his opponent begins to question him. (Pr. 18:17)

You’ve got to read all sides (or better, the best representatives of what seem the most plausible, well-motivated sides), if you want to really think through any issue: free will, universals, justice, arguments for God’s existence. This is the only way to seriously pursue the truth.

But I don’t see this drive in a lot of theologians. Instead, I see a complacent assurance that they’ve got the truth (about, e.g. the Trinity) and many of them just want to sort of play with it - to celebrate it, talk it up, apply its insights, allegedly, to new fields, such as politics or marriage. All the while, we’re none the clearer about what “it” is – it’s just whatever those traditional creeds were getting at. The text- and history- focused theologians, generally, are more clear-headed about what the Bible does and doesn’t say, and are alive to at least some disputes. And they “play” a lot less.

He really does think there’s never been such thing as coherent trinitarianism, just “trinities” all the way back, and none of them doing justice to the New Testament as Tuggy (and Samuel Clarke) interpret it.

Sorry – this isn’t quite fair. I’m no Ehrman. I think there were humanitarians who more or less got it right, from NT times up through the 2nd c. And I think the unitarian subordinationists still got it right on what’s most important (who the one true God is), from about the 130s up past 325. For a lot of this time, there weren’t nearly as many “trinities” (Trinity theories) as there are now. In sophisticated catholic circles c. 200, as best I can tell, it was basically subordinationist unitarians vs. “monarchians,” at least some of whom where humanitarian unitarians. (In the polemical lingo of the day – “psilanthropists” – mere-man-ers, who thought Jesus had only a human nature.)

There a little hint of sarcasm here – how can this silly Clarke and Tuggy think that only in these latter days, in the early 18th or early 21st c., the truth about the Trinity first came to light? What’s the chance of that? Of course, neither of us thinks that for a moment. Both our views, Clarke’s and mine (which again, are not the same, though both unitarian) are represented in the 2nd c., and by various later folk.

…philosophy can be used for doubting and dissolving as much as for clarifying (which of course philosophers already knew), that chasing definition can be an exercise in chasing the horizon. Once you turn a word plural to indicate that its content is essentially disputed, you’re on the roads to irresolutions. After exploring theologies of the trinities, Tuggys will have to move on to doctrines of the incarnations, and to atonements, by which gods accomplished salvations for humanities from sinses. That’s not a good way forward for theology that answers to God’s self-revelation in Scripture.

I’m not sure what to make of this… Part of the worry seems to be the idea that philosophy, something about its procedure or methodology, is inherently destructive, or leads inexorably to doubt, or to unbelief. I don’t think that is so. It does tend to breed epistemic humility, perhaps. But philosophers, I think, passionately commit to all sorts of things, just as I am passionately committed to being a disciple of Christ. To me, adopting unitarian views has opened up the New Testament, to where I suddenly see what’s going on there. They authors are not, as so many read them, constantly throwing out hints that Jesus is the same self as God, even while treating them as two selves; they are two, and are importantly related. They are not the same god, or parts of the same god, or personalities, etc. They are a man, the most important man, and his God, who is also his Father. This is hard to a explain, but there’s a whole texture to the NT which is obscured by traditional catholic theorizing.

Honestly, I picked “trinities” because it was easy to remember, the domain was available, and it seemed a decent short hand to refer to the various competing theories. But I did not thereby signal that the dispute was irresolvable. Indeed, I don’t think it is! I can see why Sanders might read more into it, though, based on how terms like “Christianities” get used by some.

There’s also a concern, I think, that somehow philosophy must involve not properly submitting to what God has revealed. But that is indeed my aim. Nothing about philosophy traps me in a hopeless plurality of incompatible viewpoints. Just as I have firm views on, say, free will, so I have them here – at least, I have them now, after a lot of painful thinking and mind-changing.

“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.

I posted on this very phenomenon back in 2008.

I agree with all the examples Paul gives of philosophers / analytic theologians whose work should not be ignored by any serious investigator – not because they’re my peeps – but because their work is disciplined, insightful, well motivated, clearly argued. In short, it has things you want if you’re serious about getting to the truth of the matter.

Why do systematic theologians do this?

Maybe there’s no deep answer. Maybe: (1) they’re not familiar with this large genre, (2) philosophy is hard, (3) they can ignore it – a portion of the intended audience won’t notice. They won’t get any letters protesting the ignoring of Plantinga, Craig, van Inwagen, or Leftow.

To those of us who are philosophically literate, in most cases philosophy-ignoring work just isn’t going to answer our questions. It’s not a matter of style, taste, or preference – but of substance. This is hard to convey to people who aren’t so trained. Here’s an analogy. Imagine you’re a public policy wonk – you have highly developed views on things like zoning laws, taxation, trade, and such. You want to know who to vote for, so you go to a speech by a politician, who breaks out his well-worn lines about Freedom, the American Way, Baseball, and Apple Pie. Or maybe he gets more specific – he gives you his Republican riffs about smaller government, lower taxes, and Reaganesque optimism. This is closer, but you really wanted to know whether he thought the payoff of a certain environmental protection ordinance was worth the economic costs of implementation – and you leave the speech disappointed. You assume that surely he must address this pressing issue, so you buy his book, search his website, scour his public statements. No, nothing there. Move along.

Now settle down – no, I’m not comparing theologians to politicians. I’m comparing the imaginary wonk’s experience to my disappointment after sitting down with some expensive new book by a theologian to see what he says about, say, the Trinity.

As more people learn to think about theology in ways disciplined by analytic philosophy, theology which ignores it will be less relevant. If you’re going into theology, my advice is to get a BA and/or an MA in philosophy in a solid, analytic or mostly analytic department which employs at least one specialist in philosophy of religion, and at least one specialist in the history of philosophy and at least one in contemporary metaphysics. Get some good advice on departments, or if you can’t do that – read their stuff, and see if it is serious, helpful, and comprehensible (vs. trivial, obscure, jargon-ridden. Unless you do this at a religious school, the department will be 50-80% atheists and agnostics, but don’t worry, you’ll probably learn a lot from them. A portion, maybe 50% of such will actually be very interested in arguments about God, evil, divine providence, human nature, free will – things you care about. Such a degree will teach you to navigate the vast and challenging literature of philosophy, and will enable to recognize well crafted arguments. It will give you some skills it would be fairly hard to get by just reading some books on the side.

I do buy and profit from theological books which ignore analytic theology. But on many topics, like the Trinity and Incarnation, time, divine providence, certain divine attributes, free will, I go in knowing that they’ll be too unclear to be helpful – in delineating their preferred theory, in taking on the best objections to it, and in arguing for their preferred theory. Their statements will suggest more than one incompatible precise theory – some theory fairly well worked out, usually,  by someone trained in philosophy (though their terminal degree may be in another field).

Enough of that – time to lighten up with another post by Paul.  PS – Yes, in a recent podcast, Craig recounted rebutting Muslims’ objections to the coherence of the Incarnation by citing Avatar. But that’s another post for another time. And it would require my finding one heck of a weird picture.

A sample:

Not only is philosophy shunned as speculative and troublesome, many Reformed… disparage some of the tools those in this discipline specialize in utilizing. Logic and analytical rigor are shunned and not trusted. …Theologians and philosophers each do their own thing, neither mining the work of the other. Theologians find the philosophers speculative and often unorthodox. Philosophers find the theologians unclear, dogmatic (in a negative sense), and holding to beliefs based on faulty reasoning and supported by poor argumentation. This state of affairs is odd considering how many theologians of the past made use of continental philosophy.

Past and present, I would say. Check out the whole post. It’s mildly depressing, but to be expected – humans, and academics, are territorial creatures. If only Bugs could mediate this feud – we could all “bow to the gent across the hall”.

Forthcoming in Faith and Philosophy: my review of

Which Trinity? Whose Monotheism? Philosophical and Systematic Theologians on the Metaphysics of Trinitarian Theology, by Thomas McCall.

Thanks to Tom for his feedback on my first draft of this, which saved me from several errors.

This is a unique, stimulating and yet unsatisfying book which should be widely read. The answers to the questions in the title, respectively: (1) either a “social” or a constitution theory, (2) Richard Bauckham’s. McCall is a theologian well versed in analytic philosophy. This book attempts, with some success, to bridge the cultural, intellectual, and institutional divides between Christian philosophers and theologians. McCall notes that the book “will at points be less than satisfying to partisans in both camps.” (8)

In chapter 1, he nicely summarizes much recent positive work on Trinity theories by Christian philosophers, as well as some anti-“social”-theory arguments. In the next two chapters he sets out to correct the oversights and misunderstandings of various of these philosophers by endorsing Richard Bauckham’s thesis that the earliest Christians “understood [Jesus] to be included in the identity of the one God” (57). New Testament era Judaism was “strictly monotheistic”, and yet Christians properly worshiped Jesus. In my view McCall is too confident that the New Testament supports all these claims. His treatment of the source material (56-72) is perfunctory, and will be unsatisfying to those familiar with competing interpretations. The last part of chapter 2 gives helpful expositions of what ancient Arianism and modalism really amounted to (as contrasted with the ways some philosophers have thrown around those heresy-terms).

In chapter 3 McCall rejects the apparent modalism of Barth and Rahner (87-9), and returns to the theories of chapter 1. Utilizing the fruits of chapter 2, McCall rebuts Leftow’s charge that a “social” theory is “Arianism”. (95-8) McCall admits that it is unclear how well this “social” approach coheres with the Western tradition, especially the “Athanasian” creed and theories of divine simplicity. (98-103) He rejects relative identity theories because in his view they don’t get us far enough from modalism and metaphysical antirealism, while he dubs the Rea and Brower “constitution” theory “promising” (109); in his view it faces no theological problems, but a few philosophical ones. He rejects Leftow’s “Latin” theory on the grounds of unclarity, misfit with the Bible, and that it likely can’t avoid modalism. (111-21) In chapter 3 and later in the book, McCall defends what most would call a “social” theory; we’ll return below to this positive thrust.

Chapter 4 sympathetically critiques theologian Robert Jenson’s Trinity theory, founded on this non sequitur (in Jenson’s words): “…since the biblical God can truly be identified by narrative, his hypostatic being, his self-identity, is constituted in dramatic coherence.” (132) Thus, “the one God is an event; history occurs not only in him but as his being” and “God is the event of the world’s transformation by Jesus’ love…” (ibid.) McCall points out what is plausibly a confusion about identity underlying Jenson’s project. (132-55) Jensonians will want to take a close look at McCall’s friendly suggestions for amending the theory.

Chapter 5 sympathetically critiques the theological font of much recent social-trinity theorizing, Jurgen Moltmann. McCall convincingly argues that Moltmann’s doctrine of “perichoresis” (applied by him both to intra-Trinity relations, and to God-world relations) “either does ‘not enough’ or does ‘too much’ (157) – that is, it doesn’t do enough to show how the three divine persons amount to one god, and it amounts to a God-world relation that is too close. To help, McCall urges that there are two kinds of perichoresis – one for inter-Trinity relations, and the other for God-cosmos relations, which he defines. (170, 172) This reader was unable to see how these constitute two species under any shared genus.

Chapter 6 enters the recent debate among evangelical theologians concerning whether or not the Son is eternally “subordinate to” the Father. This thesis, he argues, is either trivial or inconsistent with the creedal claim that the two are homoousios. (175-80) Further, proponents like Grudem and Ware on unclear about which version they really want to defend. (188). In the end McCall pleads that this issue be held separate from debates about the proper roles of women in church life.

Chapter 7 discusses Orthodox theologian John Zizioulas’s claims that “nothing in existence is conceivable in itself… since even God exists thanks to an event of communion” (190), “there is no true being without communion” (191), and “love … is constitutive of his [God’s] substance”. (192) McCall discusses these startling claims under the banner “Being as Communion”. They seem to entail that it is metaphysically impossible that there be only one thing, and that it is impossible for there to be a self not in a personal relationship with at least one other self. McCall might have demanded arguments to back these claims up, discussing prima facie counterexamples (respectively: God, a lifelong human hermit atheist – say, Christopher Hitchens raised by wolves).

McCall too is entranced by this picture of God as fundamentally an eternal, perfect, three-way friendship. Thus he accepts “Being as Communion” but argues that it is in conflict with another thesis to which Zizioulas is committed, what McCall dubs the “Sovereignty-Aseity Conviction”. This is the claim that God and only God exists a se – independently, or solely through himself, everything else depending on him. In Zizioulas’s view, only God – that is, the Father – exists a se, and he is radically free – not only creation, but even the existence of the Son and Spirit depend on his free choice. Thus, the Trinity exists contingently, and dependently on the Father. (193, 196)

McCall argues that this ascription of aseity only to the Father amounts to an objectionable subordinationism. In his view, “Traditional affirmations of subordination have revolved around the ‘function’ of the Son.” (198) He argues that Zizioulas should keep the “Being as Communion” thesis, as it is “central to the teaching of Scripture and the Christian tradition.” (205) But he should ascribe aseity not to the Father alone, but rather to the Trinity, holding it to be implied by the property divinity. (207) Further, the notion of aseity should be clarified – we should re-define it to mean a lack of dependence on anything which is not divine. (209) Thus, both the Trinity and each of the Persons exist a se. But, preserving the “Being as Communion” theme, each person depends for his existence on the other two – existing as a person only because of their relation to another.

What happened to the patristic “generation” and “procession” claims, which seem to entail that the Son and Spirit both exist because of the Father? McCall’s response is to redefine the sentence “the Father eternally generates the Son”:

…eternal generation refers us to (a) the incompleteness of the persons as individuals and (b) their complete and irreducible uniqueness in relation to the other persons. Seen this way, the doctrine of eternal generation emphasizes that to be a person – even a divine person – is to be incomplete “alone” or in oneself. (212-3)

Chapter 8 is McCall’s manifesto for trinitarian theology, some “theses for scholastic disputation”. (219) I’ll highlight just a few. We should think critically about alleged social and political implications of trinitarian doctrine. (225-7) Appeals to mystery can’t atone for doctrines which are “obviously inconsistent” (228); Trinity doctrines must be “coherent (or at least not obviously incoherent)” (229) as well as biblically and creedally kosher. But theologians “need not undertake to show how God is three and one. Indeed, to attempt to do so reeks of hubris.” (232) This seems inconsistent with his friendliness towards any attempt to construct a coherent metaphysical model of the Trinity. Doesn’t a response to the threeness-oneness problem entail an answer to the “how” question?

Another important assertion is that “Christian theological commitments should receive priority… if our intuitions about “theism” and “monotheism” conflict with the central elements of Trinitarian doctrine, then so much the worse for our intuitions about such things!” (233) It is hard to argue that if something is known to be divine revelation, it may be reasonably believed even if it conflicts with our prior commitments. But exactly what are these central elements?

McCall nowhere explicitly advances his preferred Trinity theory. But the outlines are clear enough. “The” Trinity theory, for McCall, involves three distinct “centers of consciousness and will” (12, 87-9, 236) – what I would call so many selves – capable of personal relationships with one another. Their status is absolutely (ontologically) equal, and each depends for his existence as a self on the others. These, in some sense are the one, triune God. This “God” is not a self, though it is “truly personal” (93-4), and so it has personal properties – or at least, it has parts which do. (Misleadingly, but following other recent social theorists, McCall refers to it throughout using personal pronouns.) But are not three equally divine selves three gods? No, for it is only Bauckham’s idea (which McCall agrees is also the first century Jewish idea) of monotheism which is relevant and Bauckham thinks it (this special New Testament era ‘monotheism’, the content of which is never spelled out) is consistent with trinitarian developments (233-6), we assume, even “social” ones.

Here most philosophers will balk; Bauckham’s claim cries out for clarification. Is not Jesus portrayed in the New Testament as someone other than God, someone who prays to and depends on God, who does God’s bidding? On the other hand, isn’t Jesus supposed to be “God incarnate”, God himself, in human form? Is God who Jesus is? Bauckham often writes as if God and Jesus are the same self. And yet, Jesus is in his words “included in the identity” of God, which suggests that they are not. He sometimes suggests that the Father is also so included. Through this cloudy lens, McCall would have us view the New Testament witness about God and Christ. But this claim, no less than speculative flights about perichoresis, is in need of careful analysis and evaluation. McCall himself, not holding God to be a self, won’t say that God and Jesus are the same self. In what sense, then, is Jesus “in God’s identity”?

McCall makes some excellent points about monotheism and the Trinity. It won’t imply monotheism, he says, to say merely that there’s one generic divine essence, that there’s only one divine “family”, that there’s only one font of divinity (the Father), or that the Three are united by a mysterious relation of “periochoresis”. (241-2) Amen to all that.

My biggest criticism of the book is its friendliness towards theoretical solutions which crucially depend on bold, arguably ad hoc redefinitions. Yet it is clearly written, sober, insightful, and rich with argument. As intended, it gives theologians and philosophers some important things to argue about together.

Philip Clayton

He publishes a ton, and much of his work is in the science and religion genre. Unlike many authors in that genre, Clayton isn’t a scientist – his training is in theology, religious studies, and philosophy.

He’s also a co-founder of this Big Tent Christianity project, which aims in his words “to foster a radically different understanding of the heart of Christian faith” – different, that is, from the theologically and culturally conservative and liberal camps.

But our question is: Is God a self? What saith Clayton? Check out his interview (blue button), and then click here for my take ->

Oh boy, that was a very professorial answer. I’ll try to unpack it some. Clayton undertakes to answer the question “as a metaphysician”, or from the perspective of “the philosopher of today” – as if the question were, can we know by reason alone that God is a self. (That’s a different question.)

Anyhow, in Clayton’s view the up-to-date philosopher should be very concerned about anthropomorphism - in other words, thinking about the Ultimate as too much like a human being. Clayton-as-metaphysician believes in a “ground” of the cosmos – I take it, a something-or-other which is more fundamental than the physical universe, and which explains it, or at least is in some sense or other the source of it.

But is there reason to think it a self? Well, says Clayton, “the metaphysician of today” starts with the view that the “ground” is impersonal – so he says the burden is on him (Clayton), who thinks that the ground is something like a self.

(I wonder if he means something like a self, or if he means something like a human self. The latter could be unequivocally a self. But not the former. Do you see the difference? It’s a big difference.)

Anyhow, why is the burden on the fellow who wants to think the ground isn’t totally impersonal? This part I need to explain.

So, many physicists and cosmologists have noted that there are numerous basic physical constants in the world, such that if any one of them were tweaked ever so slightly, biological life as we know it would be impossible – the cosmos would be too chaotic, too uniform, and so on. The cosmos, they say, look as if it has been “finely tuned” so as to make the evolution of life possible. But has it been?

Theists say yes – the best explanation, we say, is that there’s (at least) one provident self, who exists independently of the cosmos, who intended that the cosmos should contain biological life, and to that end, tweaked all these factors just right. This seems to blow out of the water the “explanation” that those factors just happen to be that way, or the dodge that if they weren’t, we wouldn’t be here wondering about them.

But here’s where it gets weird. There’s another explanation of that apparent fine tuning. Suppose there were some sort of random universe generator which spit out a huge number of cosmoi, each with these constants we referred to randomly tweaked in different ways. Most of these would be lifeless of course. But if there were enough of them, there would be some which were life-friendly. And this could be one of them.

It’s important to understand that this would explain the apparent fine-tuning. The question is, is it the best explanation? I agree with certain Christian philosophers – Stephen T. Davis, and Richard Swinburne come to mind, and especially Robin Collins who is coming out with a big book on this – that the theistic explanation is way better than the “multiverse” one. This, for many reasons. But just consider simplicity alone – one super self vs. an infinity or near-infinity of whole cosmoi plus some nearly inconceivable cosmos-generator thingee.

I take it that Clayton disagrees. Perhaps someone in the comments could point out in which book or article he goes into this. I’m not sure if he thinks the multiverse explanation is just better, so that the “ground” must also be this multi-cosmos-generator, or if he thinks that reason can’t decide between the theistic and multiverse explanations… I assume the former.

In any case, Clayton wants to say that the “ground” we must posit is “mind-like”, by which he means that it has (1) intentionality, (2) awareness, (3) rationality.

“I have omitted any moral dimension,” he says. It is a minimalist claim, no more than is needed to explain the multiverse. Again, this is Clayton speaking as philosopher.

He says that we should acknowledge Buddhist and Hindu theories on which the “ground” has both personal and impersonal characteristics. Really? Why? And, is this eastern insight understood as contradictory, or not?

I think, then, that Clayton’s answer is: yes. If by “God” we mean this “ground” of the multiverse, then we should think it is a self – we just can’t say, from science or metaphysics, whether this self is a good one or not. Then again… does this “ground” perform intentional actions - does it do things for reasons? If not, I’d say it isn’t a self, though it may be a mind… If and not, I think it wouldn’t be capable of entering into a personal relationship with anyone – and I assume that a capacity for that is implied by full-blown selfhood. So actually: I’m not sure.

Now I’m curious what Clayton-the-Christian-theologian’s answer is. If by “God” we mean the Bible’s one God, the God of Abraham and Paul and Jesus – is that being a self? If so, can he be the aforementioned ground? And does this fit with the Bible’s claim that people can know this cosmos to have been designed? Would a multiverse-generator count as a designer of this universe? Does the Bible not assert God to be an agent?

Kudos to theologian James Anderson (blog) for significant correspondence – he’s intellectually honest, smart, tough-minded, and humble – a pleasure to discuss things with. Thanks also to my colleagues for enduring multiple drafts and re-writes.

In this paper, my main task is evaluating the mysterianism of James’s book. My view may be more nuanced that some would guess, based on my earlier work. I concede that in principle it can be reasonable to believe an apparent contradiction. I’m not optimistic about the actual prospects of having such beliefs, though.

It seems that James and I mostly disagree about the Bible, not about epistemology – he strongly endorsing, and me eschewing apparently contradictory interpretations of it regarding God and Christ.

The paper, especially the first part, has a lot to do with this long series here at trinities, though it is more focused.

I hope it’ll be a book chapter some day.

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.

I was duped. If you are honest with yourself, you will admit that you were too. Duped in what way? Duped into believing that the writers knew what they were doing. Duped into thinking that they were less confused than we were. …Although every viewer was completely confused for six years, this did not matter. The confusion only added to the intrigue. We all trusted that the series finale would give us all the answers. We trusted that they knew what they were doing. …Escalation after escalation only handed us more hope. Confusion became our friend as we would discuss so many questions…

We were all lost and we loved it.

We worked under the valid assumption that all of these questions had answers. Of course, this does not mean that we will like the answers, but it was the risk we were willing to take. …We just wanted answers. That is why we watched the show. And we were trusting enough to wait six years to be satisfied.

But such was not the case. At the conclusion of last night’s episode the horrible reality surfaced. That which we all fear in places we don’t like to go became a reality: The writers did not know the answers either.

Oh, and don’t you try to spin this. Don’t you dare. …The arc we thought was there was an illusion. This series took a risk. It was only as good as the resolution and there was none. The writers did not know what they were doing. Hence concluded the greatest hoax in American television history. Hence the realization that the writers of LOST were just as lost as all of us. (emphases added)

By all means, read the whole thing (and the torrent of comments).

Beyond its eloquence, I enjoyed this for three reasons. First, I’ve been observing this disease in my wife, a Lostee. (Luckily, she wasn’t in for a whole six years, thanks to Netflix.) Already heard her version of the rant. Second, I get to gloat, as I steered clear of this series (sounded like too much work). Third, this rant bears remarkable similarities to rants I’ve indulged in after buying and trying to read an over-priced, poorly written book by a much vaunted theologian who is supposed to be an expert on the Trinity. Those rants sometimes involve some mild form of book abuse. Hopefully, Patton didn’t kick his TV, or attempt to throw it.

Worst job in heaven: being a foot-cherub!

I love study Bibles; at last count, I owned about eight of them. Of them all, the biggest, and most beautifully laid out, is the massive ESV Study Bible. It has wonderful maps and charts, and voluminous notes.

They do, though, have a very noticeable theological bias – really, it should be called the [American] Evangelical Study Bible. I heard a recorded lecture by General Editor Wayne Grudem, and he made it clear that, for example, a concern to save the doctrine of biblical inerrancy influenced some of the translations. In general, the translation itself is basically an update of the RSV. If you want to know how American evangelical theologians read any part of the Bible, the notes, articles, and translations here are  your handy guides – for better and worse.

Here’s some of the worse: to my surprise, the confused realm of Social Trinitarian speculation has invaded an appendix called “Biblical Doctrine an Overview”, in the “Trinity” section. In the four point summary of “the” doctrine of the Trinity, it is conveniently vague as to whether the one divine nature is a universal or a particular. (The former would fit better with ST, although their following entry on Christ makes it sound like his divine nature is a particular.)

But the part which really surprised me is this:

3. Because God is triune, he has eternally been personal and relational in his own being, in full independence from his creation. God has never had any unmet needs, “nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself give to all mankind life and breath and everything (Acts 17:25). Personhood becomes real only within realized relationships, and the reality of relationship can only exist where one has something or someone that is not oneself to relate to; if, then, God had not been plural in himself he could not have been a personal, relational God till he had begun creating, and thus would have been dependent on creation for his own personhood, which is a notion as nonsensical as it is unscriptural. Between the persons of the Trinity, there has always existed total relational harmony and expression; God is, from this standpoint, a perfect society in himself. Apart from the plurality of the Trinity, either God’s eternal independence of the created order or his eternally relational personal existence would have to be denied.

4. The Trinity provides the ultimate model for relationships within the body of Christ and marriage. …

Biblical Christianity stands or falls with the doctrine of the Trinity. (p. 2515b, emphases added)

You’ve got to love that last rhetorical spasm (Everything, I say, depends on this! Either agree with me on this, or you got nothin‘.) You also have to love the careful weaseling about whether God is literally a group – “from this standpoint”. We won’t ask whether God, being a “him”, is a fourth divine person, in addition to the three others which (somehow) compose him. The point urged here, is that God couldn’t possibly be (identical to) a person; rather, he (“he”?) must contain at least one person and someone (“something”??) else for that person to relate to.

We’ve debunked this sort of reasoning before here on trinities, here. The above does nothing whatever to show that either of these scenarios are impossible: a single divine person existed alone in a timeless state “before” creation, or such a person existed for a million years alone but in time (literally) before creation. Yet, this is what the argument is, lamely, trying to do. No reason has been given to accept the implausible premise that “Personhood becomes real only within realized relationships”. This is not obviously true, and further, it positively seems possible that there just be a single self / person in the cosmos, just thinking, e.g. “I’m all that’s here”.

The author is just repeating a common, yet bad, piece of reasoning – it seem to not occur to him or her that this implausible premise even needs to be argued for. Most disturbingly, this is being foisted on the layman as part and parcel of “Biblical Christianity”, in what is a sort of reference source – where speculation would seem out of place.

Things like this somewhat temper my love of study Bibles…

Historically, this usage puzzles me. You never see this usage in ancient, medieval, or early modern material.In fact, I’m not sure I’ve seen it in anything before 1980 – anyone out there have a counterexample?

Here’s what our friend the Oxford English Dictionary says about “godhead”:

1. The character or quality of being God or a god; divine nature or essence; deity.

b. As a title: Divine personality. Obs.

2. a. the Godhead: the Supreme Being; the Deity; = GOD n. 5. (Also rarely without article.)

b. A deity or divinity. = GOD n. 1. Now rare.   (Oxford English Dictionary online, “godhead”)

Basically, the OED acknowledges two usages of “godhead’ – (1) that which makes God divine – his quality of divinity, and (2) God. (2) is a natural extension of (1) – it’s a case of using a word for a part/aspect/component of the thing to stand for the whole thing – here, God. Note: the OED is out of date; it lacks the usage I noted at the start of this post. The new usage implies a divine community; the old (2) doesn’t – it is like referring to God using a sort of euphemistic title such as “Providence” or “Heaven”. Note that a “Godhead” in the recent usage is never a “him” but always a “they” or an “it” – this is the whole point of the new usage.

My hypothesis is this:

• Since the 1970′s (?) it has become popular, in theological circles, to think of God as irreducibly a group of selves.
• When thinking this way, the word “God” now becomes not the name of a concrete individual, but rather of a collection or group of individuals – which is itself not a concrete individual.
• Problem: “God” clearly names a self, hence a concrete individual in the Bible – in the NT, nearly always the Father, a few times the Son. (Some want to say that it refers to the Trinity, but considered as a concrete entity in its own right.)
• So, we need a new word to refer to the Three together.
• We don’t know what the outdated “godhead” means, so we’ll use that. Thus, the new, “social trinitarian” usage of the word “godhead”.

Is that what happened? What started this new usage?

Clearly, the instructor's work has been accomplished.

What I call positive mysterianism about the Trinity is the view that the doctrine, as best we can formulate it, is apparently contradictory.  Now many Christian philosophers resort to this in the end, but only after one or more elaborate attempts to spell the doctrine out in a coherent way. On the other hand, some jump more quickly for the claim, not really expanding on or interpreting the standard creedal formulas much at all. These are primarily who I have in mind when I use the label “positive mysterian”.

I ran across a striking version of this recently, in a blog post by theologian C. Michael Patton, who blogs at Parchment and Pen: a theology blog. In his interesting post, he says that all the typical analogies for the Trinity (shamrock, egg, water-ice-vapor, etc.) are useful only for showing what the Trinity doctrine is not.

This contrasts interestingly with what I call negative mysterians. Typically, and this holds for many of the Fathers, as well as for people like Brower and Rea nowadays, they hold that all these analogies are useful, at least when you pile together enough of them, for showing what the doctrine is. Individually, they are highly misleading, and only barely appropriate, but they seem to think that multiplying analogies like these results in our  achieving a minimal grasp of what is being claimed. Maybe they think the seeming inconsistency of the analogies sort of cancels out the misleading implications of each one considered alone.

In any case, in Patten’s view, the best you can do is to recite the creedal formulas, realize that they are seemingly contradictory (interestingly, he never says how), and then just live with the discomfort. I’m not sure that I understand what he thinks the doctrine is, but if  I had to guess, I’d guess it is the (plainly contradictory and so plainly false) claim that each of the three is numerically identical to God, but none of them is numerically identical to either of the other two.

It struck me that it takes a lot of chutzpah to urge people to believe something like this; shouldn’t the apparent inconsistency make us at least a little afraid that we’re just foisting a theoretical failure on people, so that we don’t tell them that for any coherent version of the doctrine they might ever come up with, it’s wrong? Moreover confusion hurts (mentally), and can and does lead people to abandon Christian belief. Are we then sure it is necessary, and that we want to foster it in people?

I guess he’s just really, really (1) sure that the Bible is inspired, and (2) sure that the Bible really says what I guess above – or whatever apparent contradictions he’d commit to. I understand this view completely, but in the end I don’t think it is reasonable, specifically, the (2) part. (This needs arguing for, but I’ll save that for the book.) Of course, if (2) were reasonable, this would constitute prima facie evidence against (1)!

Here are the remarks that so struck me, which conclude Patton’s post:

It is always best to remember that the Father is God, the Holy Spirit is God, and the Son is God, but they are not each other.

One more thing. I often tell my students that if they say, “I get it!” or “Now I understand!” that they are more than likely celebrating the fact that they are a heretic! When you understand the biblical principles and let the tensions remain without rebuttal, then you are orthodox. When you solve the tension, you have most certainly entered into one of the errors that we seek to avoid.

Confused? Good! That is just where you need to be.

Apparently, analogy-eschewing is popular at Dallas Theological Seminary. Patton’s colleague Dr. Michael J. Svigel, expert on early church history, makes the same claim. He quotes Irenaues insisting that no one but the Father and Son understand the latter’s eternal generation by the former. Of course, Irenaeus was an enthusiastic user of analogies for the Trinity. It sounds to me like Svigel is, like the Fathers he specializes in, more a negative than a positive mysterian (one can be both).

I don’t know about you, but I like the fact that Christians believe in a God who is utterly indescribable, incomprehensible, and unillustratable. Think about it: would you really want to worship and serve a God whose very essence can be accurately described by an egg, a pretzel, or a tube of toothpaste?

What catches my attention there is the “utterly”. Really? Slap me and call me an unsophisticated rube, but I thought the Bible was full of correct descriptions of God, even of some of his essential features. (e.g. knowing all) If I had to guess, I’d say that this is hyperbolic rhetoric on his part – that he doesn’t really think that God is utterly indescribable by human beings. I could be wrong, though.

In any even, in contrast to those early Fathers, Svigel ends his post by disavowing the use of analogies, in much the same way as Patton.

Let’s teach the doctrine of the Trinity accurately. That means dropping all illustrations of the Trinity from your teaching, because every illustration only distorts the unillustratable God.

This is interesting; a hard-core catholic traditionalist could accuse both of departing from the tradition, which has long used various analogies, with the standard caveat that one should take care not to be mislead by any one of them, and taking care to multiply and diversify them. (I don’t make this accusation myself; I’m just interested in how these mysterian defenses are supposed to work.)

1. If one person loves another and only he loves only her, there is love but not shared love.
2. If two mutually love only each other (if the affection of each goes out to the other), again there is love but not shared love.
3. Shared love exists only if a third person is loved by two persons jointly:

“Shared love is properly said to exist when a third person is loved by two persons harmoniously and in community, and the affection of the two persons is fused into one affection by the flame of love for the third.” (Richard of St. Victor, On the Trinity, p.392)

(This is as close as we ever get to a characterization of shared love.)

So, in divinity, if there is shared love, there are at least three persons. So supreme shared love requires at least three divine persons. Supreme shared love is of a kind that no creature could merit it or be worthy of it from its divine creator.

Next (B) consider further the nature of shared loved as a virtue:

1. Supreme benevolence is supremely great. Supreme harmony is also supremely great. Each such virtue is of great value.
2. Any virtue that results from the combination of each such virtue is also supremely great.
3. But supreme shared love results from the combination of supreme benevolence and harmony. Such a virtue can’t be lacking in what is perfectly good. And supreme shared love can’t exist without at least three persons.

Therefore, in divinity, if there is at least one person, there are at least three persons.

There’s a lot here. Much of it we have in effect already seen. I want to make only one comment about (A1). This doesn’t exactly say what Richard wants to say here. If one person loves another and only the first loves the second, then no one else loves the second. And if, in addition, the first loves only the second, then the first loves no one else. But it’s clear that Richard wants an example of unrequited love to contrast with his second example of mutual love between two persons alone.

For what it’s worth, I think there’s something deeply insightful here about the value of shared love. And even if we don’t think something like the following. The fact that any perfect being is essentially perfectly good is a reason to think that it must be that if there is some perfect being, then there is also another perfect being or even just some created being. Even if we don’t think this, so I say, perhaps we can agree that if there were three divine persons, there would be a distinctive kind of goodness in the world because of the existence of supreme shared love, one which wouldn’t exist if there were only two divine persons or even only one. If so, that is something for a Christian to recognize and celebrate.

That’s it for me on this series. Next up is Dale, who will bring us home: blogging on chs.20-25.

It might seem that supreme goodness can exist where one person supremely loves and receives nothing in return from the other person for full happiness. But in fact such supreme goodness can’t even exist where only two persons mutually love each other. Suppose that, in divinity, there are only two persons. Then each gives and receives love, and each gives and receives the pleasure that such love brings. If each is alone, neither receives such love nor such pleasure. So supreme generosity requires three persons. If, in divinity, there are only two, neither shares such pleasure. But each divine person, being perfect, is supremely generous. Therefore, supreme goodness requires that if there are at least two divine persons, there are at least three persons.

Note that the first sentence seems out of place and does no work here. Really the argument here only begins with the third sentence. The only new thing here is the mention of supreme generosity. Supreme generosity requires that each of two divine persons have a third divine person with whom to share love and the pleausre such love brings. Not so to share would be less than supremely generous. But I don’t see that we really have a new argument here for at least three divine persons (if God exists). So that’s ch.18. Next up will be ch.19, which will be my final post for the series.

Supreme happiness requires that if there is at least one divine person, there are at least two divine persons. Suppose, in divinity, there is only one person. Then (1) this person gives supreme love to no one and receives supreme love from no one. (2) Such a person lacks the pleasure of love that one draws from another. (3) But nothing is better than such pleasure. So such a person, who lacks such supreme pleasure, isn’t supremely happy. (4) But any divine person, being perfect, is supremely happy. Therefore, supreme happiness requires that if there is at least one divine person, there are at least two divine persons.

A few comments:

Re (1): This assumes again that with a divine person supreme love is only between divine persons, who are equally perfect.

Re (2): This assumes again that the pleasure of love requires love.

Re (3) and (4): I wonder what exactly Richard means by happiness. My guess is that he means something like Aristotle’s eudamonia where someone is happy only if overall they are a success in life. Richard seems to think that supreme happiness includes supreme pleasure so that someone who has supreme happiness couldn’t have more pleasure. Is that right? I believe that God has pleasure: just because many of his desires are satisfied. But I’m also inclined to think that God suffers, not in the sense that he is affected by things contrary to his will. But rather God suffers in the sense that some of his desires are frustrated, e.g. because we freely do things or things occur as a result of such, that God desires we didn’t do or that didn’t occur. Now just because God suffers doesn’t mean he doesn’t have supreme pleasure. But I can’t help wondering whether if things had gone differently with some of our choices and their results, God might have had more pleausure than he actually does. But I’m also pretty sure that Richard needn’t base the claim that God has the pleasure love brings on the claim that God has supreme pleasure. Couldn’t he get that from the claims that God is supremely good and that the pleasure love brings is a supreme good that God needn’t forego for some contrary good that is equally good?

That’s it. After this, ch.18. Notice again we are building our way up to three divine persons. In ch.16 we had an argument about one divine person. In ch.17 we have an argument for at least two divine persons (if God exists). And in chs.18-19 we will have an argument for at least three divine persons (if God exists).

1. Full wisdom and power can exist in only one person. If, per impossibile, there is only one divine person, he can still have fullness of wisdom and power.
2. The pleasures of wisdom and love differ. The pleasure of wisdom can be drawn from oneself. The pleasure of love must be drawn from another. Anyone who loves and desires to be so loved but doesn’t receive such love is displeased. But the pleasure of wisdom is even better when one derives it from oneself.
3. If, in divinity, there is only one person, such a person can have full wisdom. Full wisdom and full power can’t exist without each other. For suppose someone lacks omnipotence. If she doesn’t know how to obtain what she so lacks, then she lacks full wisdom. And anyone who unwillingly suffers some defect of wisdom lacks full power.  Therefore, if, in divinity, there is only one person, such a person can also have full power.

Re 1: I like the implicit distinction here between what is a real and only a conceptual possibility. There can’t really be only one divine person. For, as Richard is trying to demonstrate, there must be at least three divine persons. But the concepts of full wisdom and power don’t conceptually imply the concept of more than one divine person.

Re 2: Wisdom brings pleasure. If you desire wisdom and you have it and believe you have it, then you have the pleasure wisdom brings. And love also brings pleasure. If you desire love and you have it and believe you have it, then you have the pleasure love brings. That’s what you might think Richard would say. But he doesn’t say this exactly. Rather he says this. When you have the pleasure of wisdom, the object of your pleasure is not wisdom but rather yourself under the aspect of being wise. And when you have the pleasure of love, the object of your pleasure is not love but rather your beloved under the aspect of loving you. I like the implicit claim here that there is a kind of pleasure that is factive. If you have a certain kind of pleasure of wisdom, you must exist and be wise in order for you to have such pleasure. Anyone who had an intrinsically identical pleasure-state but was not wise would lack this kind of pleasure. And if you have a certain kind of pleasure of love, your beloved must exist and love you in order for you to have such pleasure. And anyone who had an intrinsically identical pleasure-state but had no beloved or had a beloved who did not love her would lack this kind of pleasure.

Re 3: This is a very interesting section. Do full wisdom and power imply each other? Does full wisdom imply full power? Richard seems to include in full wisdom knowing how to obtain what you lack. Let’s grant this. But Richard seems to assume, without argument, that if one lacks full power that can only be because one doesn’t know how to obtain it. On this assumption, it can’t be that one knows how to obtain full power but doesn’t choose to obtain it or even chooses not to obtain it. That’s not obvious. Does full power imply full wisdom? Again, Richard seems to assume, without argument, that anyone who suffers anything unwillingly lacks full power. Or to put it the other way around: anyone who has full power doesn’t suffer anything unwillingly. Arguably, full power includes irrestible will: so that it must be that what one wills is so. So, arguably, nothing is contrary to what one who has full power wills. But it’s consistent with this that something is so that one who has full power doesn’t will. One might have less than full wisdom, but not will that one have full wisdom. That’s just the kind of thing you’d expect if one really did suffer a defect of wisdom. After all, it’s not obvious that full power implies willing everything that is so. So it still might be that one who has full power suffers something unwillingly, not in the sense that it happens contrary to what he wills, but in the absence of any willing on his part concerning the matter.

Well, that’s enough on ch.16. Next is ch.17.

1. With divine persons, the perfection of one requires another, and so the perfection of a pair requires union with a third. Each such person is perfectly benevolent and so shares his perfection with the other. But if each is perfectly benevolent, then each with equal desire and for a similar reason seeks a sharer of his joy. Why?
2. Well, if two such persons mutually supremely love each other, the love each has for the other includes supreme joy. If only the one is loved by the other, only the one has such joy. And if the second doesn’t have one who shares in love for a third (condilectus), the second lacks the sharing of joy. (We must wait until ch.19 for Richard to spell out more fully the idea of condilectus.) So that each may share such joy, each must share in love for a third.
3. So if those who mutually love each other have perfect benevolence and so they desire that each perfection they have is shared, then it must be that each with equal desire and for a similar reason has a third with whom to share love.

Re 1. This is our conclusion: if there are at least two, there are at least three divine persons.

Re 2. The basic idea is this. The Father and the Son are perfect and perfectly love each other. Naturally, they take perfect delight in such love. The Father enjoys the love the Son has for him and the joy this brings. And so does the Son: the Son enjoys the love the Father has for him and the joy this brings. So each, being perfectly good, wants to share such love with another. The Father wants to share the love the Son has for him and the joy this brings with another. And the Son wants to share the love the Father has for him and the joy this brings with another. So each seeks out a third (the Spirit), one who is also loved by the Son and one who is also loved by the Father and also takes delight in such. To evaluate Richard’s argument here, we must consider what the mark of perfection is here. If perfection involves sharing and a perfect being is loved by another perfect being, will the first also share the perfection of being loved by the second? Richard apparently coins the term ‘condilectus’. We will meet this term again in ch.19.

Re 3. This is a summary of points made already.

In ch.16, there will be a change of gear. There he will go back to the start and work his way up to the claim that if at least one, then there are at least three divine persons. In ch.16 he claims that supreme power and knowledge can exist in a single person. In ch.17 he claims that supreme happiness can’t exist in fewer than two persons. And then in chs.18 and 19 he claims that supreme goodness and shared love can’t exist in fewer than three persons.