Which Way Western Man? Curiosity, Or Studiousness?

Which Way Western Man? Curiosity, Or Studiousness?

by | May 17, 2023 | Philosophy, Practical Theology, Public Theology

It’s 7 pm. The sun quickly hastens, hiding behind the horizon. My family and I sit in a restaurant just a few miles from home. As I look around at other tables, I observe something ominous, something sobering: Very few people speak to one another. Knecks angled down, eyes overshadowed by hair or brow, most people stare at their phones.

Does this sound like a familiar situation?

Whether we’ve noticed it in ourselves or others, if you’re not living under a rock, chances are you’ve experienced something similar. Mindless scrolling. Cheap laughs. No interpersonal communication. It’s a sad state of affairs. And it would be even sadder if there weren’t an explanation. But there is an explanation. Ready for it?

Studiousness has been exchanged for curiosity. 

This has always been a problem in society, even prior to the modern age. But our technological achievements have unfortunately favored curiosity rather than studiousness with endless videos, audible reading, podcasts, news feeds, and so on. These things aren’t bad in and of themselves. And I’ll say something more about their proper use in a moment. But the vicious habit of curiosity is virtually the default mode of education today. And this is a major problem.

So, what do we do about it?

Before we answer this question, we have to first understand what curiosity is and how it differs from studiousness. We also have to understand something of the extent to which curiosity fails to yield the same fruits as studiousness.

“Curiosity Killed the Ca…” Man!

Curiosity is deadly. But why?

As Eve gazed upon the mysterious forbidden fruit, the Serpent worked his sales pitch. “Did God really tell you not to eat this?” he asked. (Gen. 3:1) He even went so far as to register a baldfaced lie in total contradiction to God’s own words. “You won’t die!” the Serpent added. Eve’s interest peaked. The Bible says the “woman saw that the tree was good for food, that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree desirable to make one wise…” (v. 6)

Whatever was involved in Eve’s decision-making process, curiosity was certainly at the forefront. But how? Isn’t curiosity harmless? Not quite. Thomas Aquinas gives an expansive fourfold definition of curiosity which just adds some additional descriptive power to what essentially took place in the Garden and continues to characterize our now-fallen situation. Thomas says that curiosity consists of a wrongly ordered desire to know the truth. And there are four marks he offers by way of description.

First, when someone decides to study something less profitable than that which they are more obliged to study. For example, I’m a pastor. I have an obligation to study and to show myself approved, and this is for the edification of the sheep. However, if I’m consumed by scrolling social media rather than fulfilling the work of the ministry, I am engaging in curiosity. On this point, Jerome wrote, “We see priests forsaking the gospels and the prophets, reading stage-plays, and singing the love songs of pastoral idylls.” (ST.II-II.Q167.A1.C.3)

Second, when man studies something which he is not supposed to know. For example, when man tries to discern the future or speak with the dead through a medium. Thomas calls this “superstitious curiosity.”

Third, when someone desires to know the truth about the world or anything in the world without referring all his knowledge to its proper end which is, ultimately, the knowledge of God. If the knowledge of created things does not bring a person to reflect upon God and His glory, then man engages in curiosity. Knowing something without doing so to God’s glory is, perhaps, the clearest expression of curiosity.

Fourth, when man tries to study that which lies beyond his own intellect, and so then engages in fruitless speculation, he is engaging in the sin of curiosity. In this case, the distinction made in Deuteronomy 29:29 is blurred, “The secret things belong to the LORD our God, but those things which are revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may do all the words of this law.”

In Eve’s case, all four kinds of curiosity are present. First, she desired to know something that was less profitable to her than what she had been created to do. Second, she was forbidden from eating the fruit, and so this was knowledge off-limits to her. Third, she obviously did not want to glorify God in such knowledge, but only to glorify herself. Hence, the Serpent’s enticement, “You shall be like God.” And fourth, she pursued knowledge that was beyond her capacities, that is, she wanted to do the impossible—become her own God. And this led only to folly.

Curiosity killed the man and with him the whole human race!

Studiousness Is Life-Giving

Proverbs 19:8 reads, “He who gets wisdom loves his own soul; He who keeps understanding will find good.” Studiousness and curiosity can look the same. Both involve the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom. However, what differentiates the two is the purpose for which knowledge and wisdom are sought.

On the one hand, curiosity induces one to vanity in (1) the study of something inferior to what one needs to study, (2) the study of something forbidden, (3) the study of the world for the world’s sake rather than God’s, or (4) the prideful study of that to which we cannot attain.

On the other hand, studiousness is a virtuous study of (1) the truth we need to know and are most obligated to know, (2) the truth commended for us to know by God, both through the natural world and Scripture, (3) study of truth unto a higher knowledge of God and divine wisdom, and (4) the humble study of that which we have the capacity to learn, i.e. not trying to study that which clearly lies beyond our grasp.

Curiosity leads to all sorts of dead ends. The truth may be apprehended, but it will never be known for the proper end nor appropriately applied by the understanding. Furthermore, curiosity often leads to a drought of knowledge altogether, since it sometimes attempts to know what is beyond the knower’s capacity. In this case, it’s vulnerable to imbibing falsehoods similar to those Eve entertained from the mouth of the Serpent.

Studiousness is the properly ordered pursuit of knowledge unto the glory of God. And it’s really studiousness that serves as the proper disposition according to which we might know and learn Christ. Curiosity lends itself to the apprehension of historical faith if that. But studiousness is the fruit of saving faith and is thus to be desired by all Christians.

Back to That Restaurant We Were at Earlier

Dropping all the above into our contemporary context…

As we look around at the zombified restaurantgoers obsessed with their phones, Would we say our society is mostly occupied with studiousness or with curiosity?

I’ll let you be the judge of that. But for my part, the speed of information, the perpetual immersion of society into its smart devices, along with a culture virtually identified with its social media status has me answering: Curiosity.

Don’t get me wrong, much of our technology has great potential to be used for the glory of God. Phones might be used to check up on loved ones. Social media can be used for the transmission of the gospel and for various forms of networking. There are countless ways in which we could transcend the many vulnerabilities of our technological age. But in order to do that, we have to be able to identify curiosity, avoid it, and instead employ our technology in a way that fruitfully serves a habit of studiousness.

Of the Human Nature of the Son

Of the Human Nature of the Son

by | Feb 6, 2023 | Christology, Philosophy

What does it mean to say, “Christ assumed human nature?” Sure, assumption comes into view, but what did Christ assume? The question of nature is an important one, for two major reasons. First, we’re a generally metaphysically illiterate generation. Substance, essence, and nature are all words we’ve heard and used, but are typically ignorant as to their significance. Second, “nature” is a central concept in at least three foundational Christian doctrines: the doctrine of God, the doctrine of creation, and the doctrine of Christ. To misunderstand and misappropriate the concept of nature is to risk serious errors (if not heresies) regarding each of these doctrines.

To get started, we might define nature as the “what” of a thing. When we ask, “What is an automobile?” we inquire into the nature of automobiles. When we ask, “What is man?” we ask the question of humanity or human nature. Bernard Wuellner offers the following definition relevant to our purposes here, that nature is “the essence or substance considered as the intrinsic principle of activity and passion or of motion and rest.”[1] Nature, in this case, explains why this thing is the way that it is and why it does what it does. The nature of an elephant distinguishes it from a giraffe, an alligator, and so on. Things differ in their natures. Things differ because of their natures.

Human Nature

When we speak of an elephantine nature, we speak of something different than a birdly nature. Why? Because the essential properties of an elephant distinguish it from birds. Elephants and birds have different properties that distinguish their species. When we speak of human nature, we speak of that which distinguishes man from beast. What is human nature as distinct from an elephantine nature? The essential properties differ. The essential property of man distinguishing him from all lower life forms is his intellectual soul. The intellectual soul, or the intellect and will of man, is what sets man apart as the highest of God’s creatures, second only to angels.

Concerning this intellectual or rational soul, Peter Van Mastricht lists three things it entails, “In the rational soul is intellect, will, and free choice.”[2] The intellect is the reason, in which we find self-awareness and the power of discursive reasoning, i.e. the ability to reason from one fact to another and to see things in relation to the whole. Van Mastricht refers to it as the power of “apprehending the true.” Judgment pertains to the intellect, affirming and denying propositions, suggestions, or actions as either true or false, either just or unjust.

The second faculty is the will. Animals also possess wills, but their wills are led along by what is called a sensitive appetite. They only will what is required to satisfy their sensitive appetite, and this results in survival. Man, on the other hand, has not only a sensitive appetite, but also a rational appetite, or the intellect, which the will should follow.

The will of man is to chiefly follow the intellect, according to knowledge. And this ought to result in holiness and righteousness. Hence, knowledge, holiness, and righteousness are the three virtues according to which man images God, “After God had made all other creatures, he created man, male and female, with reasonable and immortal souls, rendering them fit unto that life to God for which they were created; being made after the image of God, in knowledge, righteousness, and true holiness…” (2LBCF, 4.2)

Fallen Human Nature

Human nature, considered by itself, is good—having been created by God who is goodness. Upon the entrance of sin, however, that nature is said to be depraved, that is, the good of human nature has been corrupted, perverted, or twisted from its original constitution. In this corruption, both the intellect and will are darkened, or lack the light with which they were originally created. But this fallenness is by no means essential to man. In other words, this fallenness is not an essential property of humanity. It’s not part of the original human nature. Man can be conceived of without a sinful nature. Indeed, man’s first state did not include the fallen nature. And his final state will not include the fallen nature. Yet, he will nevertheless remain human.

When we say, then, that our Lord “assumed a human nature,” we mean to say that He assumed all that pertains essentially to humanity, with the obvious exception of sin. (Heb. 4:15) And this brings us to our final and central consideration—

The Human Nature of Christ

I quote the whole of 2LBCF 8.2—

The Son of God, the second person in the Holy Trinity, being very and eternal God, the brightness of the Father’s glory, of one substance and equal with him who made the world, who upholdeth and governeth all things he hath made, did, when the fullness of time was come, take upon him man’s nature, with all the essential properties and common infirmities thereof, yet without sin; being conceived by the Holy Spirit in the womb of the Virgin Mary, the Holy Spirit coming down upon her: and the power of the Most High overshadowing her; and so was made of a woman of the tribe of Judah, of the seed of Abraham and David according to the Scriptures; so that two whole, perfect, and distinct natures were inseparably joined together in one person, without conversion, composition, or confusion; which person is very God and very man, yet one Christ, the only mediator between God and man.

There are several observations we should make. First, the Son is a divine Person. He is essentially God. There is no real distinction between the Person of the Son and the divine essence. The Son is “very and eternal God…” This means the Son is “of one substance and equal with him who made the world…” Though the Son is distinct from the Father in His manner of subsistence, i.e. begottenness rather than unbegottenness. Yet, neither are distinct from the essence. For this reason Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are said to be consubstantial, that is, of a numerically single substance, one essence, or of the same nature.

All that may be said of God must be said of the Son. In fact, excepting only the peculiar properties which distinguish their manner of subsistence, all that may be said of the Father may be said of the Son and Spirit. Why? Because they are a single divine essence. Their what (nature or essence) is the same, though they are distinguished in view of the threefold way in which that one essence eternally subsists.

Second, the Son “when the fullness of time was come, [did] take upon him man’s nature…” This clause describes the notion of assumption. Dr. James Dolezal, in his paper ‘Neither Subtraction, Nor Addition: The Word’s Terminative Assumption of a Human Nature’, delineates three distinct types of assumption: divestive assumption, augmentative assumption, and terminative assumption. Divestive assumption entails kenotic theory, where it is said the Son divested Himself of His deity in the assumption of human nature. In other words, the Son loses something proper to His deity. Augmentative assumption would entail the addition of humanity to His deity. He added something He did not have before.

Regarding terminative assumption as the more adequate doctrine, Dolezal writes, “The principal claim is that the person of the Word terminates—in the sense of completing or perfecting—the assumed human nature by bringing it to his own subsistence and thereby supplying to it the personhood it requires for its existence.”[3]

This is not an essay on terminative assumption. However, I survey the concept only to say: The Son assumed the fullness of human nature, and He did so terminatively. He did not lose, suspend, or lay aside anything proper to His divine nature. Neither did He augment His deity by adding something to it. As technical as the above sounds, it is but the doctrine of immutability consistently applied in Christology.

Third, because our Lord did truly assume a human nature, He assumes with it all the essential properties of human nature. As the Confession states, “…with all the essential properties and common infirmities thereof, yet without sin…” This entails a human body, but it also entails a rational soul, with its intellect and will. In answer to Q. 25 of the Baptist Catechism, we read, “Christ the Son of God became man by taking to himself a true body (Heb. 2:14, 17; 10:5), and a reasonable soul (Mt. 26:38); being conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit in the womb of the Virgin Mary, and born of her (Luke 1:27, 31, 34, 35, 42; Gal. 4:4), yet without sin (Heb. 4:15; 7:26).”

The very God-ness and very man-ness of Christ is confused in many modern conceptions of Christology. Many Christians do not know how to speak of the hypostatic union in such a way that they preserve both natures—divine and human. The hypostatic union entails the following: All that may be said of God must be said of Christ, and all that may be said of man (except for sin) must also be said of Christ. If Christ is truly human, then He truly possesses a human body, a human soul with a human intellect and will. All of this He has in union with His undivested and unmanipulated deity. His deity remains the same, “without conversion, composition, or confusion…” to or with His humanity. So, the Person of Christ is both very God and very man—two perfect and complete natures united in the second Person of the Holy Trinity.

The doctrine of the hypostatic union prevents us from confusing the deity and humanity of Christ. We must remember that deity does not pray, eat, or suffer. Thus, the Person of the Son assumed a nature capable of these kinds of actions, i.e. a human nature. That which is proper to deity belongs to His divine nature while that which is proper to humanity belongs to His human nature. When our Lord tells us that He is “I AM,” He is using language proper only to His divine nature, that is, as Yahweh—though He speaks as a man. Conversely, when our Lord prays, eats, or suffers He does these things according to the nature capable of suffering—His humanity. When we fail to properly parse the two natures of Christ, we blur the Creator/creature distinction—assigning creaturely traits to deity, and divine traits to humanity. But we must confess that pantheism remains untrue, even in the Person of Christ.

Conclusion

Nature refers to the what-ness of a thing. We might say that the one Person of Christ has two “whats,” or two natures—divine and human. These natures remain distinct, yet united. When we speak of Christ, we predicate things concerning His Person that are proper to one or the other nature. That Christ is omniscient is not proper to His humanity, but only to His deity. That Christ mourned and prayed is not proper to His deity, but only to His humanity. Ignoring this distinction leads to a confusion of the two natures, God with man, which is nothing less nor more than pantheism. Christ, therefore, was truly man. All that which is proper to a human nature may be predicated of the Person of the Son—a human body, a human soul, a human intellect and will. All of this is true while He is yet very God.

Resources:

[1] Bernard Wuellner, Dictionary of Scholastic Philosophy, (MIlwaukee, WI: The Bruce Publishing Co., 2012), 79.

[2] Peter Van Mastricht, Theoretical-Practical Theology, vol. III, (Grand Rapids, MI: Reformation Heritage Bookks, 2021), 257.

[3] James Dolezal, ‘Neither Subtraction, Nor Addition: The Word’s Terminative Assumption of a Human Nature’, https://www.academia.edu/63681891/Neither_Subtraction_Nor_Addition_The_Words_Terminative_Assumption_of_a_Human_Nature

Persons or Subsistences? Trinity In Theological Perspective

Persons or Subsistences? Trinity In Theological Perspective

by | Jan 30, 2023 | Philosophy, Systematic Theology

The Confession (1677/89) states the doctrine of the Trinity as follows:

In this divine and infinite Being there are three subsistences, the Father, the Word or Son, and Holy Spirit, of one substance, power, and eternity, each having the whole divine essence, yet the essence undivided: the Father is of none, neither begotten nor proceeding; the Son is eternally begotten of the Father; the Holy Spirit proceeding from the Father and the Son; all infinite, without beginning, therefore but one God, who is not to be divided in nature and being, but distinguished by several peculiar relative properties and personal relations; which doctrine of the Trinity is the foundation of all our communion with God, and comfortable dependence on him. (2.3)

With a great deal of intention, the Confession employs the term “subsistence,” a noticeable change from the language used by the Westminster Confession, which instead reads, “In the unity of the Godhead there be three Persons of one substance…” (2.3, Emphasis added) Explaining this significant change in language, Dr. James Renihan states: 

More significantly, when introducing Trinitarian terminology, the text changes the WCF/Savoy language from persons to subsistences. Richard Muller has composed a lengthy article on the Latin term persona and its perceived liabilities in the history of Trinitarian discussion, asserting that subsistentia came to be a preferred term by some theologians, such as John Calvin.[1]

The term subsistence tends to avoid the confusion caused by the word person which, in addition to its historical obscurities, has of late taken on a unique psychological connotation binding the term to human features, e.g. reason, will, conscience, etc. As a result, modern social trinitarianism and tritheism tend to distinguish the persons along the lines of distinct centers of consciousness or distinct wills.

Kyle Claunch notes this in relation to the subordinationism of Bruce Ware and Wayne Grudem. He writes, “they are making a conscious and informed choice to conceive of will as a property of person rather than essence. This model of a three-willed Trinity then provides the basis for the conviction that structures of authority and submission actually serve as one of the means of differentiating the divine persons.”[2] It appears the modernist assumptions behind the term person have led to a conception of trinitarian relations as distinct intellectual beings—since they each consists of substantially different things, e.g. minds, wills, consciousness, etc.

Conversely, Cornelius Van Til arrives at the awkward language of, to paraphrase, “God the one person in three persons.” He writes, “Over against all other beings, that is, over against created beings, we must therefore hold that God’s being presents an absolute numerical identity.”[3] This is true as far as it goes. But Van Til misses out on some important language and distinctions, concluding, “[God] is one person.” He goes on to correctly note, “When we say that we believe in a personal God, we do not merely mean that we believe in a God to whom the adjective ‘personality’ may be attached. God is not an essence that has personality; he is absolute personality.”

Van Til obscures the manner of distinction between essence and subsistences by identifying essence and subsistences as a numerically single person. He is correct to say that “personality” is not something that God has, but something that God just is. However, he is incorrect to imply the elimination of personal properties by declaring the numerical singularity of personality in God. That God is one essence subsisting in three distinct modes or relations seems to be a consideration lost on Van Til, though seemingly implied in other areas of his work. While the essence and subsistences are substantially identical, there are yet personal properties distinguishing each Person one from another. Such a consideration would prevent the Van Tillian from collapsing the three Persons into one persona.

Renihan helpfully provides the missing piece in much of these contemporary discussions when he writes, “In his Marrow of Sacred Divinity, William Ames uses [subsistence] in these two ways. Prefixed to the front of the book is a brief glossary of terms. It defines subsistence as ‘the manner of being.’”[4] (Emphasis added) Francis Turretin likewise states:

Thus the singular numerical essence is communicated to the three persons not as a species to individuals or a second substance to the first (because it is singular and undivided), nor as a whole to its parts (since it is infinite and impartible); but as a singular nature to its own act of being (suppositis) in which it takes on various modes of subsisting. Hence it is evident: (1) that the divine essence is principally distinguished from the persons in having communicability, while the persons are distinguished by an incommunicable property; (2) that it differs from other singular natures in this—that while they can be communicated to only one self-existent being (supposito) and are terminated on only one subsistence (because they are finite), the former (because infinite) can admit of more than one.[5] (Emphasis added)

Hence, the language of the Confession, “In this divine and infinite Being there are three subsistences, the Father, the Word or Son, and Holy Spirit, of one substance, power, and eternity, each having the whole divine essence, yet the essence undivided…” (2.3) In other words, Father, Son, and Spirit just are the one divine essence. As the Athanasian Creed points out, “Thus the Father is God, the Son is God, the Holy Spirit is God. Yet there are not three gods; there is but one God.” The one and undivided essence subsists in three ways distinguished by personal properties—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Each of these relations are explained by way of origination: the Father is unbegotten, the Son is begotten of the Father, and the Spirit proceeds from both Father and Son. As the Confession likewise states, “the Father is of none, neither begotten nor proceeding; the Son is eternally begotten of the Father; the Holy Spirit proceeding from the Father and the Son…”

The Athanasian Creed states, “The Father was neither made nor created nor begotten from anyone. The Son was neither made nor created; he was begotten from the Father alone. The Holy Spirit was neither made nor created nor begotten; he proceeds from the Father and the Son.” Further, the Nicene Creed also says of the Son, “We believe… in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, begotten from the Father before all ages, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made…” And regarding the Spirit, the same creed says, “He proceeds from the Father and the Son…”

Resources:

[1] James Renihan, To the Judicious and Impartial Reader: Baptist Symbolics, Vol. II, (Cape Coral, FL: Founders Press, 2022), Kindle Edition, Loc. 2260-2265.

[2] Kyle Claunch, “God Is the Head of Christ,” in One God in Three Persons, ed. Bruce A. Ware; John Starke, (Grand Rapids, MI: Crossway. Kindle Edition), 88-89.

[3] Cornelius Van Til, Introduction to Systematic Theology, (Phillipsburg, NJ: P & R Publishing, 2007), 364.

[4] Renihan, To the Judicious and Impartial Reader, Loc. 2259.

[5] Francis Turretin, Institutes of Elenctic Theology, vol. I, (Phillipsburg, NJ: P & R Publishing, 1992), 282.

Does Scripture Teach Divine Simplicity?

Does Scripture Teach Divine Simplicity?

by | Dec 26, 2022 | Biblical Theology, Philosophy, Systematic Theology

The short answer? Yes. Absolutely.

The question is not whether Scripture actually uses the word “simplicity,” nor whether or not Scripture articulates the doctrine of divine simplicity as the Second London Baptist Confession (2.1) does. The question is whether or not the concept of divine simplicity is necessarily contained within the text. And to this question we are able to answer with a clear affirmation.

Some have claimed that either Scripture does not teach simplicity or that it does not teach the simplicity found through church history, from Augustine to the post-Reformed Puritans. Concerning this latter claim, the simplicity in question has been derogatorily labeled “hard simplicity,” or, “hyper simplicity,” in favor of a looser simplicity admitting of a distinction between God’s “simple” essence and the several properties or attributes that accrue to and describe that essence. Of course, the response offered to such “soft simplicity,” is that the divine essence would itself require properties distinguishing it for those other properties or attributes not identical to it. In other words, the essence would require some kind of composition in order for it to be distinguishable from the attributes.

In any event, the purpose of this article is to survey a few texts which appear to require divine simplicity, the strong kind. These texts require a necessary God, who does not depend on anything more basic than Himself to be Himself. All that is in God is God.

All Things Are Through Him (Romans 11:36)

Scripture nowhere uses the term “simplicity” in relation to God. However, the concept is most certainly present and is necessarily inferred from several passages. In Romans 11:36, Paul writes, “For of Him and through Him and to Him are all things, to whom be glory forever. Amen.” This is a concluding statement that follows from a string of Old Testament citations in vv. 34-35, each of which were intended to emphasize the incomprehensibility of God stated in v. 33, “Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out!” Verse 34 asks, “For who has known the mind of the LORD? Or who has become His counselor?” A statement influenced by Isaiah 40 and Job 36. Observe also v. 35, “Or who has first given to Him And it shall be repaid to him?” Man can neither comprehend nor add to God.

In v. 36, this distills into Paul’s conclusion that all things are “of Him and through Him and to Him…”[1] There are three prepositions used. The first is ἐκ which insinuates that all things with an origin find their origin “of” or “from” God. The second is διά, “through” or “by,” and indicates efficient causality. God is the Agent that has not only created but acts upon every patient through sustaining, disposing, and governing all of them. The third is εἰς and denotes final causality.

All things are “to” Him, that is, He is the goal and end (telos) of all things. But if all things are of Him, through Him, and to Him the inference that God cannot be the sum of His parts is apparently necessary. If God is the cause of all things, it follows that He is uncaused. But if God is uncaused, then He cannot be explained by that which is more basic than Himself, e.g., by parts. As James Dolezal writes, “If God should be composed of parts, then these parts would be before Him in being, even if not in time, and He would be rightly conceived of as existing from them or of them.”[2] John Gill sees Romans 11:36 as a statement of efficient causality and comprehensive providence.[3] John Calvin concludes, “The import of what is said is—That the whole order of nature would be strangely subverted, were not God, who is the beginning of all things, the end also.”[4] If all things are from Him, God must be “without body, parts, or passions,” to use the language of 2LBCF 2.1.

God Is One (Deuteronomy 6:4)

Another more principial text to marshaled in service of divine simplicity would be Deuteronomy 6:4, the doctrinal confession of national Israel. It reads, “Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one!” Naturally, the question becomes, “One what?” In this case, we are immediately brought to the question of being. What kind of being are we dealing with when we speak of this LORD that is one? In the strictest sense, no contingent creature can claim to be one.

Even the most basic creature is a constituent set of properties and components. But maybe the term for “one” isn’t being used in a strict sense. Perhaps it is only being used to distinguish the true God from other gods. It, no doubt, is purposed to such an end. But one wonders how the shema might distinguish the true God from false gods if, like the false gods, the true God also was a constituent set of properties or components. Instead of wood or stone, His constituent parts would be higher, more heavenly, and more unimaginable. But parts nonetheless. In other words, if the shema does not imply a simplicity of essential unity, the God it mentions is merely a greater creature, no more divine than a holy angel.

By Him Are All Things (Hebrews 2:10)

In Hebrews 2:10, a similar statement to that of Romans 11:36 appears, “For it was fitting for Him, for whom are all things and by whom are all things, in bringing many sons to glory, to make the captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings.” It is for or because of God that all things are. But if God was the sum of His parts, one would either need to deny the accuracy of Hebrews 2:10, or they would need to affirm the absurdity of God’s own self-causation. If all things are of God, then certainly those parts making God to be God, which themselves are not God, would also be of God.

Conclusion

It is not that Scripture uses the term “simplicity.” Nor is it that Scripture employs the philosophical terminology later used by Christians to expound upon this doctrine. Rather, the later philosophical language was brought into the service of articulating a core and necessary biblical truth. God is one. All things are through Him. He is through nothing other than Himself. God is not explained by a set of properties more basic than Himself. He is not who He is because of this or that attribute. He is. (Ex. 3:14) Simplicity, the hard kind, is nothing but the Bible consistently interpreted with regard to God and who Scripture has revealed Him to be.

Resources

[1] Tremper Longman III & David E. Garland, The Expositor’s Bible Commentary: Romans – Galatians, vol. 11, (Grand Rapids: Zonderva, 2008), 181.

[2] James Dolezal, All That Is in God: Evangelical Theology and the Challenge of Classical Theism, (Grand Rapids: Reformation Heritage Books, 2017), 49.

[3] John Gill, John Gill’s Exposition on the Entire Bible-Book of Romans, (Graceworks Multimedia, Kindle Edition), Loc. 7181.

[4] John Calvin, Commentary on Romans, (Ravenio Books, Kindle Edition), 406.

Classical Theism Takes On Divine Temporality

Classical Theism Takes On Divine Temporality

by | Dec 20, 2022 | Philosophy, Systematic Theology

This article is an excerpt adaptation from a paper titled, “Divine Simplicity: Non-Composition, Necessity, & Divine Timelessness”.

The notion of divine temporality is an increasingly popular attempt to reconcile the temporality of creation with the necessary and eternal Creator. With the decline of classical metaphysics in the West, theologians and philosophers are left, once more, with trying to reconcile two inescapable realities: being and becoming. One way to do this is by assigning an eternal ontology to time itself, locating it as a co-eternal reality with God or otherwise placing it within God as a non-essential and eternal reality allowing possible succession in, but not essential to, the divine essence, e.g., intrinsic and extrinsic succession.

On the other hand, the doctrine of divine simplicity should be related to the classical understanding of divine eternality, or divine timelessness. Richard Muller defines aeternitas as follows, “By this attribute, the scholastics understand the existence and continuance (duratio) of God without beginning or end and apart from all succession and change.”[1] He goes on to qualify, “Eternity therefore transcends not only limited time but also infinite temporal succession, namely, time itself.” This is relevant to contemporary theories of divine temporality for the following reasons.

Conversing with Ryan Mullins & the Oxford School

Describing the Oxford school of divine temporality, Ryan Mullins states, “There are several ways to articulate an absolute theory of time, but one of the main underlying beliefs on the Oxford school is that time can exist without change. Time is the dimension of possible change.”[2] Further clarifying the Oxford school, Mullins adds, “time is a necessary concomitant of God’s being.”[3] According to Mullins, the Oxford school holds that, “Upon creating the universe [God] brings about intrinsic and extrinsic change in His life.

His present life then consists of a one-to-one correspondence with the cosmic present of the universe.”[4] But even granting the Oxford school’s absolute theory of time, one may just as well argue that if time is a concomitant of God’s being, representing a dimension of possible change, God would then be an admixture of act and potency. For He would have the potential to change from one state to another. This appears to be a clear denial of immutability—a doctrine that not only suggests God does not change but also that He cannot change.

There is one other problem. Given the doctrine of divine simplicity as discussed above, if God is an admixture of act and potency, contingency follows. At minimum, there would be act, i.e., God’s “to be” or esse, in addition to the potencies limiting that act.[5] Furthermore, this would result in a real distinction between God’s essence and His esse or existence. In this case, God would depend on that which is more basic than Himself to be what He is. He would be a composite object and, as such, not the first cause. Mullins may want to reply that any partition relevant to God wouldn’t necessarily take place within the divine essence.

Along these lines, he writes, “God is immutable in that His essential divine nature cannot change, but He can undergo non-essential intrinsic and extrinsic changes like becoming the Creator, Redeemer, and Lord of humanity.”[6] But one might wonder what, exactly, distinguishes God’s essence from other things in God that might change intrinsically or extrinsically. What is that which can change intrinsically or extrinsically to God in relation to the divine essence? And if both the divine essence and that which is not the divine essence constitute God, then there would need to be some properties inherent within the divine essence sufficient to distinguish it from that which does change in God. Mullins, after all, says God “is capable of undergoing change.” The result is that the divine essence would constitute in virtue of properties more basic than itself—properties needed to sufficiently distinguish it from other things in God.

If this is the case, the divine essence would not be immutable since, conceivably, it could change given the subtraction of one or more of said properties. Of course, the retort may be that this would not happen. But that is very different from saying this could not happen. For one might imagine such an essence without one or more of its distinguishing characteristics. To use the possible world semantics popular within analytical thought: There is a possible world in which one or more of those properties do not inhere within the divine essence. Hence, the divine essence would be changeable, not unchangeable.

Mullins, and presumably the Oxford school, seem to accept an Aristotelian notion of eternal time as a concomitant of motion. H. D. Gardeil writes:

Aristotle remarks that eternal things, things which are always, are not in time, since their existence is not affected by time and cannot be measured by it… But in another sense Aristotle also attributes eternity to motion. There has always been motion, he believes, and always will be. Thus the world itself is eternal.[7]

In other words, while there are eternal things outside or transcendent of time, nevertheless, for Aristotle, motion is also eternal and thus requires an eternal duration. The Oxford school is similar in that it requires the eternality of time and motion in a certain sense. Yet, in an advance beyond Aristotle, the Oxford school locates both time and motion in God whereas Aristotle conceived of a static deity. Distinguishing Aristotle’s metaphysics from the more nuanced medieval Christian synthesis, Gardeil continues:

Eternity, in its complete meaning, presupposes utter immobility and changelessness, or, in the succinctness of Boethius, the totally simultaneous possession of one’s entire life. When so understood, eternity is only in God, who alone is the substantially Eternal; of Him alone is it true to say that eternity is an essential attribute, that essence and life are one.[8]

Mullins, on the other hand, suggests a potential in God for mutation, “Since God exists necessarily and is capable of undergoing change, time exists necessarily.”[9] Aristotle saw both mutation and temporality as features of contingency. For this reason, he removed both from God who, in his estimation, must be necessary. But Mullins places both mutation and time squarely in God and, as a result, apparently contradicts his own stated belief that God is necessary.[10] For a necessary being to be necessary, it cannot be contingent; that is, it cannot be dependent upon that which is more basic than itself to be what it is, e.g., act, potency, essence, esse, etc.

Contingency & Creatio Ex Nihilo

In his book Jesus and the God of Classical Theism, Steven Duby writes, “God’s eternity is shorthand for his being without beginning or end and having fullness of life without that fullness being acquired or lost through temporal succession.”[11] To the contrary, Mullins states, “All divine temporalists hold that God has succession in His life subsequent to the act of creation, but some differences arise with regard to God’s life prior to creation.”[12] Granting the acquisition of succession at creation, this would entail an actualization of some potency “concomitant of God’s being.”

Not only does actualization of potency denote partition and thus contingency for reasons given above, but an actualized potency requires the acquisition of being that was not before in act. While Mullins maintains creatio ex nihilo in terms, one might wonder whether it may be reasonably retained in the Oxford school. If an actualization of some potential in God is requisite to His creative work, it would appear not that creation was made from nothing, but that it was made through some acquisition of being the Creator did not possess beforehand, i.e., succession, by which creation came to be. In other words, there would be two causes and explanations for creation rather than one. One of those causes would be God, and one of those causes would be temporality inasmuch as the latter explains God’s ability to create. Furthermore, to the extent temporality explains God’s ability to create, temporality—not God—is the first cause of the universe.

A startling thought to be sure.

Resources

[1]  Richard Muller, Dictionary of Latin and Greek Terms, (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2017), 18.

[2] R. T. Mullins, “Doing Hard Time: Is God the Prisoner of the Oldest Dimension?,” Journal of Analytic Theology, Vol. 2, 2014, 165.

[3] Mullins, “Doing Hard Time: Is God the Prisoner of the Oldest Dimension?,” 166.

[4] Mullins, “Doing Hard Time: Is God the Prisoner of the Oldest Dimension?,” 167.

[5] Bernard Wuellner, S. J., Dictionary of Scholastic Philosophy, (Fitzwilliam, NH: Loreto Publications, 2012), 42.

[6] Mullins, “Doing Hard Time: Is God the Prisoner of the Oldest Dimension?,” 165.

[7] H. D. Gardeil, Introduction to the Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas: Cosmology, Vol. 2, (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2009), 127-28. 

[8] Gardeil, Introduction to the Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, 129.

[9] Mullins, “Doing Hard Time: Is God the Prisoner of the Oldest Dimension?,” 165.

[10] Mullins, “Doing Hard Time: Is God the Prisoner of the Oldest Dimension?,” 169.

[11] Steven Duby, Jesus and the God of Classical Theism, (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2022), 31.

[12] Mullins, “Doing Hard Time: Is God the Prisoner of the Oldest Dimension?,” 164.

Limitation of Act by Potency

Limitation of Act by Potency

by | Apr 20, 2022 | Philosophy

The following article is an engagement paper originally submitted to IRBS in fulfillment of an assignment for Dr. James Dolezal’s Foundations of Philosophical Theology class.

Contemporary Thomistic studies largely assumes the origins for Thomas’s doctrine “limitation of act by potency” is to be properly and neatly located in Aristotle’s corpus. According to W. Norris Clarke, however, such an assumption is misguided on account of needful language nevertheless absent from Aristotle’s own body of work. If indeed Thomas received limitation of act by potency from Aristotle, one would expect to find such a doctrine in Aristotle’s own words. More significant, perhaps, is the fact that very little substantial change actually took place from the time of the pre-Socratics to the time of Aristotle in the relevant areas according to Clarke.

Norris Clarke’s Brief Observation Concerning Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange’s Assumption

Republished by contemporary scholars, such as Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, is the common assumption that Thomas received Aristotle’s conception of limitation of act by potency. Yet, to the contrary, Clarke asserts the following, “it is noteworthy that, despite the categorical assertion of Father Garrigou-Lagrange in the above quotation, neither here nor anywhere else in his numerous writings on this doctrine does he ever quote or refer to any precise text where Aristotle himself affirms the limiting role of potency with regard to act.”[1] Contrary to the common assumption mentioned above, the doctrine of limitation of act by potency does not appear in Aristotle. In point of fact, the post-Socratic philosophers appear to conceive of act as limited by its very nature, whilst potency is that which is infinite, or unlimited.

Speaking to Thomas’ own work, Clarke writes, “What is even more decisive, to my mind—and surprising, though I have never seen it reported anywhere—is the fact that throughout the entire extent of St. Thomas’s own commentaries on Aristotle, not excepting that on Book IX of Metaphysics, which deals exclusively with act and potency, there is not a single mention of potency as limiting act nor is there any occurrence of the classic formulas expressing the limitation principle which abound in his independent works.”[2] In other words, though the language of act and potency as categories find a comfortable seat in the Aristotelian corpus, the particular conception of act and potency wherein potency serves as the limiting principle of act is virtually non-existent in spite of Garrigou-Lagrange’s own thesis that, “Aristotle already taught this doctrine.”

Finitude and Infinitude in Anaximander

According to Clarke, “The term infinite (apeiron) first appears in Greek philosophy with the Pre-Socratic Anaximander, who identified it with the primal principle of all things: (1) The Non-Limited is the original material of existing things; further, the source from which existing things derive their existence is also that to which they return at their destruction, according to necessity… (3) This [the Non-Limited] is immortal and indestructible.”[3] Already, the careful reader may catch the identification of the material with the infinite (apeiron). This would appear to imply a like identification of what would eventually come to be known as the “principle of potency” with infinity (since matter must receive form as potency to act).

If it is the case that matter, and thus potency, just are “the infinite,” then conversely, act would necessarily entail limitation. This is why Clarke goes on to say, “[The problem] ‘What is the first principle out of which all things are formed?’ gradually led them—if not Anaximander, at least his successors—to identify the infinite with the indeterminate, formless substratum or raw material of the universe, the primeval chaos of matter in itself, as yet unperfected by the limit of form.”[4] The indeterminate is unlimited because, according to the mind of Anaximander, to determine something is to place limitations upon it. That which is infinite cannot be determined, and that which cannot be determined cannot be perfect. Clark continues, “According to this conception the infinity is identified with the formless, the indeterminate, the unintelligible—in a word, with matter and multiplicity, the principles and imperfection—whereas the finite or limited is identified with the fully formed, the determinate, and there the intelligible—in a word, with number, form, and idea, the principles of perfection.”[5] The infinite, so it is thought, is mutually opposed to perfection, completion, etc.

Plato

Plato further develops upon the pre-Socratics by conceiving of what are now termed act and potency as “principles” termed “the limit” and “the unlimited.” Clarke observes the relationship of these two principles in Plato as follows, “According to the Platonic metaphysics, all realities below the supreme idea of the Good (or the One) are a ‘mixture’ of two opposing principles, the limit and the unlimited, which reappear with analogical similarity on all the levels of reality from the world of ideas to the half-real world of sensible things.”[6] Thus, the limit and the unlimited “exist” idealistically and phenomenally, that is, in the world of forms and in the world of “sensible things.” Plato, then, moves the classico-philosophical world toward a more nuanced doctrine of what would eventually come to be known as act and potency. Nevertheless—and this is no surprise, but worth mentioning—the limitation of act by potency doesn’t appear in Plato’s work.

Plato goes on to identify the indeterminate with the “material cause,” or “pure matter.” Clarke observes, “The principle of illumination, on the other hand, is identified with the formlessness and indeterminacy of pure matter and multiplicity as such, and therefore with ‘otherness’ or non-being, as the source of unintelligibility and imperfection.” For Plato, “pure matter” does not appear to serve any sort of limiting purpose at all. To the contrary, that which is indeterminate apparently cannot limit since that which is indeterminate must be infinite, and thus limitless. Therefore, for both the pre-Socratics and Socrates’s greatest student, potency seems to be the least likely candidate in terms of finding a principle of limitation and thus individuation.

Aristotle

Aristotle continues the trend. For this reason, Aristotle cannot rightly be thought of as the progenitor of the Thomistic doctrine of limitation of act by potency. Characterizing Aristotle’s understanding, Clarke points out that, “No complete substance, therefore, can exist as actually infinite. The terms are mutually exclusive. For the perfect, which is but a synonym for the complete or finished, is precisely that which had an end, and the end, he says, is a limit.”[8] Being, then, cannot have an infinite “to be.” For that which is infinite cannot be circumscribed to the parameters of “being” since, if such were the case, the infinite would be determined—a sure and certain absurdity in the eyes of Aristotle.

Summing up his view, Clark recapitulates Aristotle’s own summary, “Nature flees from the infinite, for the infinite is unending or imperfect, and nature ever seeks an end.”[9] Following in the footsteps of Anaximander and Plato, Aristotle does not view what is now called “potency” as a limiting principle. For Aristotle, formless matter (potency) is infinite and thus diametrically opposed to limitation. Nevertheless, according to Clarke, Thomas is still able to appropriate Aristotle along with a major qualification. He writes, “St. Thomas takes over intact this perspective into his own system. But he adds to it another dimension, so to speak, in which the relations are reversed and matter also appears as limiting form.”[10] Whereas Aristotle and his predecessors view matter/potency as the infinite, boundless, and thus, unlimited, Thomas makes matter/potency the “limiting form.”

Further developing his observation of Thomas’s conception, Clarke continues by saying, “Whatever is capable of change of any kind—and only that—must have within it in addition to its present act a principle of potency, or capacity to receive a further act… Act, on the other hand, is always identified with the fully complete, the actually present. Pure act, therefore, is simply a correlative of the immutable, i.e., of pure actualized form, complete in all that is proper to is and incorruptible.”[11] Potency is capacity—a want or lack within a thing—which nevertheless represents what that thing could be. Potency, then, is the limiting principle. Act, contrary to the pre-Socratics, Plato, and Aristotle, is identified with that which is complete or perfect. The only question remaining is, What bridges the gap between Aristotle and Thomas? Is there some other source which may have helped Thomas develop this doctrine of limitation of act by potency?

The Neoplatonism of Plotinus

The Neoplatonism of Plotinus would introduce and apply the metaphysics of the “One” in the baffling equation of infinity and limitation. The “One” would virtually function as a synonym for God, “a synonym for infinite: uncircumscribed (agerigraphos).”[12] Not of little importance, Clarke notes, “The first Christian texts calling God infinite do not appear till the fourth century, and precisely in those circles which are known to have been influenced by Neoplatonism.”[13] 

Neoplatonism casts the discussion of infinite and limited in terms of a higher metaphysic that looks above the formal object of the natural sciences, i.e. the material world. God, the infinite, now stands over and above the created essences, such that, “the old Platonic order or limited, intelligible essences, composed of form as perfecting limit imposed on the infinity of sensible or ‘intelligible’ matter, is still preserved. But their relation to the supreme One by emanation introduces a new dimension of function of the limiting principle, that of limiting what is above it as well as what is below it.”[14] Clarke clarifies thereafter, saying, “In this perspective all the intelligible essences below the One now appear as limited and hence imperfect participations of this supremely perfect and absolutely simple first principle, which somehow embraces within itself the perfection of all the lower determinate essences but is none of them in particular.”[15]

Therefore, with Neoplatonism came the philosophical precursors to a doctrine of limitation of act by potency to an extent not seen in Aristotle or those who came before him. If the “One” is infinite, and if all things below it are finite or limited, yet are by virtue of their imitation or participation in the “One,” that which is (act) is necessarily limited by that which is not but could possibly be (potency).

Concluding with Thomas Aquinas

In light of the above, Thomas reaches his monumental conclusion, “Act is not limited except by reception in a distinct potency.”[16] Such a conclusion, of course, while perhaps influenced negatively by Aristotle and his predecessors, is positively developed in light of the preceding, and more relatively recent, Neoplatonism. Act just is and is limited only by potency. But we must observe with Clarke that this language, however influenced by both Aristotelianism and Neoplatonism, is actually neither properly so called. As Clarke puts it, “The final result of the fusion of the two theories into a single coherent synthesis can thus properly be called neither Aristotelianism nor Neoplatonism. It is something decisively new, which can only be styled, ‘Thomism.’”[17]

The pre-Socratics, Plato, and Aristotle identified what amounts to act with determinacy and finitude. For them, “act” was mutually exclusive to “potency,” as limitation is mutually exclusive to infinity. Neoplatonism, however, saw the “One” as the infinite, created essences being limited and finite. This new relation paved the way for understanding the finite and the infinite in a more coherent way. Thomas understood God to be the infinite, or pure act, creation being composed of act limited by potency.

Resources:

[1] Clarke, Norris W., Explorations In Metaphysics, (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994), 67.

[2] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 68.

[3] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 69.

[4] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 69.

[5] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics,70.

[6] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 71.

[7] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 71.

[8] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 73.

[9] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 73.

[10] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 73.

[11] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 74.

[12] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 76.

[13] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 76.

[14] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 76. Emphasis added.

[15] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 76-77.

[16] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 80.

[17] Clarke, Explorations In Metaphysics, 81.