Reading Romans narratively (part 2 of 2)

Part 1

Who are God’s redeemed people?

    Jesus the Messiah, though his faithful death, has redeemed God’s people – a people now defined by his faithfulness – from their sinfulness and unfaithfulness. But, while this is the climax of the great story, it’s not the end of the story. God’s covenant people weren’t intended as the final goal in themselves; they were meant to restore humanity to God, and in doing so to restore the entire creation. But who are the covenant people now?

    In Romans, Paul draws on the covenant blessings in Deuteronomy 30 to prove how God has redefined his people. According to these blessings, when Israel would be restored from exile, they would be circumcised in their heart to be able to fulfill Torah (Deut. 30:1-10), so that Torah is near to them (30:11-14). Paul says that this has been fulfilled! Those who are not circumcised in their flesh may be “Jews,” regarded as circumcised in their heart by God’s spirit, and may actually judge those who are physically circumcised (Rom. 2:25-29). He says that this covenant blessing, the fulfillment of Torah, is found in the Messiah and belongs to those who confess him as lord and trust that God raised him (10:4-10; cf. 8:3-4).

    Because God’s people have been redefined by the Messiah’s faithfulness (3:21-26), they’re declared ‘right’ by faith, so that ethnic Jews and gentiles have been joined in a unified people befitting the one God — and this fulfills Torah, rather than nullifying it (3:27-31). When the covenant was first given, Abraham trusted God that he would have many descendants, and they would “inherit the world” (4:1-8, 13; cf. Gen. 15:1-7). The covenant was based on faith, not on Torah — if it were based on Torah, no one would fulfill it, because Torah condemns Israel too (4:13-16)! Since the covenant is based on faith, not circumcision or Torah, anyone who trusts in the God who raised the Messiah – whether ethnic Jew or gentile – may be counted as Abraham’s descendant and “inherit the world” (4:9-12, 16-25).

    The same idea appears in Paul’s other letters. Although he only refers to Jesus’ followers as “Israel” once or twice (Rom. 9:6; Gal. 6:16?), he can speak of a former time “when” the Corinthian believers “were gentiles” (1 Cor. 12:2), and refer to the ancient Israelites as their “fathers” (1 Cor. 10:1). They have “a new covenant,” no longer on the basis of Torah (2 Cor. 3:5-11), and receive the promises associated with Israel’s return from exile (2 Cor. 6:1-2, 16-18). There is a single, unified family descended from Abraham, not based on Torah, defined by faith, with both ethnic Jews and gentiles in the Messiah (Gal. 3:6-29). They are “the circumcision,” not based on outward signs like ethnicity, circumcision, and Torah, but based on the faithfulness of the Messiah (Phil. 3:2-11). His audience are “gentiles in flesh,” and were once “excluded from Israelite citizenship,” but now through Messiah – who tears down the dividing wall of Torah – are “fellow citizens of the saints” (Eph. 2:11-19).

    For Paul, then, God defines and declares ‘right’ (or “justifies”) his people no longer on the basis of Torah, but on the basis of the Messiah’s faithfulness, which actually fulfills Torah. The purpose of Torah wasn’t to get rid of Sin, but to intensify it and focus it on God’s people, so that it could be climactically condemned by Israel’s Messiah; this is the point of Romans 5:20-21 and 7:13-8:4 (as well as Galatians 3:19-22). Because covenant membership has been redefined around faith, both ethnic Jews and gentiles can join God’s unified people in the Messiah, which fulfills the covenantal promises. Having been declared ‘right’ by faith, we have nothing to fear from God, because we were reconciled to him, and we also know that we will share “God’s glory” which was lost because of sin (5:1-11; cf. 3:23).

The role of God’s redeemed people

    We’ve seen who God’s redeemed people are: ethnic Jews and gentiles who have and are defined by the Messiah’s faithfulness, not the outward signs of circumcision and Torah. But what is our purpose as God’s people? We must go back to our calling, which is expounded in chapters 6-8. Paul uses exodus terms to describe the redemption of God’s people – this wouldn’t have been lost on his audience, who was familiar with Torah (7:1).

    God’s people were rescued through water; not the water of the Red Sea, but the water of baptism, which unites us with Messiah Jesus in his death to Sin and resurrection (6:3-11). We used to be slaves, not of Egypt, but of Sin itself, and we were freed from this slavery in order to become Righteousness’ ‘slaves’ (6:6-7, 12-22). Since what we were freed from is Sin, it would be utter nonsense to use this freedom from Sin to sin more (6:1-7). The wages that Sin pays are death, whereas God gives the life of the coming age as a free gift (6:23).

    Moving on from our rescue from slavery through water, Paul goes to Mount Sinai and the giving of Torah — but there, we find that our united death with the Messiah has also freed us from Torah! (7:1-6) This isn’t because Torah is Sin; rather, the holy and good Torah makes Sin known, but Sin uses it to take power (7:7-12; cf. 1 Cor. 15:56). Torah actually makes Sin incredibly sinful (7:13). When Paul was enslaved to Sin, he desired to fulfill Torah with his mind, but the ‘Torah’ of Sin enslaved his flesh (7:14-25). However, the ‘Torah’ of Sin – and Sin itself – was condemned by God’s son, Messiah Jesus, making it possible for the ‘right’ status of Torah to be fulfilled in us (8:1-4).

    Moving on from Mount Sinai and Torah, we find that God’s spirit is guiding us through the present wilderness, the time between our united ‘resurrection’ with the Messiah (6:4-5, 9-11) and the actual resurrection of our bodies (8:4-11). God’s spirit allows us to “put to death the deeds of the body,” making us God’s children (8:12-17) – another probable exodus reference (Exod. 4:22; Hos. 11:1) – a verdict that will become clear at our future “adoption” (8:18-25). God elected this family, declared us ‘right,’ and glorified us (8:28-30), making it clear that nothing can separate us from his love in our lord Messiah Jesus (8:31-39).

    The primary role of God’s people in the present time, then, is to act as those who have been freed from Sin. We should be in unity with one another, and contribute to each other’s needs (12:3-13; 13:8-10). We must not pass judgment on other believers for irrelevant matters, like food restrictions and days of worship, in order to stay unified and upbuild one another, to glorify the one God in unity (14:1-15:6). However, we shouldn’t just love one another, but also non-believers, even the authorities, even those who persecute us (12:14-13:7). It’s very important to proclaim the good news to others (15:14-21; cf. 11:13-14). This points forward to the end of the story – God’s people, in themselves, were never the final goal!

The conclusion of the grand story

    From the beginning, God’s intention was to restore the entire creation to himself, in spite of humanity’s failure to live up to their role. The means by which he planned to do this is through his set-apart people, through the Messiah who is our representative. As I noted at the beginning of this article, Paul summarizes this story in Romans 8:18-23 – “the creation itself will be freed from its bondage to decay, into the freedom of the glory of God’s children.” But the “creation” doesn’t include only impersonal things. At the end of two major sections of his letter to the Romans, Paul makes this clear.

So then, just as through one trespass it is condemnation to all people, so also through one act of righteousness it is justification of life to all people. For as through the disobedience of the one man, the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the one, the many will be made righteous. Now Torah entered so that the trespass might abound. Yet where the sin abounded, grace superabounded, so that just as the sin reigned in death, so also grace may reign through righteousness unto life of the Age, through Jesus the Messiah our Lord. (5:18-21)

    Here, he emphasizes that the same number that were affected by Adam’s sin will also be affected by Jesus’ obedience. The parallelism is extremely careful from v. 15 to 19; whereas Paul switches between referring to the affected group as “the many” and “all people,” he never distinguishes two groups, for example by saying that “all people” were corrupted by Adam and “the many” will be justified by Jesus. There is only one group in view, and that is all of humanity. Some commentators appeal to 5:17 (“those who take the abundance of grace and the gift of righteousness”) as limiting the scope of 5:18-19, but Paul doesn’t say that only some people will ultimately take of the grace and righteousness that is offered. It would be more legitimate to see vv. 18-19 as determining the scope of v. 17 than vice versa. If even one person remains in Sin and Death, then the point of vv. 20-21 (that grace and righteousness superabound where Sin and Death once reigned) is utterly negated.

For I want you to understand this mystery, brethren, so that you may not claim to be wiser than you are: a hardening has come upon part of Israel until the totality of the gentiles comes in. And so all Israel will be saved… For God has shut up everyone in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all. O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how untraceable his ways! “For who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor?” “Or who has given to him and it will be recompensed?” For from him and through him and to him is everything. To him be the glory forever. Amen. (11:25-36)

    At the end of his quotation-rich, closely-argued discourse in Romans 9-11, Paul concludes that “all Israel will be saved” once “the totality of the gentiles comes in.” He was building to this conclusion throughout the entire section, as most of his Scripture quotations contextually refer to the restoration of rebel Israel. [1] Just as the gentile believers in Rome were once disobedient, but were shown mercy, rebel Israel will be shown mercy once she stops being disobedient (11:30-31). This is to be understood as a general principle: God has locked up everyone in disobedience, for the purpose of showing them mercy (11:32). This brings us to the conclusion of the grand story, summed up concisely in just eleven words: “For from him, and through him, and to him is everything” (11:36). Nothing that God has created will fail to return to him, whether those are disobedient people or corrupted nature. His grand plan, so overwhelming that Paul cannot help but break out into a doxology, is that everything which is “from him” is also, ultimately, “to him.”

Conclusion

    When read narratively, Paul’s letter to the Romans expertly elaborates on the ‘grand story’ of creation and recreation (shared by most Second Temple Jews), modifying it according to the Christian perspective and fitting it to the Roman church’s circumstances. The creation has been corrupted by humanity’s failure to live up to its vocation (1:18-32; 3:9-23); even God’s people, whom he intended to bring humanity back to him, has failed to live up to that calling (2:1-3:20; 9:1-18). Fortunately, through the faithfulness of Israel’s Messiah Jesus, God’s plan to restore creation is set on track (3:21-26; 10:4-13). God’s (redeemed) people are defined now by the Messiah’s faithfulness, which tears down ethnic and traditional boundaries (3:27- 4:25; 9:24-29; 10:11-13; 11:1-11). The purpose of God’s people in the present time is to act as those who have been freed from slavery to Sin, in unity and love, and to witness to non- believers (chaps. 6-8; 12-15). The ultimate goal – the conclusion of the grand story – is, as it has always been, the restoration of the entire creation (5:12-21; 8:18-23; 11:12-36).

    The primary differences between Paul’s Christian version of the grand story and the typical Second Temple Jewish version are the role of the Messiah and the identification of the enemy. Traditionally, the enemy was understood to be non-Jewish pagans; however, this was turned on its head by Jesus, who pointed out that Israel’s vocation was to bring light to the pagans, and the real enemies were the spiritual forces at play. [2] Paul further identified the enemy as personified Sin and Death (Rom. 5:20-8:2; cf. 1 Cor. 15:26, 54-56). By identifying the enemy not with any group of people, but with the forces that corrupt people, [3] he was able to come to the conclusion that the restoration of creation will involve not only corrupted nature but disobedient people. God’s grand plan to restore creation is not exclusionary, but radically inclusionary, as he will never cease acting to bring all things back to him until it is completed.

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[1] See my exegesis of Romans 9-11 for more details.

[2] N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (London: SPCK, 1996), 446–463.

[3] See also Ephesians 6:12: “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, the authorities, the world-rulers of this darkness, the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.”

Reading Romans narratively (part 1 of 2)

    Paul’s letter to the Romans is one of the central writings of the New Testament. In this letter, Paul summarizes many important points of his Second Temple Jewish faith as it had been reshaped by the revelation of Jesus the Messiah, in order to address specific issues in the Roman church. In this article, we’ll look at one specific aspect of Romans: how it elaborates on the ‘grand story’ of creation and recreation. As N. T. Wright demonstrates in Paul and the Faithfulness of God, this story was central to Second Temple Judaism and underlied much of its theology. [1] Here, we’ll see how the story remained central to Paul’s theology in Romans, while he also reshaped it to center it around Jesus and his revelation.

The grand story

    The overarching, grand story of creation and recreation which underlies much of Second Temple Jewish and Pauline theology is most clearly stated in a passage at the center of the letter to the Romans. Here, both the futility of the present creation and its future restoration are explicitly stated:

For the creation eagerly awaits the revelation of God’s children. For the creation was subjected to futility — not willingly, but because of the One who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be freed from its bondage to decay, into the freedom of the glory of God’s children. We know that the entire creation groans and suffers labor pains together until now. Not only that, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruit of the spirit, also groan inwardly as we await our adoption as children, the redemption of our bodies. (Romans 8:19-23)

The problem is stated here in no uncertain terms. The entire creation has been subjected to futility and decay. But this isn’t hopeless! It was subjected by God in the hope that it will be freed from its bondage.

    Moreover, the freedom of the creation will be achieved through the people whom God has chosen – his “children,” as Paul puts it here. Humanity was originally created to bear God’s image and glory to the creation, as affirmed throughout the Hebrew scriptures (Gen. 1:26-30; Ps. 8:4-8) and second-Temple literature (Sir. 49:16; Wis. 10:1-2; Philo, Opif. 83-88). This glory was taken from Adam when he sinned, but, according to Second Temple Judaism, would be restored to God’s people in the age to come (1 En. 90:37-38; 1QS 4:22-23). This is most likely what Paul means by “the freedom of the glory of God’s children.”

    However, there’s a problem with this plan for creation’s redemption. No human is worthy of this status of ruling and restoring creation, of “the glory of God.” In Paul’s own words elsewhere in Romans, “all people have sinned and fall short of God’s glory” (3:23). All the nations suppress the truth by injustice, and are receiving God’s wrath; they’ve exchanged “the glory of the imperishable God” for perishable idols and have been given over to do what is deserving of death (1:18-32). How does God plan to solve this problem?

The role of God’s people

    God desires to rescue his good creation from futility and decay, and has chosen to do so via humanity; but we humans have failed our vocation. In the Hebrew scriptures, the means by which God chooses to rectify this situation is by electing a particular group of humans to restore the rest of humanity. Abraham and his family were chosen in order to bring God’s blessing upon all the families of the earth (Gen. 12:3; 18:18; 22:18; 26:4; 28:14; cf. Exod. 19:3-6). When his chosen people, Israel, fulfill their true vocation, then all the nations will come to God and be blessed in him, as stated many times by the Hebrew prophets. [2]

    Paul also talks about this role for Israel in his letter to the Romans. The Jews were called to be “a guide to the blind, a light to those in darkness, an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of infants” – this all thanks to “the outline of knowledge and truth in Torah” (2:17-20). What advantage do the Jews have? Primarily, that they’ve been entrusted with God’s oracles (3:1-2), just as Paul was entrusted with his gospel (cf. 1 Thess. 2:4; 1 Tim. 1:11; Tit. 1:3) – in other words, to share with the world. Indeed, as Paul later affirms, Israel has succeeded in bringing the nations to God, though paradoxically through her fall (Rom. 11:11-25).

    But this plan for humanity’s redemption through Israel has hit a roadblock, according to Paul. Despite being entrusted with God’s oracles, his people have been unfaithful (3:1-3). Though they judge the nations for their sinfulness, the Jews are also subject to God’s justice, and are guilty of the same sins of which they accuse the gentiles (2:1-23). They’ve failed their vocation to bring the gentiles to God; worse, God’s name is even blasphemed among the gentiles because of them! (2:24)

    Jew and gentile alike are utterly sinful, whether they have Torah or not (3:9-20). Israel, too, is guilty of sin and deserving of death, even more so because they were entrusted with Torah (5:12-14, 20). Paul greatly laments this fact (9:1-5). How will the faithful God, whose faithfulness isn’t nullified by Israel’s unfaithfulness (3:4-8), now fulfill his plan to redeem humanity, and through humanity, his entire creation?

The role of Israel’s Messiah

    For Paul, God’s solution to the great problem — the corruption of Israel, of humanity, of the entire creation — has now come through Israel’s Messiah. As he says at the climax of the first section of his letter to the Romans,

But now, apart from Torah — though it was attested by Torah and the prophets — God’s righteousness has been revealed, God’s righteousness through the faithfulness of Jesus the Messiah for all who have faith. For there is no distinction: all people have sinned and fall short of God’s glory, and are freely declared ‘right’ by his grace through the redemption that is in Messiah Jesus. God set him forth as a mercy seat, through faith, in his blood. This was to show his righteousness, because God in his forbearance overlooked the sins that were committed previously. It was to show his righteousness in the present time: that he is right, and declares ‘right’ the one who has Jesus’ faithfulness. (Romans 3:21-26)

    In the Hebrew scriptures, “God’s righteousness” refers to his righteousness in dealing with his covenant people. [3] This righteousness, Paul says, has now been revealed in a new way, apart from Torah, through the faithfulness of Jesus the Messiah. Since it’s apart from Torah, the distinction between ethnic Jews and gentiles is irrelevant; all people may be “justified” or “declared ‘right’” through Israel’s Messiah. Israel has been unfaithful to her calling (3:1-4), but her Messiah’s faithfulness means that God’s people are redeemed, and redefined around that messianic faithfulness.

    Furthermore, the “faithfulness” of Jesus the Messiah is intimately connected with his death (“in his blood”) as a hilastērion, “mercy seat.” This technical word is elsewhere applied to a human only in 4 Maccabees 17:20-22, where the death of the righteous Maccabean martyrs at the hands of the pagans acted as a hilastērion, redeeming Israel from her oppressors (cf. 4 Macc. 6:27-29; 9:23-24; 18:3-4; 2 Macc. 7:36-38). Paul’s view is similar, [4] but for him the enemy from whom Jesus rescued his people is far more sinister and pervasive than the pagans – the enemies are Sin and Death themselves (5:20-21; cf. 1 Cor. 15:26).

    Paul returns to this topic later in his letter. In the past, God redefined his covenant people without being unjust (9:6-18). The Jews shouldn’t be surprised that he’s done so again, because he already promised, through the prophets, that he would bring the gentiles into his people (9:24-29). This covenant “righteousness” has been redefined around faith, namely the faithfulness in and of the Messiah, which is the true fulfillment of the covenant promises made in Deuteronomy 30 (9:30-10:13). Most of ethnic Israel, barring a remnant including Paul himself, has failed to achieve this “righteousness” (10:14-11:10).

    Finally, the topic of Jesus’ fulfillment of Israel’s covenant returns near the end of the letter to the Romans:

For, I tell you, the Messiah has become a servant of the circumcised people on behalf of God’s truth — to confirm the promises to the patriarchs, and for the gentiles to glorify God for his mercy. As it is written, “Therefore I will praise you among the nations and sing praises to your name.” And again it says, “Rejoice, you nations, with his people.” And again, “Praise the Lord, all you nations, and let all the peoples praise him.” And again, Isaiah says, “There will be the root of Jesse, the one who rises to rule the nations; in him the nations will hope.” (15:8-12)

The Messiah has served the covenant (circumcised) people and fulfilled the covenant: he confirmed the patriarchal promises and brought the gentiles to glorify God. These aren’t two different categories, because the promise made to Abraham was precisely that all nations would be blessed in him (Gen. 12:3; 22:18; 26:4; 28:14). Jesus, then, was faithful to Israel’s vocation to be the light of the world, which Israel herself had failed.

    In summary, for Paul, the faithful life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Messiah is the climax of the great story, and the point at which things begin to turn around. The enemies of the story, Sin and Death, reigned up to this point – in the creation (8:20-22), in the humanity that was meant to rule the creation (3:23), even in God’s people who were meant to restore that humanity (5:12-14, 20). Because of Jesus’ faithfulness, they’ve been defeated, if not in reality (yet) then in the certainty of God’s plan.

Part 2 (next week)

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[1] N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2013), 108–179.

[2] Ps. 22:27; 67:2-7; 72:17-19; 86:9; 98:3; 102:15; 117:1; Isa. 2:2-4; 11:10-12; 25:6-8; 42:1-6; 49:5-6; 55:3-5; 56:6-8; 60:8-16; 62:1-7; 66:10-23; Jer. 3:14-18; 33:6-9; Ezek. 17:22-24; Mic. 4:1-4; Hab. 2:14; Zeph. 3:9-20; Zech. 8:11-23; 14:8-21.

[3] N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 795–804.

[4] Jarvis L. Williams, Maccabean Martyr Traditions in Paul’s Theology of Atonement (Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2010).

Classical theism and the incarnation

    In one of my posts last year, I argued that the doctrine of the incarnation – that Jesus is a fully divine and fully human person – is ultimately incoherent, because it can’t be interpreted in a non-contradictory way. In particular, there are three main ways that this doctrine appears to be contradictory: because God’s attributes and human attributes are incompatible; because one person can’t have both a divine and a human consciousness; and because Jesus couldn’t have died if he was divine. However, like the Trinity, the incarnation might not be contradictory if it’s understood within the framework of classical theism that was accepted by the people who formulated this doctrine. In this post, I’ll try to show how the incarnation might be coherent if it’s interpreted in this framework.

(Note: Again, just because the incarnation can be coherent doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s true. But unitarians, non-Chalcedonian trinitarians, and Chalcedonians should be intellectually honest and interpret each others’ doctrines in the strongest possible way.)

The problem of the incarnation

    According to the creed promulgated at the Council of Chalcedon (AD 451), “one and the same Son, our Lord Jesus Christ... [is] perfect in divinity and perfect in humanity, truly God and truly human”. This creed is considered to be the definition of orthodox (Chalcedonian) Christology (OCC). However, this seems to lead to several contradictions, since God’s attributes are incompatible with human attributes. The Council of Nicaea II (AD 787) declared, “the one and same Christ [is] both invisible and visible lord, incomprehensible and comprehensible, unlimited and limited, incapable and capable of being affected, inexpressible and expressible in writing.” Therefore, every adherent of OCC must affirm at least five apparent contradictions:

1. Christ is invisible and visible.

2. Christ is incomprehensible and comprehensible.

3. Christ is unlimited and limited.

4. Christ is incapable and capable of being affected.

5. Christ is inexpressible and expressible in writing.

The law of non-contradiction states that nothing can be both A and not-A at the same time and in the same way. In order to make these axioms self-consistent, an adherent of OCC must say that Christ doesn’t have these conflicting attributes at the same time and/or in the same way. Here, I’ll focus on the fourth claim, that Christ is incapable of being affected (impassible) and capable of being affected (passible), as a test case.

Solutions to the problem

The reduplicative move

    The most common way that OCC theologians try to solve the Problem is by appealing to the doctrine of Christ’s two natures. The Council of Chalcedon proclaimed that Jesus has “two natures... the distinction between natures is in no way taken away by the union, but the property of each nature is preserved, and concur in one person and one subsistence, not parted or divided into two persons”. Based on this, many theologians take the route of saying that Christ isn’t impassible and passible in the same way, because he’s impassible qua his divine nature and passible qua his human nature. This move is known as reduplication.

4*. Christ is impassible qua divine and passible qua human.

    However, this revised claim is imprecise. The statement that “Christ is passible qua human” could be interpreted in three different ways, depending on which word “qua human” modifies. In other words, it could mean that “Christ-qua-human is passible,” that “Christ is-qua-human passible,” or that “Christ is passible-qua-human.”

    If it’s interpreted the first way (“Christ-qua-human is passible”), then we have three different things here: Christ, Christ-qua-human, and Christ-qua-divine. But are these three things identical or not? If they are, then this does nothing to solve the Problem because impassible and passible are still being predicated of the same thing in the same way. If they aren’t identical, then the predicates that are true of Christ-qua-divine and Christ-qua-human (“impassible” and “passible,” respectively) can’t be truly predicated of Christ simpliciter. But this is contrary to OCC, which says that Christ’s divine and human attributes are truly applied to Christ himself, not just two different parts of him.

    If it’s interpreted the second way (“Christ is-qua-human passible”), then there must be two different ways to predicate attributes of Christ: being-qua-divine and being-qua-human. But this would require an unusual system of logic that allows predicating attributes of the same thing in different ways; in our standard system of logic, “is-qua-X” simply collapses into “is” (Pawl 2020, 49-50). For that reason, this interpretation can be pretty safely discarded.

    If it’s interpreted the third way (“Christ is passible-qua-human”), then “passible” means something different when it refers to God and when it refers to humans. But traditionally, theologians have held that attributes are predicated analogically of God and humans, that is, in a similar way, and not univocally (in exactly the same way) or equivocally (in a totally different way). This interpretation of OCC requires us to predicate some attributes equivocally of God, which would make it difficult or impossible to know anything about God (since our words mean totally different things when applied to him), which leaves the OCC adherent with no basis for his belief. Thus, I think this interpretation is self-undermining, since it would mean that OCC itself has no determinable meaning.

    In summary, it seems that reduplication doesn’t really work, because the statement that “Christ is passible qua human” is imprecise, and any way we clarify it leads to more problems. It’s not surprising to me that this fails, since the reduplicative move also doesn’t work when applied to other contradictions. A square circle isn’t possible even if we say that it’s “four-sided qua square” and “no-sided qua circle.”

Redefining our terms

    Another solution to the Problem has been proposed by Tim Pawl (2014). Pawl argues that, rather than redefining what it means for Christ to be impassible and passible, we can redefine the terms “impassible” and “passible.” Rather than meaning “unable to be causally affected,” impassible can mean “has a nature that is unable to be causally affected,” and passible can mean “has a nature that is able to be causally affected.” Since Christ’s divine nature is impassible in the original sense, and his human nature is passible in the original sense, Christ himself is both impassible and passible in the revised sense, without any contradiction.

4**. Christ has a nature that is impassible and a nature that is passible.

    This solution may be unpalatable to modern analytic philosophers, since it requires Christ’s natures to be concrete things that can exhibit attributes. In modern philosophy, natures are typically seen as abstract sets of attributes, in which case this solution would do nothing to solve the Problem, since it would just mean that Christ has a set of attributes that includes impassibility and a set of attributes that includes passibility.

    However, within classical Christian metaphysics, natures are seen as concrete things that can exhibit attributes. Because God is simple, the divine nature is identical to him, so at least one of Christ’s natures is concrete. Likewise, the Chalcedonian creed defines Christ’s human nature as “a rational soul and body”, which is concrete. The Tome of Leo, which was accepted as authoritative at the Council of Chalcedon, certainly assumes the concreteness of Christ’s natures. Leo says that Jesus’ human nature wept, hung on the cross, was pierced, and said, “The Father is greater than I” (John 14:28), while his divine nature resurrected Lazarus, turned day into night, opened the gates of paradise, and said, “I and the Father are one” (John 10:30). Therefore, given the metaphysical framework presupposed by OCC, it’s coherent to say that Christ’s divine nature is impassible while his human nature is passible.

    Pawl’s solution to the Problem runs into its own difficulties when we look at other incompatible divine and human attributes. For example, God isn’t temptable but Jesus was tempted, and God is omniscient but Jesus was limited in knowledge. Knowledge and temptation seem like attributes that properly belong to persons, which would mean that Christ is two persons, a conclusion that OCC explicitly rejects.

    Pawl (2020, 5-7) notes that “person” means something different in classical Christian metaphysics than it does today. For the writers of the Chalcedonian creed, it meant hypostasis (Greek) or suppositum (Latin), that is, the largest ontological whole with a rational nature. Consider this: I’m a person, and no part of me (such as “me minus my pinky toe”) is a person, otherwise there would be many different people occupying the same space as me. But if I lose my pinky toe, I’m still the same person. In an analogous way, Christ’s divine and human natures make up an ontological whole, even if (per impossibile) their separation would result in two distinct persons (since Christ’s human nature includes a rational soul).

A disarmingly easy solution?

    The law of non-contradiction states that nothing can be both A and not-A at the same time and in the same way. The first solution surveyed above seeks to show that in the same way doesn’t apply to the apparent contradictions of OCC, and the second solution seeks to redefine the terms so that both A and not-A doesn’t apply. What if instead at the same time doesn’t apply? After all, God is timeless, which means that he exists at no time (outside our time stream altogether). Christ could be impassible timelessly and passible at a certain time, omniscient timelessly and limited in knowledge at a certain time, and so on, without contradiction. His divine nature would still be able to act within time, because God’s timeless action can produce temporal effects. The fact that (as far as I know) no modern analytic theologian has suggested this as a solution gives me some pause, but it seems by far the easiest and most plausible solution to me.

Classical theism and the incarnation

     Does classical theism make the incarnation incoherent? After all, if God is immutable (without change) and impassible (unable to be causally affected), how could he become human? It seems that for God to become human, he would have to change. This is true, but it could be an extrinsic change, not a change intrinsic to the divine nature; in fact, OCC seems to require this, since the Chalcedonian definition says that the divine nature wasn’t changed by the incarnation. God can become human by uniting a human nature to himself, without himself undergoing movement, in the same way that I can become shorter than Abby if Abby grows taller than me, without myself undergoing change in height.

    The classical theistic model of the incarnation is called terminative assumption. A human nature, by itself, isn’t a person. Human natures are usually terminated (completed) by human persons, but a human nature could theoretically be terminated by a divine person, by being united with a person who has a divine nature (Dolezal 2022). In this way God could assume a human nature without subtracting or adding anything to himself.

Figure 1.

A representation of a normal human person (A); a human nature without a person (B); a divine person (C); and a human nature with a divine person (D). Modified from DeRosa (2021).

    Alin Cucu (2018) seeks to demonstrate that another tenet of classical theism, divine timelessness, is incompatible with the incarnation. Prior to the incarnation, God isn’t united to a human nature, whereas after it, he is united to a human nature. But since God doesn’t undergo temporal succession, from his perspective both things are true of him at the same time, which is a contradiction. This objection relies on an assumption that Brian Leftow (2018) refers to as Time’s Way: that the way things are in time must be the way they are for God, which classical theists reject. From our perspective, God would go from not being incarnate to being incarnate, but from God’s perspective, his single timeless action includes making himself incarnate.

The incarnation and Christ’s consciousness

     Here is a set of four inconsistent claims:

Divine Transcendence (DT): the first-person perspective of God is incompatible with the first-person perspective of humans

Unity of Consciousness (UC): Jesus has one first-person perspective

Humanity of Christ (HC): Jesus has a human first-person perspective

Divinity of Christ (DC): Jesus has a divine first-person perspective

These claims are inconsistent because DT, HC, and DC together entail that Jesus has two first-person perspectives (a divine one and a human one), which contradicts UC. But it seems that OCC adherents must affirm all four claims. DT is true in every Christian theism, especially classical theism; denying UC implies Nestorianism (that Jesus is two persons) which OCC rejects; denying HC or DC leads to some kind of kenoticism or Apollinarianism, respectively, both of which OCC rejects.

    Does this show that the incarnation is logically incoherent? Well, “first-person perspective” isn’t really a well defined term. To get at the concern here, maybe it would be better to talk about the unity of conscious states. It seems plausible that the conscious states of a one person are unified into a single, overarching conscious state, the conjunction of the individual states. But people have different overarching conscious states at different times – it’s not like our total conscious experience is the same at all times. This gives us the following modified claim:

Unity of Consciousness (UC): the individual conscious states of one person are unified into a single big conscious state at one time

If Jesus is one person, as OCC asserts, then UC must be true of him. But this also shows us a way out of the inconsistency in the claims. Since God is timeless, it’s possible for one person to have both the divine conscious state and human conscious states; the former is experienced at no time (timelessly), and the latter are experienced at different times.

    This also means that God is the only thing that could in principle become incarnate, because he’s the only timeless thing. If we assume that demons exist, and that they can enter and possess humans, they still couldn’t become incarnate. This is because both demons and humans are temporal – their conscious states exist in the same time stream – so their conscious states would conflict. The demon-possessed human might be only a demon in a human body, or a demon and a human person, or even possibly a third thing (a demon-human mixture), but it couldn’t be a single person who is fully demon and fully human. (This also means that a non-classical-theistic God, who exists in the same time stream as creation, couldn’t become incarnate.)

    But is it really possible for a timeless, immutable conscious experience and temporal conscious experiences to belong to the same person? Even if it doesn’t obviously entail a contradiction, it seems so intuitively paradoxical. Still, as long as it’s not actually contradictory, it’s logically possible. Furthermore, OCC actually affirms that it’s impossible to fully understand the hypostatic union (how Christ’s natures are united in one person). The Council of Ephesus (AD 431) affirmed that the incarnation happened “in an unspeakable, inconceivable manner”.

    I think an analogy can help to understand how this is possible. The analogy of an author writing a story is often used to explain divine timelessness: the author doesn’t exist within the story’s time stream, but writes outside of it altogether. To extend this analogy, the incarnation could be considered like the author’s self-insert character in the story. Even though the actions of every characters are caused by the author, the self-insert character is relevantly different from the other characters so as to be the same person as the author. Moreover, this fact isn’t really analyzable in more specific terms than the affirmation that “this is the author’s self-insert.” The difference is that the characters in a story aren’t sentient beings, which is why this is only an analogy (but it doesn’t hurt the point being made by the analogy).

The incarnation and Christ’s death

    Here’s another set of inconsistent claims:

1. God cannot die.

2. Christ is God.

3. Christ died.

It’s clear that these claims entail a contradiction (namely, that Jesus can’t die and that he died). But the claims are imprecise within the framework of OCC, because “God” could refer to the divine nature or to a person who has the divine nature. Which sense of “God” is meant here? If it means the divine nature, then claim 1 is definitely true, but claim 2 is false. OCC denies that Jesus is identical to the divine nature. If it means any person who has the divine nature, then claim 2 is true, but claim 1 is false. A person who has the divine nature can die by assuming a human nature and dying as a human.

    How can a person who has a divine and a human nature die as a human? Let’s take the strongest possible view of death: that people cease to exist when they are dead. Can we say that Christ ceased to exist between his death and resurrection if he has the divine nature? Actually, yes! God is timeless, existing at no time relative to creation, so it takes nothing away from him if he didn’t exist for three days. Likewise, we can say that Jesus didn’t exist prior to his human life, because sans incarnation he exists timelessly (not at any time). In fact, classical OCC insists that Jesus had a beginning in time; the Tome of Leo, which was accepted at the Council of Chalcedon, affirms that “while remaining prior to time, [the Son of God] began to exist in time”.

    If classical OCC is compatible with Christ dying according to the strongest possible view of death (ceasing to exist), then it’s certainly compatible with weaker views of death, such as ceasing to be conscious (soul sleep) or the separation of the conscious soul from the body. Therefore, the apparently inconsistent triad of claims turns out to be consistent after all. The divine nature cannot die, but a person with the divine nature can die as a human, and Christ is the latter according to OCC.

Conclusion

    In this post, we looked at the claims of orthodox (Chalcedonian) Christology to see if they could be interpreted in a logically coherent way. At first, OCC seems to entail multiple contradictions, since God’s attributes are incompatible with human attributes. But if God exists timelessly, then Jesus doesn’t have his divine attributes at the same time as his human attributes, which removes the contradiction. The same fact of God’s timelessness also removes several other apparent contradictions about Jesus’ consciousness and his death. Therefore, OCC is logically coherent if combined with the tenets of classical theism, especially divine timelessness. However, it seems that it would be logically impossible for a temporal God to become incarnate.

Classical theism and the Trinity

    A couple of years ago, I wrote a post surveying many of the major Trinity theories in modern analytic theology, in which I argued that all of them end up being problematic in terms of both philosophy and Scripture. I also wrote another post in which I argued that the Trinity is an incoherent doctrine, since it’s impossible to logically parse the metaphysical language of “one ousia and three hypostaseis” in a way consistent with all the tenets of trinitarianism. However, after delving into the metaphysics of classical theism, I think there is a way to coherently model the Trinity along the lines of the interpretation that’s been common in the Western tradition since Augustine. In this post, I’ll be presenting this coherent Trinity theory and defending it against objections.

(Note: Just because the Trinity can be coherent doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s true; many coherent philosophical views are clearly false, such as solipsism. But both unitarians and trinitarians should be intellectually honest and interpret the other’s doctrine in the strongest possible way.)

Defining orthodox trinitarianism

    First, let’s look at the axioms that define an orthodox Trinity theory (OTT). Any OTT must be at least minimally consistent with the following ten claims:

1. There is one God.

2. The Father is God.

3. The Son is God.

4. The Holy Spirit is God.

5. The Father is not the Son.

6. The Father is not the Holy Spirit.

7. The Son is not the Father.

8. The Son is not the Holy Spirit.

9. The Holy Spirit is not the Father.

10. The Holy Spirit is not the Son.

In other words: there is one God, and there are three persons that are each individually the one God but are not each the other persons. However, the meaning of these axioms is disputed, especially the meaning of “God” and “is.” When we say, “There is one God,” what exactly are we saying that there is one of? And when we say that each of the persons individually “is” God, what relation are we referring to?

    The standard problem here is that if “is” is interpreted as a relation of numerical identity, then the ten axioms presented above are contradictory. Numerical identity is a transitive and symmetrical relation, which means that if A = C and B = C then A = B. (“Transitive” means that if A = B and B = C, then A = C. “Symmetrical” means that if A = B, then B = A.) But this means that if the Father = God (axiom 2) and the Son = God (axiom 3) then the Father = the Son (contradicting axiom 5). Therefore, if the ten axioms are self-consistent, “is” must refer to a relation that is non-transitive and/or asymmetrical. Each Trinity theory seeks to solve this Problem in its own way.

One and three-self OTTs

     In modern analytic theology, OTTs are primarily divided into “one self” and “three self” theories. (See the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy article on the Trinity.) From that SEP article, a self is defined as “a being who is in principle capable of knowledge, intentional action, and interpersonal relationships.” One-self OTTs seek to show that the ten axioms of trinitarianism are consistent with God being a single self, while three-self OTTs seek to show that the axioms are consistent with God being and/or having three selves.

    One-self OTTs are clearly consistent with the first axiom: “one God” refers to the single great Self which is God. It gets a bit dicey with the other axioms. In order to solve the Problem, one-self OTTs typically interpret the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as modes of God: “God-qua-Father,” “God-qua-Son,” and “God-qua-Spirit.” This seems to solve the Problem (there is a sense in which modes of a self, such as “me-qua-son” and “me-qua-student” are the same as me but not the same as each other). But are these modes essential to God or accidental to him? If they’re essential to him, their existence appears to be a brute (unexplained) fact, since nothing can explain its own essence and nothing outside of God can explain his essence either. And if these three modes are merely accidental, extrinsic ways that God relates to us, this may be nominally consistent with the ten axioms, but historically it’s been seen as “modalism” which is not authentically trinitarian.

    Three-self OTTs are consistent with axioms 5-10, since different selves clearly aren’t the same as one another. But they run into a problem with axioms 1-4. In order to say that three numerically distinct selves are each individually “God,” three-self OTTs typically interpret “one God” (axiom 1) to refer to a single universal “God-ness” which the three persons instantiate. But in other cases where there are multiple instantiations of a single universal (e.g., “dog-ness”) we say that there are multiple things (“dogs”). It’s a very unusual use of language to say that three instances of “God-ness” is one “God.” And if “God” does refer to “God-ness,” it’s strange to say that each person is “God-ness” – we wouldn’t say that every dog is “dog-ness.”

    Other three-self OTTs, rather than relying on an unusual use of language, rely on an unusual system of logic or an unusual theology. For example, relative identity OTTs use the concept of ‘relative identity,’ according to which the three persons can be “identical-qua-God” but not “identical-qua-persons.” Most philosophers deny that this concept is even coherent. William Lane Craig has an OTT wherein “God” refers to the Trinity itself, and the three persons are proper parts of God. Most theologians consider this unorthodox, and it relies on an unusual mereology (metaphysics of parts) that allows us to say that a proper part “is” the whole, which seems contrary to the very concept of proper parts (parts that aren’t identical to the whole).

Monarchical trinitarianism

    Another OTT is the monarchical view of the Trinity, which is a common Eastern Orthodox view. This view has been defended analytically by Beau Branson (2022), and is also argued by Metropolitan John Zizioulas, Fr. John Behr, and other prominent Eastern Orthodox figures in various places. According to monarchical trinitarianism, “God” properly refers to the Father because he is the One who is absolutely uncaused and unoriginate, while the Son and the Spirit are “God” insofar as they have the same nature as the Father but not as uncaused and unoriginate (since they originate from the Father). This is argued to be more consistent with the 4th-century creeds that proclaim “one God, the Father,” and also to be the view that the Cappadocian Fathers held (e.g., Gregory of Nyssa, Ad Petrum 4; Contra Eunomium 2.5). Basil of Caesarea even declared, “There is one God because there is one Father” (Contra Sab. et al. 3-4).

    This view is obviously consistent with the first axiom: “There is one God” is true because, as Basil said, there is one Father and the Father is numerically identical to God. It’s also consistent with axioms 5-10 since the Son and the Spirit are different selves than the Father (like the three-self OTTs), and with axiom 2 since the Father is numerically identical to God. But it’s harder to see how it can be consistent with axioms 3 and 4, that the Son is God and the Spirit is God. Even though they have the same nature as the Father, “God” properly refers to the Father as uncaused and unoriginate, and the Son and the Spirit “are” God in a different sense than the Father “is” God. This solves the Problem at the expense of interpreting “is” differently between axioms 2 and 3-4.

Classical theism and the Trinity

    All of the OTTs surveyed above manage to interpret the ten axioms in a way that solves the Problem, but each of them comes with significant theological and/or philosophical costs. What if we add the classical theistic doctrines that God is simple (without proper parts) and purely actual? At first, this seems to make the Problem worse, since it means God is really identical to everything intrinsic to him. But if we consider this more closely, it might actually give the trinitarian a way out of the dilemma and a coherent model of the Trinity that combines all the best aspects of the other OTTs.

    First, let’s consider what it means for God to know himself. Humans are made of multiple parts – at the very least, our nature (humanity) and the matter that individuates us from other humans. Our act of thinking is separate from both of these things. So when we think about ourselves, there are at least three things: our matter, our nature, and our act of thinking which is related to our nature. If non-material beings (like angels) exist, then their thinking about themselves is slightly more simple: it only requires their nature and their act of thinking. But when God knows himself, because he is absolutely simple, there are no parts: just God’s nature which is related to itself. His act of thinking is really the same as his nature. God is “thought thinking itself,” as Aristotle said (Metaphysics 12.7, 9).

Figure 1.

 A representation of a human knowing themself (A); an angel knowing themself (B); and God knowing himself (C). “M” refers to matter, “N” refers to nature, “AT” refers to an act of thinking, and “G” refers to God. Based on figs. 1-4 of Koons (2018).

    Thus, if classical theism is right about God’s simplicity and pure actuality, he must fundamentally be a relational act directed toward himself. (He certainly can’t be a relational act directed toward anything else, since he exists a se, self-sufficiently.) This can be understood as God thinking himself, knowing himself, loving himself... if he’s simple, then all these acts are really the same in him. But if God is a binary relation of knowing and loving directed toward himself, we can distinguish three different relational properties here: being lover, being beloved, and being lover and beloved. This in turn gives rise to three of what are called “qua-objects” in modern analytic philosophy: God-qua-lover, God-qua-beloved, and God-qua-lover-and-beloved (Koons 2018, 344-47).

    The classical theistic OTT identifies these qua-objects with the three persons of the Trinity (God-qua-lover = the Father; God-qua-beloved = the Son; God-qua-lover-and-beloved = the Spirit). This is consistent with the first axiom, “There is one God,” because classical theism affirms that God is one and absolutely simple. It’s also consistent with axioms 2-4, since each qua-object is really the same as God. (It couldn’t be otherwise; there are no proper parts of God such that a qua-object could be only part of him.) But each qua-object isn’t the same as the others (axioms 5-10), because each one has a relational property that the others don’t, namely, being lover, being beloved, or being lover and beloved.

    This model of the Trinity, like the one-self OTTs, is able to use qua language to describe the persons of the Trinity. However, it’s able to avoid the dilemma of making the persons either accidental or a brute fact, since in this model the persons arise out of God’s relational nature. Like three-self OTTs, this model affirms the distinctness of the persons, without relying on any unusual use of language. Along with monarchical trinitarianism, it’s able to affirm the processions of the Son and the Spirit from the Father (unlike some Protestant OTTs), and actually relies on these relations, thereby preserving the Father’s place as the only uncaused and unoriginate. But unlike monarchical trinitarianism, it’s able to say that the Father, Son, and Spirit “are” God in the same sense (really the same as the divine nature).

    This view is arguably the one that Western thinkers like Augustine and Aquinas held, or at least, it’s very similar to theirs. Augustine held that the Trinity is analogous to “the mind, and the knowledge by which it knows itself, and the love by which it loves itself” (De Trinitate 9). “[W]hen the mind knows itself and loves itself, there remains a trinity: mind, love, knowledge” (De Trinitate 9.5). Aquinas argued that the persons of the Trinity are what he called “subsistent relations” (ST 1.40.1-2), which we would call qua-objects, and he associated them with the intrinsic relationality of God’s nature (ST 1.27-28).

Objections to the model

    A few objections could be raised against this model of the Trinity. First, no qua-object is numerically identical to its basis, so in what sense can we say that each of the persons “is” God? We already know because of the Problem that “is” can’t be interpreted as numerical identity. Robert Koons (2018, 347-49) came up with a relation of “real distinctness,” according to which qua-objects aren’t “really distinct” from their basis, but different qua-objects are “really distinct.” This could be seen as an ad hoc solution, but I think it’s quite intuitive: it seems that there must be a relation such that my qua-objects (e.g., “me-qua-son” and “me-qua-student”) are really the same as me but not the same as each other. I really am a son and a student, but my son-ness and student-ness aren’t the same. In an analogous way, God could be Father and Son and Spirit, but his Father-ness and Son-ness and Spirit-ness are distinct.

    Another objection: how could it be that God’s qua-objects are different persons but ours aren’t? I’m a son and a student, but my son-ness and student-ness can’t relate to each other as persons. The difference is that God’s qua-objects are intrinsic and essential to him, but my son-ness and student-ness are based on my relations to extrinsic things. Furthermore, God’s qua-objects are fully God, since he is simple without distinct parts and attributes, whereas our qua-objects refer to individual aspects of our composite being. Even if we think about our act of thinking, this doesn’t make us tripersonal, because this thinking is merely accidental to us and (as composite beings) our acts of thinking are distinct from our nature.

    A third objection: if the Father is God-qua-lover and the Son is God-qua-beloved, does this mean that the Father isn’t loved or that the Son doesn’t love? No, because God is simple and his qua-objects share all of his essential attributes, including loving God and being loved by God (Koons 2018, 346). However, each does so in their own way. For example, God-qua-beloved loves-qua-beloved God, but he doesn’t love-qua-lover nor does he love-qua-lover-and-beloved. As long as the relation of love within God is both irreflexive and symmetric, the distinctness of the persons and their love for each other is preserved.

    Finally, how could it be that there are only three qua-objects that are persons? If we say that God-qua-lover and God-qua-beloved are persons, why aren’t God-qua-omniscient and God-qua-creator also persons? First of all, the reason why God-qua-lover and God-qua-beloved could be seen as persons is because they describe the relata of an irreflexive relation. (To love and to be loved are conceptually distinct, even in the case of self-love, which makes this relation irreflexive.) To be omniscient isn’t a relation, much less an irreflexive relation, so God-qua-omniscient is just numerically identical to God. To be creator is a relation, but it’s a relation to something extrinsic to God, so God-qua-creator is also just identical to God. A simple God has only one intrinsic, binary, irreflexive relation, which logically leads to exactly three qua-objects that can be considered as persons.

xkcd 2591 “Qua”

Conclusion

    The axioms of orthodox trinitarianism appear to entail a contradiction, if “is” is interpreted as strict identity. There are various Trinity theories that modern analytic theologians have put forth to solve this problem, all of which come with their own difficulties. But if God is simple, then everything intrinsic to him is really the same as him, which makes it easier to understand how there could be multiple persons that are God. And if God is simple and intrinsically relational, as classical theism affirms (“thought thinking itself,” or in more properly Christian terms, “love loving itself”), then we can construct a logically coherent model of the Trinity.

Classical theism and divine simplicity

    In the last post, we looked at one aspect of classical theism (divine timelessness) that’s been rejected by many non-classical theists in the modern era. I gave several reasons to believe in divine timelessness and showed that it could be conceived in a way that’s logically coherent. In this post, we’ll take a look at another controversial aspect of classical theism, the doctrine of divine simplicity, which is the claim that God has no physical or metaphysical parts. If God is simple, then he’s identical to everything that’s intrinsic to him, including his action and all his properties. Why do classical theists believe such a strange doctrine, and is it even logically coherent?

Defining Divine Simplicity

     First, let’s define and disambiguate several different understandings of divine simplicity (based on O’Connor 2023). The weakest version of divine simplicity (WDS) says that God has no physical parts, but makes no commitments about his metaphysical parts. Virtually all philosophical theists agree with this thesis, with the exception of pantheists. The strongest version of divine simplicity (SDS) says that God has no metaphysical parts whatsoever, so that he’s really identical to everything intrinsic to him. This view was held by classical theists like Anselm, Aquinas, Maimonides, and Ibn Sina (Avicenna). In between these two views is Duns Scotus’ claim that God has metaphysical parts, but they are inseparable so that we can’t really distinguish them; let’s call this inseparability divine simplicity (IDS). Here, I’ll be defending the SDS view.

    Furthermore, a few notes about mereology (the metaphysics of parts). A proper part refers to a part that isn’t identical to the whole, and an improper part refers to a ‘part’ that is identical to the whole. So my heart and lungs are proper parts of myself, and (if improper parthood is a coherent concept) I am an improper part of myself. SDS denies that God has proper parts, but God can have improper parts that we may be able to conceptually distinguish. So even though God is really identical to his omnipotence and his omniscience (according to SDS), we can distinguish between God’s omnipotence and his omniscience insofar as we creatures imperfectly mimic God in different ways that we call ‘power’ and ‘knowledge’ (cf. Aquinas, ST 1.13.4).

Arguments for Divine Simplicity

    The primary motivation for divine simplicity is that it seems to follow from God being the first cause of all other things, which is central to classical theists’ natural theology. This doesn’t merely mean that God is first in time, so that he set everything in motion and then stepped aside (like in deism), but that he’s the most foundational reality which explains everything apart from himself; nothing is more fundamental than him. Most philosophical theists would agree with this concept of God (and it follows from perfect being theology – a being that explains all else is more perfect than one that only explains some other things), but disagree on what it entails.

    If God is indeed the most fundamental reality, this seems to entail that he has no proper parts. Every physical composite depends on the existence of its proper parts at least to some extent – animals depend on the existence of their organs, organs depend on the existence of cells, cells on molecules, molecules on atoms, atoms on fundamental particles. If we’re realists about metaphysical parts, then metaphysical composites also depend on their proper parts – Aristotelian material substances depend on their form and matter; electrons depend on the existence of the property of negative charge; and so on. But God doesn’t depend on anything that isn’t himself; he is self-sufficient. Therefore he has no proper parts. We can formalize this argument as follows:

1. Every composite depends on its proper parts. (premise)

2.  No composite is identical to any of its proper parts. (definition)

3. God does not depend on anything that is not identical to himself. (premise)

4. Therefore, God is not composite. (from 1-3)

An objector may deny premise 1, but it’s difficult to see how this could be the case. It seems true by definition that a composite depends on its parts; even if it doesn’t depend on these parts exactly (for example, I could have a different kidney than I do), it depends on the existence of some parts, otherwise it wouldn’t be a composite. An objector may also modify premise 3 to say that God doesn’t depend on anything outside of himself, so that he could depend on parts intrinsic to him. But this seems to save God’s compositeness at the expense of admitting a more fundamental reality than God himself (namely, God’s parts), which abandons God’s self-sufficiency and first-causeness.

    Finally, an objector to SDS could admit the truth of all the premises while still holding WDS rather than SDS, by being an anti-realist about metaphysical parts. If there’s no such thing as properties, then of course God doesn’t depend on his properties, so we can just say God has no physical parts and be done with it. But in addition to the high theoretical cost of this view, it’s unclear what advantages it has over SDS. After all, if there are no properties, then the apparently diverse properties of things are just different ways of conceiving one and the same reality – but that’s exactly what SDS proponents say about God’s apparently diverse properties!

    Here’s another argument that supports SDS over WDS and IDS. Even if we grant that God could have proper parts, what explains why he has these proper parts and not others? If God’s properties are entities not identical to him, then it seems metaphysically possible for them to be combined in different ways. There could be a being that’s omnipotent but not loving, or omniscient but not immutable, and so on. We’re left with a sort of ‘Build-a-God’ station, and no solid reason why some properties are essential to God and not others. We can formalize this argument as follows:

5. God’s essential properties are proper parts of him. (premise for reductio ad absurdum)

6. For every composite, there is an explanation why it has these proper parts and not others. (Principle of Sufficient Reason)

7. There is an explanation why God has these essential properties and not others. (from 5-6)

8. Nothing can explain its own essential properties. (premise)

9. No essential properties can explain themselves. (premise)

10. Nothing outside of God can explain his essential properties. (premise)

11. There is and is not an explanation why God has these essential properties and not others. (from 7-10)

This argument is deductively valid, and if the premises are true, it shows that God’s essential properties being proper parts leads to a contradiction. Few philosophical theists will want to deny premise 6 (a version of the Principle of Sufficient Reason), and it seems intuitively true; otherwise God’s attributes will be unexplained by God or anything else. Premises 8-10 also appear intuitively true to me. Nothing can explain its own essential attributes (premise 8), because then it would be explanatorily prior to itself, which is impossible. It also seems intuitive that circular explanation is impossible, so the set of God’s essential properties can’t explain itself (premise 9). And premise 10 can only be denied at the expense of denying God’s self-sufficiency.

    Finally, one last argument moves from the doctrine of creation ex nihilo to SDS (Juliano 2019). According to the traditional doctrine, God created all things without relying on anything apart from himself. But if God has proper parts that aren’t identical to him, then he must rely on something that isn’t himself (namely, his parts) in order to create. This argument can be formalized as follows:

12. If God’s creative action depends on something that is not identical to himself, then he cannot create ex nihilo. (premise)

13. If God has proper parts, then his creative action depends on his proper parts. (premise)

14. No composite is identical to any of its proper parts. (definition)

15. God does create ex nihilo. (premise)

16. Therefore, God has no proper parts. (from 12-15)

The same argument holds for the heterodox view of creation ex Deo (out of God), which also holds that the only prerequisite for creation is God himself. Most philosophical theists won’t want to deny premises 12 and 15, so an objector will likely attack premise 13. But this premise is just as intuitive as premise 1 (“Every composite depends on its proper parts”), and can even be seen as an extension of that premise, insofar as a thing’s action depends on its existence.

    We’ve now seen a few arguments that provide us with good (but defeasible) reasons to believe that SDS is true, that is, that God has no metaphysical proper parts and is identical to everything intrinsic to himself. There are even more arguments that I didn’t have the space to present here. For example, Aquinas’ argument in De Ente et Essentia moves from the distinction between essence (what something is) and existence (that something is) to show that God’s essence is identical to his act of existence (Kerr 2014; Koons 2023). If this is correct, then God’s essence is simple, because existence itself is absolutely simple and fundamental. However, if SDS is logically incoherent, as many analytic theologians today claim, then we must have gone wrong somewhere. Is it coherent to say that God is simple?

The Coherence of Divine Simplicity

Objection #1: SDS makes God a property

    The most common objection that is raised against SDS is that it makes God identical to a property, but properties are merely abstract (not causally effective), whereas God is concrete (causally effective), and so SDS must be false. However, this assumes a metaphysical framework that most classical theists wouldn’t accept. Classical theists tend to be Aristotelians, who agree (contrary to Platonism) that properties considered in the abstract are abstract (such as redness), but believe that properties of things are concrete (such as this pillow’s redness).

    Indeed, it doesn’t make much sense to me to say that every property is abstract. If this pillow’s redness is abstract (not causally effective), then how is it that we can detect its redness? Perhaps you will object that redness is reducible to interactions between particles, and a pillow’s redness simply refers to the wavelength of the photons that it emits. But you can substitute redness for your favorite fundamental property. Surely this photon’s wavelength is something detectable, and therefore concrete, as is this electron’s negative charge. And if properties of things are concrete, then it no longer seems quite so incoherent to say that God is identical to God’s omnipotence (for example).

    Another model of SDS, which doesn’t rely on controversial Aristotelian metaphysics, is “Divine Truthmaker Simplicity” (DTS), which is defended by Jeffrey Brower (2008) and Tim Pawl (2019). This model relies on truthmaker theory, which is the view that when we refer to a thing’s property (F-ness), we’re actually talking about the truthmaker in virtue of which that thing is F. So this pillow’s redness actually refers to the wavelengths of the photons it emits. In this case, God is identical to his properties because he’s the one truthmaker for all of them. God is identical to his omnipotence because he’s the very thing in virtue of which he is omnipotent. In my opinion, DTS is inferior to the Aristotelian view, but it’s probably more palatable to modern analytic philosophers.

Objection #2: A simple God can’t be creator

    A second objection to SDS is that if God is simple, he can’t be our creator or redeemer. After all, if God is identical to his properties, he must be identical to his properties of being creator and being redeemer. But God is self-sufficient, not depending on anything apart from himself, so his very being can’t depend on creation or redemption. Furthermore, God could have chosen not to create, so his property of being creator is contingent, and if he’s identical to it he must also be contingent. This absurd conclusion shows that God can’t be simple.

    The solution provided by Aquinas and other classical theists is controversial: that God isn’t really related to us. To be clear, this doesn’t mean that God isn’t our creator and redeemer, or that he doesn’t love us. In Aquinas’ metaphysics, a real relation refers to a relation that causally affects both relata, whereas a relation of reason is a relation that does not affect either relatum, and a mixed relation is a relation that affects one relatum but not the other. For example, when I learn a fact about Thomas Aquinas, that creates a relation between me and Aquinas, but one that only causally affects me and not Aquinas. God creating and redeeming us intrinsically affects us, but not him, so it’s a mixed relation. Thus, when we call God “creator” and “redeemer,” this describes a relation between us and God, but not something intrinsic to God, so his properties of being creator and being redeemer are not intrinsic to him and therefore not identical to him (ST 1.13.7).

    We can translate this into modern analytic philosophy using the language of Cambridge properties. A Cambridge property is an extrinsic property that doesn’t refer to an intrinsic fact about a thing. So my property of being taller than Abby is a Cambridge property, because if Abby were to grow taller than me, this property would change without anything intrinsic to me changing. God’s properties of being creator and being redeemer are Cambridge properties, since they describe a change in us and not in God. Divine simplicity doesn’t require God to be identical to his Cambridge properties, so the second challenge to SDS fails.

Objection #3: A simple God can’t have many ideas

    A third objection against SDS is based on God’s ideas. In order to intentionally create a universe with multiple, composite things, he must have multiple ideas in his mind (e.g., the idea of me and of you). But if ideas are real things that are intrinsic to a mind, and God is identical to everything intrinsic to him, it seems that he could only have one idea. This objection, like the previous one, was already known to Aquinas (ST 1.15.2). Importantly, this isn’t about God’s knowledge of creation (see below), but about his ideas which are logically prior to creation.

    There are a few responses that can help the SDS proponent here. First, God’s ideas might not be propositional (e.g., thoughts like x is possible and y is possible) but rather experiential, in an analogous way to our raw sensory data (Panchuk 2021). Second, as Aquinas argued, God’s essential act of knowing is knowing his own essence. Since God’s essence is existence itself, unlimited perfection, by knowing his essence he knows all the ways that his essence can be imperfectly imitated, and thus knows all possible things. Finally, though God’s ideas have multiple objects, he can know them all by a single mode/act of knowing, which for Aquinas is his act of knowing his own essence. (Think of many lines that all originate at a single, simple geometrical point.) This model shows that it’s possible for a simple God to have many ideas, although it’s of course impossible for mere creatures to fully understand God’s thoughts.

    This model can also help us to understand how it’s possible for God to know things about creation. We know due to divine simplicity that God’s knowledge isn’t propositional, but rather experiential, which is both richer and more direct than propositional knowledge. Furthermore, if God is simple, his intellect is really the same as his will, which means that he knows that things are true by willing them to be true. He doesn’t merely create and then wait to see what happens, as if he were causally affected by creation, but he knows by creating. Thus, he knows me as intimately as I know myself (or even moreso), inasmuch as he actively wills all of my conscious states. God’s knowledge is more, not less, perfect than ours because of his simplicity and impassibility (Dolezal 2023).

Objection #4: SDS contradicts divine freedom

    One last common objection is that SDS leads to modal collapse. If God’s action is identical to God, and God is necessary, then it seems that he couldn’t do otherwise than create this world exactly as it is, so everything necessarily exists as it does. The standard response, made by Aquinas and others, is that creation is a Cambridge relation of God (see above), so a difference in creation doesn’t make a difference intrinsic to God. (Per Aristotelian metaphysics, the change brought about by an action is in the patient and not the agent, so an agent can produce different effects without changing intrinsically.) The objector, however, can respond that this moves the issue back further: If a change in creation doesn’t reflect a change in God, how is it that he can intentionally will this creation and not another?

    A possible answer is that God’s act of willing/creating the world, unlike our acts of willing, is direct and immediate (not mediated by anything intrinsic to God) so it’s fully extrinsic to him. As long as God has reasons to create or not create, his creation of the world is indeterministic but not an unexplained brute fact. Another response is to point out that this is a problem for every theist – how to derive contingent reality from a necessary God – and it’s only a matter of whether we say this indeterminism is intrinsic to God or (as SDS proponents claim) extrinsic to him. If we accept libertarian free will as a possibility, then humans can also intentionally bring about different effects without any intrinsic difference (Shields 2024).

    From a different perspective, an SDS proponent might simply accept that creation really is necessary, while still being wholly dependent on God for its existence. God’s act of creation would still be free in the compatibilist sense, since his action isn’t constrained by anything apart from him. This move is especially open to Reformed and Islamic theologians who already hold to compatibilist rather than libertarian free will (Andani and College 2022; Pedersen and Lilley 2022). Thus, divine simplicity doesn’t challenge divine freedom. However, a theologian’s answer to this objection depends on if they hold a libertarian or a compatibilist view of free will; either way, it’s possible for God’s act of creation to be free in their preferred sense.

Conclusion

     In this post, I provided a handful of arguments for the strong doctrine of divine simplicity and gave answers to the four common objections made against this doctrine. Does this have any application to our devotion and spiritual life? I think it does, and not only because thinking philosophically about God is part of loving him with all our mind (Mark 12:29). First, it helps us to see just how transcendent God really is compared to us. We can’t possibly understand his experiences and thoughts (Job 26:14; Isa. 55:8-9; Rom. 11:33-34); at best, we can come up with highly imprecise models of divine cognition that are merely analogous to our cognition. God’s simplicity also gives us a philosophical foundation to believe that there aren’t conflicting tendencies in him, so that (for example) his love and wrath are somehow ‘balanced’ against one another. Everything that God is, he is so fully, as the apostle John wrote, “God is light and in him there is no darkness at all” (1 John 1:5).