Showing posts with label Anthropology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anthropology. Show all posts

The Cosmic Scope of the Incarnation

“The Word of God, very God, wills that the mystery of his Incarnation be actualized always and in all things.” – St Maximus the Confessor, Ambiguum 7.22

    I don’t usually write book reviews, but as one of the best (if not the best) theology books I’ve ever read, I felt that I had to write about The Whole Mystery of Christ: Creation as Incarnation in Maximus Confessor by Jordan Daniel Wood (2022). This book offers a novel reading of St Maximus the Confessor in which creation and salvation are the historical Incarnation of Jesus Christ. That sounds bold and controversial – but is it really any bolder than St Paul when, looking to the man on the cross, he declares, “in him all things in heaven and on earth were created” (Col 1:16), and that all things are destined to be “gathered up in him, things in heaven and things on earth” (Eph 1:10)?

    Wood seeks a “thick retrieval” of St Maximus’ theology, which allows him to speak for himself but also asks questions that he might not have asked himself (pp. xv-xvii). In this way, we can use the theology of Maximus – who was an incredibly profound but by no means systematic thinker – to answer more systematic questions about creation, salvation, and the relationship between God and the world. Modern scholars tend to interpret the identity between God and the world in Maximus’ thought metaphorically, in terms of a relation or participation between the world and God rather than a hypostatic identity as in Jesus Christ (pp. 3-14). But what if we take the Confessor at his word about the Incarnation’s cosmic scope: that the Word wills to accomplish the mystery of his Incarnation always in all things?

The Middle

    What does “the mystery of his Incarnation” – or translated more literally, “his embodiment” – mean? How could God become human, that the Word become flesh? St Maximus interpreted the logic of the Incarnation according to the neo-Chalcedonian revolution in metaphysics, which made a pivotal distinction between the nature of a thing and the concrete thing itself (hypostasis). Hypostasis and nature obey different, opposing logics, such that a hypostasis is irreducible, indifferent, and yet identical to (that is, becomes the individuality of) its nature (pp. 20-39). Because of this, two natures that have no similarity to one another (divinity and humanity) can coexist in one hypostasis (Jesus Christ).

    Hypostasis and nature are the two basic elements of Maximus’ metaphysics. The only two ways that one thing can be really united to another, while retaining its integrity, are according to nature or according to hypostasis. I am united to my parents according to (human) nature, while my body and my soul are united to one another according to hypostasis (me). Therefore, hypostatic union is what makes the difference between Christ’s natures possible in the first place. This is the second principle of Maximus’ Incarnational logic: “hypostatic identity generates natural difference” (pp. 39-43).

    In Christ, both divinity and humanity retain their full integrity. Neither one suppresses or changes the other, and in fact there can be no natural relation between divine and human nature. However, these natures with their natural activities and wills come together in one concrete reality, Christ, who acts and wills without division. Maximus refers to this new, divine-human mode of action, in which divinity and humanity mutually pervade one another, as perichōrēsis, which is the third principle of his Incarnational logic (pp. 43-49).

    This “Christo-logic” would be impossible to know if it weren’t for the historical event of Jesus of Nazareth himself. It’s only because of Christ, who performed miracles with his flesh and suffered with divine power, that we can know about this divine-human mode. His hypostasis – the concrete fact of Christ himself, with his divine-human mode of acting and willing – is what discloses both divine and human nature and their ultimate identity. This is the fourth and final principle of Incarnational logic that Wood discerns (pp. 49-52).

The Beginning

    What does it mean for “the Word of God, very God... [to be] in all things”? Like Christ’s divinity and humanity, there is no natural commonality whatsoever between God and creation, which is the Confessor’s major objection to Platonism and Origenism (pp. 63-67). How, then, could creation come to be, if there can be no natural relation between God and creation? Maximus says: not from God’s nature, but from God’s eternal will and knowledge, which are the logoi (“reasons” or “definitions”) of all natures and individuals (p. 65).

    These many logoi, according to St Maximus, are the one Word (logos), and the one Word is the many logoi, which give beings their natures, powers, and activities (pp. 68-72), as well as their hypostatic properties (pp. 72-75). The logoi, then, are really one with God (the Word) – he is them – despite there being no natural similarity between God and the logoi, which would allow for Neoplatonic participation (pp. 75-79). How is this possible? Within Maximus’ metaphysics, there is only one possible answer: according to hypostasis. The Word of God unites the logoi of created beings with his divinity in his one hypostasis, “the body of Christ,” and thereby makes created nature and participation possible (pp. 79-83).

The End

    What does it mean for the Word’s Incarnation to “be actualized” in others? In line with the patristic tradition, Maximus viewed salvation as union with God or deification, but he developed this theme to a much greater extent. This union between us and God is certainly not according to nature, as the Origenists believed. Instead, the Confessor says, we become “everything that God is, however, without identity in essence” (pp. 91-94). This real union between things that are naturally different can only be hypostatic union, and not just any hypostasis, the Lord himself (pp. 89-96). This achieves identity between the saints and God in the person of the incarnate Word (pp. 96-104).

    The power of deifying grace is certainly not a natural power within us that is activated. St Maximus points out that this would make us already God by nature (pp. 104-109). But grace is nevertheless a power within us, or else we could never be saved while remaining ourselves (pp. 109-112). How is this possible? Because, once again, grace is in us not according to nature, but according to hypostasis! The Word already exists in every being as the logoi, thereby making his divinity immediately present and available to all people (pp. 112-120).

    How can we be really united to God while remaining ourselves? Maximus explains this by the logic of perichōrēsis, which we already saw in the Incarnation. Just as Christ’s divine and human natures wholly pervade one another while retaining their full integrity, “the whole man wholly pervades the whole God” (and vice versa) in the deified state (pp. 122-127). Christ is the logos not only of every nature, but of every hypostasis, making them “who” they are, which ensures that every person remains who they are even when deified (pp. 127-132). This unity in the person of Christ is the fullest realization of St Paul’s “body of Christ” language, which St Maximus frequently draws upon to describe the deified state (pp. 132-140).

The Whole

    Both creation and salvation display the same neo-Chalcedonian logic, what Wood calls “Christo-logic,” that we see in Maximus’ Christology. But how do creation and salvation relate to the actual historical event of Jesus Christ? And how can the creation be the Incarnation in light of the fact that this creation is obviously imperfect and fallen? In other words, how could the Word possibly “will” to accomplish his Incarnation “always”? I find this chapter hard to summarize, given how complex (and beset with temporal paradoxes) it is. However, to me it’s also the most interesting and profound section of the book.

    In short, humans were meant to be begotten voluntarily in the Spirit, and it’s because we wrongly identify ourselves with the fluctuating, sensible world (which is the Fall) that our origin is (or rather, appears) purposeless and irrational (pp. 145-155). Adam never existed in union with God as he was meant to, but from the very beginning falsely identified his ultimate good with this sensible world (pp. 155-167). This false identification is what makes us, like the sensible world, subject to irrational flux and suffering (passions), which is why the world is (or rather, appears) fallen (pp. 167-174). In other words, this is not really God’s creation yet, and if we are not yet united with God, we have not yet really been created!

    Jesus Christ, by being incarnate as the “suffering God-man” [emphasis his] – subject to the same flux and passion as us – establishes the very logoi of providence and judgment (pp. 175-187). Therefore, his suffering and death on the cross is the very condition that makes our rebellion, suffering, and death possible in the first place, as well as what redeems us from them. Likewise, the historical Incarnation of Jesus Christ as a human creature is the very condition that makes creation possible (cf. Amb 41.9), and indeed all the logoi are actualized in the “very ‘events’ of Jesus’s historical life”! (p. 191) This whole story is filled with temporal paradoxes (we exist before our true origin!), but that’s only because God is beyond time (pp. 187-191).

Conclusion

    I love this book because it made me look at the world in a whole new light. Together with St Paul, I can point to this man who lived in first-century Palestine and say, “in him all things on heaven and on earth were created” (Col. 1:16). Conversely, I can look around me at this world he created and see Christ, not merely as some abstract principle of logos, but the suffering God-man himself. That being said, this book is not for theological neophytes and assumes that the reader has at least a little background knowledge about the neo-Chalcedonian Christology that is so important to St Maximus. (Wood uses the term “enhypostatization” on page two without defining it first!) But I would still strongly recommend this book to anyone who wants to learn more about God, the world, and the profound relationship between the two!

The Early Church, Genesis, and Evolution

    Recently, I’ve been exploring the writings of the early church fathers more deeply, and I’ve found many resources there that can help us reconcile Christianity with the findings of modern science. In particular, the Eastern tradition represented by theologians like Origen of Alexandria, St. Gregory of Nyssa, and St. Maximus the Confessor shows how Genesis 1–3 can be reconciled with an ancient universe and evolution. However, even Western theologians like St. Augustine of Hippo and Thomas Aquinas, who interpreted Genesis differently, didn’t share the same concerns as modern young earth creationists. In this post, I’ll flesh how their views may be valuable for us today.

The creation of reasons

    In the writings of Origen of Alexandria, he distinguishes between two distinct creations, “the constructional and providential,” both of which were created by God’s Wisdom (Exp Prov 8 [PG 17.185]). The “providential” creation refers to the reasons (logoi) for which God created everything, that is, his good purposes for the “constructional” (material) creation. It’s in this sense that Wisdom “was ‘created as the beginning of the ways of God’ [Prov 8:22], because she contained within herself the beginnings, or forms, or species of all creation” (De Princ I.2.2). [1] Later, he writes that “there have always existed in Wisdom, by a prefiguration and preformation, those things which afterward received substantial existence” (I.4.4–5). [2] The Son of God, as Wisdom, “willed to establish a creative relation to to the future creatures; this is the precise meaning of the saying that she ‘was created the beginning of God’s ways’” (Frag John 1).

    Just as humans have thoughts and plans before they build something, “all things have come to be according to the words/reasons [logous] pre-uttered by God that were in Wisdom, ‘for he made all things in Wisdom’ [Ps 104:24]” (Comm in John I.113–15; cf. I.243ff). The reference to God uttering (or “pre-uttering”) words in creation seems to allude to Genesis 1, and Origen makes this connection even clearer elsewhere:

For the declaration concerning each of the created things, “God saw that it was good,” means this: God perceived good in the logoi of each thing, and saw how each of the created things is good in relation to the logoi for which it had come to be. (Comm in John XIII.280–84)

He goes on to apply this specifically to the fifth and sixth days of creation (Gen 1:20–24; cf. Origen, Hom in Gen I.10). [3] In his homily on Genesis 1, he says that “in the beginning” refers to the fact that “all things which were made were made... in the Savior” (I.1). The ‘first day’ of creation was not, strictly speaking, a day, because “there was not yet time... But time begins to exist with the following days” (I.1).

    Basil of Caesarea, a fourth-century theologian who was influenced by Origen, interpreted the first day of Genesis 1 as a 24-hour period (Hexaemeron II.8). However, like Origen, he argued that “in the beginning” refers to “the instantaneous and timeless act of creation... the world came into existence instantaneously at the will of God,” with reference to the “invisible things” (I.6). Basil’s brother Gregory of Nyssa was clearer about the creation of logoi – “God brought forth, in an instant, the principles, causes, and powers of being, and the substance of every being concurred in the first act of his will” [PG 44.72B]. Patristic scholar Johannes Zachhuber, after discussing Gregory’s In Hexaemeron, concludes,

In summary then, God created, according to Gregory, “in the beginning” a pleroma of logoi, of intelligible being which, however, can actualise itself only under the conditions of space and time in order to reach the perfection which is only germinally provided in it. This temporal and spatial development of those forming principles constitutes sensible being in the first place. [4]

It’s unclear whether Gregory held the same opinion as his brother Basil about the days of Genesis 1 being 24-hour periods.

    Maximus the Confessor, a seventh-century theologian, further developed the theory of logoi in response to those who asserted the pre-existence of souls. What ‘pre-existed’ the material world weren’t individual souls, but the logoi of all creatures existed in the Logos of God the Father (Ambiguum 7 [PG 91.1077C–80B]). These logoi exist as potentialities – “in the Wisdom of the Creator, individual things were created at the appropriate moment of time, in a manner consistent with their logoi, and thus they received in themselves actual existence as beings” [91.1081AB]. They also exist as divine will-acts, by which God creates and knows his creation [91.1085AC]. Those who act in accordance with their logos (God’s good purpose for them) come to be “in God,” because that is where their logos exists [91.1080C–81A, 84AD].

    John Scotus Eriugena, a ninth-century Irish philosopher who tried to reconcile Eastern and Western Christian philosophy, developed an allegorical reading of Genesis 1 in accordance with Gregory and Maximus (Periphyseon III.690C–742B). It would be too much to go into the details of his interpretation here, but he takes the events of the six days to refer to the creation of natures, matter, forms, elements, and other metaphysical categories. Thus, Eriugena argues that Genesis 1 refers to the logical (not temporal) sequence in the creation of the material universe, which was actually instantaneous (III.708B–09B). He also insists that the “Causes” (Platonic forms) and “reasons” of all things exist eternally in God, and proceed into their effects in a semi-incarnational fashion (e.g., I.446BC; II.529AB; III.678AD), an idea which was developed by Maximus. [5]

    Although the Eastern readings of Genesis 1 weren’t as popular in the West, the Western interpretation of this passage wasn’t woodenly literal either. Augustine of Hippo, who was a hugely influential Latin theologian, wrote a Literal Commentary on Genesis intended to provide “the proper assessment of what actually happened [in creation]” (Retractiones 22.24). In this commentary, he argued at length that the days of Genesis 1 were “very, very different” from 24-hour days (IV.27.44), as they were instantaneous (e.g., V.5.12) and refer to the logical, not temporal, ordering of creation (IV.25.56). He developed this view on the basis of difficulties within the text itself. [6]

    In summary, the theologians of the early church (both East and West) didn’t confine themselves to a woodenly literal reading of Genesis 1. There were a wide range of views, including the view that the days of Genesis 1 were 24-hour periods (Basil the Great), that they were instantaneous (Augustine), and that they refer to the “providential creation” of logoi (Origen).

Adam and the Fall

    In his response to the pagan critic Celsus, Origen of Alexandria interprets Adam as a symbol of the entire human race:

In the Hebrew language, “adam” signifies man, and in those parts of the narrative which appear to refer to Adam as an individual, Moses is discoursing upon the nature of humanity in general. For “in Adam,” as the Scripture says, “all die” [1 Cor 15:22], and were condemned in the likeness of Adam’s transgression, the word of God asserting this not of one particular individual but of the whole human race. For in the connected series of statements which appears to apply to one particular individual [i.e., Gen 2–3], the curse pronounced upon Adam is regarded as common to all (the members of the race), and what was spoken in reference to the woman is spoken of every woman without exception. (Contra Celsum IV.40)

Later on, he again asserts that “Adam” means “man” in general, which was “driven out of paradise for sin” (VII.50). It’s interesting to note that Origen makes this claim on textual, not philosophical, grounds – namely, that adam in Hebrew means “human,” that “all” are said to be “in Adam” (1 Cor 15:22), and that the curse of Adam applies to every human. In On First Principles, he writes, “who is so ignorant as to suppose that” there was a physical garden of Eden with a tree of life and a tree of knowledge, and that God walked in the garden; these things are “related figuratively in Scripture, that some mystical meaning may be indicated by it” (IV.3.1).

    Origen is often accused of believing in a Platonist ‘Fall’ of pre-existent souls into material bodies, but he didn’t believe in pre-existent individual souls [2], and he insists that the Christian doctrine of the Fall “far transcends that of Plato” (Cels IV.40). In his summary of First Principles, he says that God created material bodies due to his “foreknowledge” that differences would arise in rational creatures from sin (IV.4.8). Origen makes much of the fact that Scripture refers to the creation of the world as a katabolē, that is, a “throwing down” or “downfall” (e.g., John 17:24; Eph. 1:4; Rev. 13:8; 17:8). From this, he concludes that the Fall is actually simultaneous with the creation of the material universe, which was a “throwing down” from the “logoi of all things” that exist in Christ (De Princ III.5.4; Comm in John XIX.146–50). This isn’t to say that the material creation is evil – Origen strenuously argued against that gnostic view – but that from the beginning, it fell short of God’s good purposes (logoi), as a result of sin.

    In the Philokalia, an anthology of Origen’s writings compiled by Basil the Great and Gregory of Nazianzus, they reproduce his insistence against a physical garden of Eden with trees of life and knowledge (I.17). The third Cappadocian, Gregory of Nyssa, followed this view: the tree of life refers to the contemplation of God, while the “tree of knowledge of good and evil” refers to lesser sensible pleasures, which appear good to sinners; the sin of Adam and Eve was to abandon the contemplation of God, who is the Good, for these lesser, apparent goods (De Hom Opif XIX–XX).

    Gregory of Nyssa appears to have believed that Adam was a historical individual. But for him, the creation of man in Genesis 1:26–27 refers to “all humanity,” the universal human nature (De Hom Opif XVI.16–18). This creation took place “when Adam was not yet, because the thing formed from the earth is called ‘Adam’” (XXII.3). [7] Furthermore, the division of humanity into “male and female” (Gen 1:27) was done by God in his foreknowledge of human sin (XVI.7–9; XXII.4–5; cf. John of Damascus, On the Orthodox Faith IV.24). Humanity wasn’t meant to be divided in this way – for “in Christ there is not ‘male and female’” (Gal 3:28) [8] – but this was a consequence of the human’s choice of sensible apparent goods over God, thereby assimilating them to the irrational beasts (XVI.18–XVII.5; XXII.4).

    Maximus the Confessor follows Gregory’s interpretation of the garden of Eden, and adds that the human chose sensible goods over God at the very moment of his creation (Ad Thal 59.12; 61.2; Amb 42 [PG 91.1321AB]). Therefore, he existed in “paradise” (the pure contemplation of God) for no length of time at all, because he chose sensible goods instead. Maximus likewise insists that the division of humanity into male and female is a result of sin (Amb 41 [PG 91.1305AD]), and that Christ annuls this division, so that “‘in Christ,’ as the divine apostle says, ‘there is not male and female’” [91.1309AB]. With regard to the fallenness of the creation, he offers two options:

This happened either because God, on account of the transgression, mixed the soul together with our body, and placed within it the capacity to undergo change, just as he gave the body the inherent capacity to suffer, undergo corruption, and be totally dissolved, which is made clear by the girding with dead skins [Gen 3:21], according to Scripture, which says that “creation itself was made subject to corruption, not willingly, but for the sake of him who subjected it in hope” [Rom 8:20] — or because God created matter in this way from the beginning, according to his foreknowledge, in view of the transgression he had already seen in advance. (Amb 8 [PG 91.1104AB])

    John Scotus Eriugena, who was deeply influenced by Maximus, also insists that the human sinned at the moment of his creation, so that he existed in paradise for no temporal interval, and that “male and female” were introduced because of sin (Periphyseon IV.800A–14A; 833C–38B). In support of this, Eriugena says that the devil “was a murderer from the beginning, and did not abide in the truth” (John 8:44), meaning that both the devil’s fall and human sin and death existed from the moment of creation (IV.838AB). In order to reconcile this with Augustine’s literal interpretation of the garden of Eden, however, he argues that the events of Genesis 2–3 took place historically after Adam’s sin: “all these things Holy Scripture records by anticipation and out of their proper sequence as having taken place in Paradise, whereas they are the consequences of sin” (IV.837C–38A).

    Once again, these Eastern interpretations weren’t as common in the West, but premodern Western theologians still didn’t share the concerns of modern young earth creationists. For example, Augustine believed in a historical Fall that resulted in human death in temporal sequence; however, against the Manichaeans, he asserted that animal death is natural and was made by God, like the seasons, as part of his good creation (City of God XII.4). Basil the Great, an Eastern theologian who tended to interpret Genesis more historically, likewise asserted the goodness of animal death before the Fall (Hexaemeron IX.5). Thomas Aquinas claimed that it’s “unreasonable” to believe that “the nature of animals was... changed by man’s sin,” so there must have been carnivory before the Fall (Summa Theologiae I.96.1.2).

    To sum up, once again, there were a wide range of views in the early church about Adam and the Fall. Most church fathers believed in a historical Adam, while Origen notably did not, arguing that “Adam” refers to all humanity. The Eastern fathers, including Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, and Maximus (along with Eriugena), believed that humanity was created in a fallen state due to God’s foreknowledge of their sin. This perspective wasn’t shared by Western theologians like Augustine and Aquinas, but these theologians agreed on the goodness of natural animal death before the Fall, unlike modern young earth creationists.

The Bible, history, and science

    Origen argues that Scripture, because it isn’t only the work of men but also of the Trinity, doesn’t merely have a “fleshly” (literal/historical) meaning, but also a “soulish” and “spiritual” meaning (De Principiis IV.2.4–9). It’s the heretics who limit Scripture to its literal meaning, and thereby fall into errors (IV.2.1–3). Furthermore, some passages have no “bodily” sense at all (IV.2.5); we know this because

the Word of God has arranged for certain stumbling blocks, as it were, and hindrances and impossibilities to be inserted in the midst of the law and the history, in order that we may not be completely drawn away by the sheer attractiveness of the language, and so either reject the true doctrines absolutely, on the ground that we learn from the scriptures nothing worthy of God, or else by never moving away from the letter, fail to learn anything of the more divine element. (IV.2.9)

Therefore, there are passages which “taken in a literal sense are not true, but actually absurd and impossible,” alongside passages in which “we are clearly aware that the historical fact is true” (IV.3.4). The reader of Scripture must discern what parts, taken historically, are impossible, and which are known to be historically true (IV.3.5). Origen provides many examples of things that he believes to be historically untrue, including the idea that there were three days before the sun existed and that there was a physical paradise in which God walked (IV.3.1–15). This doesn’t challenge the divine inspiration of the text, which Origen strenuously defends (IV.1); on the contrary, it’s because of divine inspiration that these passages have a spiritual, and not bodily, meaning.

    Gregory of Nyssa shares the concern that portions of Scripture are impossible if interpreted literally. For example, with regard to the death of the firstborn in Egypt, Gregory expresses doubt that this could be “worthy of God,” for the son to be punished for the sins of the father (Ezek 18:20) – “how can history so contradict reason?” (Life of Moses II.91) Therefore, “do not be surprised if... the death of the firstborn... did not happen to the Israelites,” but do not on that account reject the deeper, spiritual meaning of the text (II.100).

    Interestingly, in his discourse On the Soul and the Resurrection, Gregory says that “Scripture informs us that the Deity proceeded by a sort of graduated and ordered advance to the creation of man.” He began by creating inanimate matter, then vegetative life, then sensitive life, and finally rational life (humanity) which incorporates “every single form of life.” This references the idea that humanity is a microcosm, containing within itself every aspect of the material and immaterial worlds. It shouldn’t be taken to refer to human evolution as it’s now understood, but there are clear resonances between Gregory’s metaphysics and the modern theory of evolution.

    Maximus the Confessor agrees with Origen and Gregory that

something illogical has been mixed in with the literal account in order for us to search for the true meaning of what has been written. Accordingly, the corporeal understanding of Scripture... is completely removed... Thus, if we take this passage according to its literal sense, we will not find Scripture to be speaking truly. (Ad Thalassios 65.17–20)

This doesn’t degrade Scripture, but forces us to search for the deeper spiritual meaning of the text, which brings us closer to God than the “corporeal” meaning. Maximus also argues (although in a different context) that both creation and Scripture are valuable revelations of God, since Christ is both the Word and the Creator: “the two laws – the natural and the written – are of equal value and equal dignity, both of them reciprocally teach the same things, and neither is superior or inferior to the other” (Amb 10.17–18). Thus, if one seems to contradict the other, we shouldn’t reject either one wholesale, but seek out how the two can be reconciled.

    From the West, Augustine offers another interesting perspective:

Usually, even a non-Christian knows something about [the natural world]... and this knowledge he holds to as being certain from reason and experience. Now, it is a disgraceful and dangerous thing for an infidel to hear a Christian, presumably giving the meaning of Holy Scripture, talking nonsense on these topics; and we should take all means to prevent such an embarrassing situation, in which people show up vast ignorance in a Christian and laugh it to scorn. The shame is not so much that an ignorant individual is derided, but that people outside the household of faith think our sacred writers held such opinions, and, to the great loss of those for whose salvation we toil, the writers of our Scripture are criticized and rejected as unlearned men. (Confessions V.5)

He presents the same concern elsewhere – Christians shouldn’t claim that the Scriptures contradict well-established natural facts, because this will lead non-Christians to reject Scripture on those grounds (On the Literal Interpretation of Genesis I.19.39).

    Interestingly, like Gregory of Nyssa, Augustine presents a view of creation which resonates with the modern theory of evolution. Even though he believes that the creation event was instantaneous, living species were created in a seminal form which grew out of the elements of earth and water; this is why God told the land and sea to “bring forth” life (Literal Interpretation V.7.20, 22). Thus, he goes on to say, God “created all [creatures] together... whose visible forms he produces through the ages, working even until now” (V.23.44–46).

    In summary, the early church fathers didn’t share the same hangups as young earth creationists about Scripture and natural science. Some of them, including Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, and Maximus, even believed that the literal meaning of Scripture could be false where it contradicted history and reason, and for them this only confirmed the divine inspiration of the spiritual meaning of Scripture. Augustine was especially concerned that Christians should take care when discussing natural science, lest they discredit Scripture in the eyes of non-believers. This suggests that, if they were around today, these church fathers would accept the modern findings of an ancient earth and evolution – especially Gregory of Nyssa and Augustine, whose views on creation already resonate with the theory of evolution.

Conclusion

    Using the resources provided by the early church fathers, we can reconcile the modern scientific understanding of evolution and an ancient earth with the young earth creationist concern for a faithful (albeit not woodenly literal) reading of Genesis. Here’s one possible interpretation of Genesis that draws upon the teachings of the Eastern fathers:

1. The creation account in Genesis 1 refers to the timeless “providential creation” of logoi within the Wisdom of God. This is similar to OT scholar John Walton’s proposal that Genesis 1 describes the functional creation of the cosmos and not material creation. [9] These logoi came to be instantiated in visible forms over time, as God’s providential plan unfolded.

2. The paradise of Genesis 2–3 may have existed historically, or it might only refer to the spiritual reality that the human chose sensible goods over God. Likewise, Adam may have been a historical individual, or he may represent the entire human race. (In my view, both the historical and spiritual interpretations have validity.) If Adam was a historical individual, he need not have been literally the first human, because –

3. The Fall was “meta-historical”, that is, it affected our entire created reality from the very beginning (even before Adam existed). In his foreknowledge, God knew that the human would choose sin, and created a world that partially departed from his good purposes (logoi) in order to accommodate the fallen humanity that he knew would exist. [10] This is why animal and human (?) death existed temporally before Adam.

    Alternatively, here’s another possible interpretation of Genesis that draws upon Augustine’s more Western view:

1. The creation account in Genesis 1 refers to the instantaneous creation of all things. The days of Genesis 1 refer to the logical (not temporal) order in which the creation event was revealed to the angels (this was Augustine’s view). Living beings were created in a seminal form, which developed into their modern forms over time, as God’s providential plan unfolded.

2. Adam and the paradise of Genesis 2–3 existed historically, and Adam was a historical individual who was truly the first human. We can’t identify the “first human” from a biological point of view, but because “human” is first and foremost a metaphysical category, there was a first member of the (metaphysical) species and this was Adam.

3. The Fall was not “meta-historical” but purely historical, that is, human death came in temporal sequence after Adam’s sin. However, natural animal death is a part of God’s good creation, and this existed long before Adam sinned.

    These are just two of many possible faithful readings of Genesis that are in line with the range of teachings of the early church fathers. This range of teachings is compatible with a young or ancient earth, special or evolutionary creation, a historical or ahistorical Adam, and a historical or meta-historical Fall. Although the early church fathers believed in a young earth, this was because they had no reason to believe otherwise (and they certainly didn’t agree with Aristotle about an eternal earth!), and for the reasons described above I think they would have no trouble accepting an ancient earth and evolution. This might help explain why modern young earth creationism is largely confined to American Evangelicals, and finds comparatively little purchase among Catholics and Orthodox who are more closely rooted in the teachings of the early church.

______________________________

[1] Origen argued that God can’t be comprehended apart from his Wisdom, and that God’s Wisdom is the uncreated second Person of the Trinity, so in herself Wisdom isn’t “created” in any sense (De Princ I.2). Instead, it’s in her relation to the providential creation that Solomon speaks of Wisdom as having been “created as the beginning of God’s way” (Prov. 8:22).

[2] It’s in this sense that Origen believed creatures were originally made incorporeal – not that they existed as disembodied souls (as later ‘Origenists’ believed), but that they existed as reasons within God’s mind. He argued that only the Trinity can exist without a body, and all creatures are essentially embodied (De Princ II.2.2; 3.2–3; IV.4.8), so contrary to popular belief he didn’t believe in the ‘pre-existence of souls.’

[3] For a further discussion of Origen’s “providential creation” and his reading of Genesis 1, see Panayiotis Tzamalikos, Origen: Cosmology and Ontology of Time (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 39–64.

[4] Johannes Zachhuber, Human Nature in Gregory of Nyssa (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 154.

[5] Jordan Daniel Wood, The Whole Mystery of Christ: Creation as Incarnation in Maximus Confessor (Notre Dame, 2022).

[6] Gavin Ortlund, “Did Augustine Read Genesis Literally?”

[7] For a lengthy discussion of Gregory’s understanding of the creation of humanity, see Johannes Zachhuber, Human Nature in Gregory of Nyssa, 154–86.

[8] Something that’s often missed about Galatians 3:28 is that Paul actually quotes Genesis 1:27c, and negates it. Whereas the first two pairs of opposities, he says “neither A nor B” (ouk eni A oude B), he goes on to say “not ‘male and female’” (ouk eni arsen kai thēlu), which is a direct quote from the Greek text of Gen 1:27c (LXX). This wasn’t lost on early commentators like Gregory of Nyssa and Maximus, who understood it to mean that the division of humanity into “male and female” is a distortion of our nature that resulted from sin.

[9] John Walton, The Lost World of Genesis One: Ancient Cosmology and the Origins Debate (IVP Academic, 2009).

[10] In the modern era, the concept of a meta-historical fall is supported by Christian theologians like Sergei Bulgakov (The Bride of the Lamb) and William Dembski (The End of Christianity).

Resurrection and metaphysical anthropology (part 2 of 2)

Part 1: substance dualism and physicalism

Hylomorphic dualism

    Hylomorphic dualism is a middle ground view between substance dualism and physicalism. This view is based in hylomorphism, the Aristotelian doctrine that corporeal substances are made up of matter (hylē) and form (morphē). Form is that which gives a substance its attributes (e.g., color, shape, size) and powers, while matter is what receives and individuates form. (Forms, such as dog-ness and triangularity, don’t exist by themselves – at least, not usually – they exist in individual substances, like dogs and triangles, which are distinguished by their unique parcels of matter.)

    Hylomorphism was first proposed to help explain change. For change to really happen, there must be something that underlies and stays the same, and something that changes. If the former doesn’t exist, then nothing really changes, things just come into and go out of existence. (For example: if nothing underlies and persists through change, then a banana doesn’t change from green to yellow, instead a green banana goes out of existence and a yellow banana comes into existence.) If the latter doesn’t exist, then nothing ever changes at all.

    When it comes to substantial change (change from one substance to another), the thing that underlies must be something that is not itself a substance, but can take on new attributes and powers (this is what Aristotle called “matter”), and there must be something in virtue of which the matter comes to have new attributes and powers (this is what Aristotle called “form”). Even hyper-reductionist physicalists should agree that substantial change occurs, since fundamental particles can decay into other kinds of fundamental particles. Thus, the existence of matter and form as metaphysical parts of substances is well-grounded in the fact that change (especially substantial change) really happens.

    Hylomorphic dualism is just the application of hylomorphism to human persons. Like all other material substances, humans have both matter – which individuates us from other humans – and substantial form – which gives us the attributes and powers that are proper to humans. This includes not just attributes like shape and size, but also our perceptual and cognitive powers. Aristotle referred to the form of a living thing as its “soul” (psychē); not just for humans, but for other vegetative and sentient life as well. However, he argued that the human form/soul is unique because it has a rational intellect which is immaterial and naturally indestructible (De Anima 3.4-7).

    This view avoids the problems that are associated with substance dualism and physicalism. Unlike substance dualism, hylomorphic dualism conceives of a human as a single substance comprising both body and mind. There is therefore no interaction problem, because the form of a person ‘interacts’ with her matter in the same way that form and matter ‘interact’ in any other material substance, namely, by informing its attributes and powers (both bodily and mental). There is also no problem of personal identity, because a person is an ontological whole rather than a mere aggregate of two distinct substances (her body and her mind). Likewise, the fact that our perception and cognition are fundamentally embodied poses no issue for hylomorphic dualism, because a person’s mind is integrated with her body as proper parts of one and the same substance.

    Hylomorphic dualism can also sidestep the arguments against physicalism that I gave earlier. These arguments show that our cognitive processes can’t be wholly corporeal, since our concepts are inherently determinate and universal, whereas physical facts are indeterminate and particular. This also shows that our intellect isn’t wholly material in the Aristotelian sense, because our concepts can abstract away matter to get at the universal forms like triangularity. Hylomorphic dualists aren’t committed to saying that humans are wholly material; we can say, as Aristotle did, that the human form/soul has some operations that are immaterial.

    By the scholastic principle agere sequitur esse (“action follows being”), the fact that the human substantial form has immaterial operations means that it also has an immaterial mode of subsistence. Since my intellect isn’t tied to or reducible to my body, unlike my other operations – for example, sight, which is tied to (at least) my eyes and the occipital lobe of my brain – it can exist even if my body does not. Indeed, as an immaterial thing, it’s not naturally destructible as material substances are. When I die, and my matter ceases to be informed by my substantial form, the immaterial operations of my substantial form that don’t inform any matter will continue to exist, and so my substantial form will still exist. And it will exist in an individualized way, distinguished from other human substantial forms by its unique causal history (having been combined with my matter).

    However, my form will be an incomplete substance after my death. It won’t be me, because I am a composite substance made up of both matter and form. It won’t naturally undergo new perceptual experiences, because my perceptual abilities are tied to my body (see the arguments against substance dualism), and it won’t be able to form any new concepts, because new concepts are formed based on our experiences of the external world (even though concepts aren’t reducible to perception). And although this is controversial among hylomorphic dualists, I don’t think the post-mortem human form is naturally conscious, at least not apart from supernatural intervention. If syncope (temporary blood loss to the brain) results in a loss of consciousness, then the complete disconnection from the brain that comes with death should also result in a loss of consciousness, even though the human form persists through both these things.

    In summary, based purely on philosophical considerations in the philosophy of mind, we can know that humans exist as a composite of body and form/soul, that the form/soul is partially immaterial, and that our form/soul persists after our death in an individuated but severely impaired way. How does this square with Scripture and our three axioms about the afterlife?

Hylomorphic dualism and Christian anthropology

    According to Genesis 2:7, when God created the human, he first made a body out of dust and then breathed spirit/breath (Heb: ruach; Gk: pneuma) into it, and “the human became a living soul.” The body apart from the spirit is dead (Jas. 2:26), and at death, the body/dust returns to the earth and the spirit/breath returns to God (Ps. 104:29; 146:4; Ecc. 12:7; cf. Zech. 12:1; Acts 7:59). It appears that a person’s spirit continues to be individualized after her death, as evidenced by the little girl whose “spirit returned” when Jesus resurrected her (Lk. 8:54-55), and by the examples of Jesus (who gave up “his spirit”; Matt. 27:50; Lk. 23:46; John 19:30) and Stephen (who told Jesus to “receive my spirit”; Acts 7:59). A soul, on the other hand, can be killed (e.g., Num. 31:19; 35:11, 15, 30; Josh. 20:3, 9; Matt. 10:28; Mk. 3:4) and be dead (e.g., Lev. 21:11; Num. 6:6; 19:11, 13; Josh. 2:13; Jas. 5:20; Rev. 16:3).

    These are the clearest passages that deal with the relationship between body, spirit, and soul. Based on this, it seems that the Aristotelian concept of the human ‘soul’ or substantial form actually corresponds to the Scriptural concept of spirit, as the principle that animates a person and continues to exist after a person’s death. The Scriptural concept of soul corresponds not to a person’s substantial form, but to the person herself, who is a composite of body and spirit and can die. Neither substance dualism nor physicalism correspond as well as hylomorphic dualism to the Scriptural data, since the Aristotelian categories of matter, form, and substance map almost one-to-one onto the Scriptural categories of body, spirit, and soul.

The centrality of bodily resurrection

    But what about the three claims that nearly all Christians affirm about the afterlife? The first claim is that the bodily resurrection is our primary hope for life after death. This is well-grounded in Paul’s argument for the resurrection, in which he says that if there is no resurrection, “those who have died in Christ have perished... we are of all people most to be pitied” (1 Cor. 15:12-19). Paul says that the resurrection is the hope for those who grieve (1 Thess. 4:13-18), and that he doesn’t want to be “unclothed,” that is, bodiless (2 Cor. 5:3-4). In the New Testament, the resurrection is mentioned far more than any conscious intermediate state, if such a state is mentioned at all (the most likely prooftext for such a state is Luke 16:19-31, which is plausibly a parable).

    Hylomorphic dualism provides a strong philosophical basis for this belief. My substantial form will continue to exist immaterially beyond my death, but in a severely impaired way, without new perceptual experiences and plausibly without any consciousness at all. This fact is reflected in the Hebrew Bible’s assertions that the dead cannot know or praise God (Ps. 6:4-5; 30:8-10; 88:9-12; 115:17; Isa. 38:17-19), and that their perception and cognition are at least severely impaired (Ps. 146:3-4; Ecc. 9:5-10). It’s also reflected in the metaphor of death as sleep, which is found all throughout the Scriptures. Sleep is an accurate metaphor for death in another way: if my form does undergo conscious experiences after death, they won’t be directly experienced by me, but I will remember them when I’m resurrected, like my memories of a dream when I wake up from sleep.

    The only way for me to exist normally after death, and indeed for me to exist at all after death (since I am a composite of matter and form), is for my form to once again inform matter and become part of a material substance. This is just metaphysical language for bodily resurrection. Therefore, unlike substance dualism and physicalism, hylomorphic dualism provides both a motive and a mechanism for resurrection.

The immediacy of paradise

    The second claim that nearly all Christians affirm about the afterlife is that some people will have immediate, paradisiacal existence after death. Can hylomorphic dualism explain this? Yes, and it follows the Non-Existence Thesis rather than the Intermediate State Thesis (see above). A person, who is the composite of her matter and form, doesn’t exist after her death. Her first conscious experience after death will be at the resurrection. Even if we assume (as I don’t) that her spirit has conscious experiences between death and resurrection, she won’t experience them, she’ll just remember them when she’s resurrected, analogously to how we can recall dreams after we wake from sleep. Therefore, from her perspective, she will immediately experience paradise after she dies.

The identity of the dead and resurrected person

    The third claim, that the person who dies is numerically identical to the person who is resurrected, might be the hardest one to explain on a hylomorphic view. Since I affirm that the person (a composite of matter and form) ceases to exist between death and the resurrection, I also have to deny the widely accepted axiom No Gappy Existence: that one and the same thing can’t begin to exist more than once. 

    However, unlike physicalist Christians, hylomorphic dualists can deny NGE without any weird consequences about personal identity. Whereas physicalists say that a person just is identical to a certain physical process, hylomorphists say that a person is constituted by matter that’s informed by a particular substantial form. If a person ceases to exist, but her individual substantial form continues to exist, then that same person can come into existence again if her form once again begins to inform matter. Since the person isn’t annihilated, but corrupted (broken up) into matter and form, her particular form and matter can recombine to generate the same person. There’s no danger that two copies of the same person could exist if her body is duplicated, as in physicalism. That’s not even a metaphysical possibility, because a person is a single material substance with a particular substantial form.

    In fact, hylomorphists already have good reason to deny NGE, even apart from any considerations about bodily resurrection (Toner 2015). When two or more substances combine to form one substance (for example, hydrogen and oxygen making water), the initial substances cease to exist actually, but exist virtually or potentially in the new substance, and can begin to exist actually again (so the same hydrogen and oxygen atoms can be recovered from an H2O molecule). Aristotle argues for this when he responds to a metaphysical argument against the possibility of combination:

For, according to some thinkers, it is impossible for one thing to be combined with another. They argue that (i) if both the ‘combined’ constituents persist unaltered, they are no more ‘combined’ now than they were before, but are in the same condition: while (ii) if one has been destroyed, the constituents have not been ‘combined’ – on the contrary, one constituent is and the other is not, whereas ‘combination’ demands uniformity of condition in them both: and on the same principle (iii) even if both the combining constituents have been destroyed as a result of their coalescence, they cannot ‘have been combined’ since they have no being at all. (De Gen. et Cor. 1.10)

This Parmenidean argument seeks to show that combination is impossible. You can’t really combine two things to get a third thing, because you’re either left with (1) the mere aggregate of two things, (2) one of the initial two things, or (3) the initial two things are annihilated and a third thing is created. Like Parmenides’ argument against the possibility of change, this argument relies on a stark distinction between existence and non-existence. You can’t have two things and a third thing that exist in the same way, at the same place, at the same time, so combination is impossible.

    Aristotle rebuts this conclusion by saying that there’s something in between actual existence and non-existence, namely potential existence. When two substances are combined, they exist potentially in the new substance, which exists actually. But this means that NGE is wrong, because things can cease to exist actually and begin to exist actually again, as long as they have potential existence in between. Since I do exist potentially after my death, inasmuch as my individual form still exists and has the potential to combine with matter, hylomorphism can account for my personal identity at the resurrection.

Conclusion

    The three claims of Christianity about the afterlife appear inconsistent, since the central importance of bodily resurrection seems to conflict with the immediacy of paradise after death. But from considerations in the philosophy of mind, independent of theological concerns about resurrection, we can determine that hylomorphic dualism is true, which makes bodily resurrection not only logically possible but plausible. There's a solid metaphysical basis to accept the Scriptural tripartite division of humans into body (matter), spirit (form), and soul (substance), as well as the survival of the spirit after death and the possibility of bodily resurrection. Our Christian hope for the afterlife is philosophically sound!

Appendix: survivalism vs. corruptionism

    There’s a debate among hylomorphic dualists about whether a human person survives between death and resurrection (survivalism), or the human form between death and resurrection does not constitute a human person (corruptionism). I think corruptionism is pretty obviously true from a hylomorphist perspective, so I didn’t really discuss the debate above. Here, though, I’ll briefly explain why I think corruptionism is correct.

    First, there’s an exegetical debate about whether Thomas Aquinas was a survivalist or a corruptionist. Since I don’t feel the need to agree with Aquinas on everything, I don’t think this has much bearing on whether or not corruptionism is true. But it’s worth noting that Aquinas was pretty clearly a corruptionist and not a survivalist. Early in his career, he talked explicitly about this topic, in his Commentary on the Sentences. Here, he rejected Plato’s substance dualism in favor of Aristotle’s hylomorphic dualism:

...the opinion of Aristotle, which all current [authors] follow, [is] that the soul is united to the body as form to matter. Hence the soul is a part of human nature, and not some nature per se. And since the notion of a part is contrary to the notion of a person, as was said, therefore the separated soul cannot be called a person, since even though it is not actually a part [when] separated, nevertheless it has the nature to be a part. (In Sent. III.5.3.2; transl. Nevitt 2016)

Likewise, in his commentary on Paul’s (1 Cor. 15) and Jesus’ (Mk. 12:24-27) arguments for the bodily resurrection, Aquinas insisted that these arguments depend on the separated spirit not being a person:

The soul of Abraham is not, strictly speaking, Abraham himself, but it is a part of him. The same goes for the others [i.e. Isaac and Jacob]. Hence the life of the soul of Abraham would not be sufficient for Abraham to be living, nor for the God of Abraham to be the God of the living; but [this] requires the life of the whole composite, namely of soul and body. (In Sent. IV.43.1.1; transl. Nevitt 2016)

Man naturally desires his own salvation. But the soul, since it is a part of the man, is not the whole man; and I am not my soul. Thus, even though the soul attains salvation in the afterlife, nevertheless I – or any man – do not. (Super 1 Cor. 15.2.924; transl. Reese 2024)

Aquinas also said in various places, up through his last writings, that Christ didn’t exist as a human person while he was dead, which implies that the separated human form by itself isn’t a person (Nevitt 2016). The standard survivalist response is that although the human form isn’t a person by itself, it does somehow constitute a person; but this would go against Aquinas’ insistence that we don’t attain salvation if our separated form does.

    The metaphysical argument for corruptionism is also quite straightforward. The essence of a human, which is rational animality, includes both material (animality) and immaterial (rationality) aspects. If it only included immaterial aspects, then hylomorphic dualism would be no different than substance dualism, since our connection to our bodies would be only accidental. But nothing can exist without all the things that are essential to it; that’s what it means for something to be essential. Therefore, no human being can exist without both matter and form, and a person ceases to exist when her matter and form separate (Nevitt 2020). Yes, her form continues to subsist immaterially, but as its own incomplete, non-human substance, not as her.

    Finally, on the theological side of the debate, survivalists consistently claim to have the upper hand. This is because most hylomorphic dualists are Catholics, who accept the doctrines of purgatory before resurrection and praying to the saints, which seem to require that people exist between death and the resurrection. I’m not a Catholic, so I don’t particularly care whether corruptionism is compatible with praying to the saints – although it’s worth noting that Aquinas believed it is (In Sent. III.22.1.1; ST II-II.83.11). In fact, I’m inclined to believe our separated spirits aren’t conscious at all, in light of various Scriptural passages that indicate that. The numerous places across Scripture where dead people are said to be “no more” also supports corruptionism over survivalism.

    In my estimation, corruptionism has the upper hand over survivalism in terms of metaphysics, theology, and Thomistic exegesis. This means that death really is as serious as it appears (Reese 2024). It’s not just a gateway to heaven, it means that we cease to exist; death truly is the “last enemy” which will eventually be conquered by God (1 Cor. 15:26). Any other view would make bodily resurrection superfluous, since it would make the body merely accidental to human existence. This should make us even more grateful that God has provided a way for death to be defeated, namely resurrection in Christ!

Resurrection and metaphysical anthropology (part 1 of 2)

    Is bodily resurrection something desirable, or even a metaphysical possibility? According to nearly all Christians, it is. But this view has been ridiculed by some non-Christians since the very earliest days of Christianity, so much that the apostle Paul had to defend the doctrine of the resurrection against detractors in his letter to the Corinthian church (1 Cor. 15). While it would be easy for Christians to just ignore these detractors, the fact is that some of their concerns about the resurrection do have philosophical weight. In this post, I'll take a look at the concerns that Christian claims about the afterlife are inconsistent, and that it's impossible for personal identity to continue through the resurrection.

The problem of the resurrection

    There are three claims about the afterlife that are (or should be) affirmed by nearly all Christians, and which have very strong Scriptural support:

1. The bodily resurrection is our primary hope for life after death.

2. Some people have immediate, post-mortem, paradisiacal existence.

3. The person who dies is (numerically) the person who is resurrected.

    The first claim is clearly seen throughout the writings of Paul, who repeatedly emphasizes the importance of resurrection (Rom. 8:9-23; 1 Cor. 15; 2 Cor. 4:17-5:8; 1 Thess. 4:13-18). It’s also found all across the New Testament. For example, Jesus himself emphasized that the bodily resurrection of the Israelite patriarchs is necessary for them to be “living” (Matt. 22:29-32; Mk. 12:24-27; Lk. 20:34-38). Furthermore, if bodily resurrection were merely a superfluous add-on to our post-mortem existence, and not central to life after death, then the bodily resurrection of Christ would also be merely superfluous – but Jesus’ resurrection is central to the Christian faith, so our resurrection is central to our hope. (This is Paul’s argument in 1 Corinthians 15:1-19.)

    The second claim also finds much Scriptural support. To the rebel who was crucified beside him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise” (Lk. 23:43). (Admittedly, if this sentence were punctuated differently – which is a subjective translation decision – it would have a different meaning.) Paul told one of his congregations that his death, for him, would be “gain” because he would “depart and be with Christ” (Phil. 1:21-23). Christians may reasonably disagree on who exactly will immediately enter a paradisiacal existence after death, whether this is true of just martyrs, or of all Christians, or even (in the extreme case of Hosea Ballou) all people. But I’m unaware of any Christian group that denies that anyone will immediately enter paradise after death.

    The third claim follows from the first claim. If the person who is resurrected isn’t the same as the person who died, then the resurrection isn’t really our hope, but the hope of someone else who doesn’t exist yet. Even if someone with my exact memories is created at the resurrection, that means nothing to me if that person isn’t numerically identical to me.

    However, these three claims might be inconsistent. Let’s see why. Claim 2 could be interpreted in two ways:

Intermediate State Thesis (IST): at least some people exist in a disembodied, paradisiacal state between death and the resurrection.

Non-Existence Thesis (NET): at least some people don’t exist between death and resurrection, so that this interval is immediate for them.

IST has been the most common view throughout Christian history, but it undercuts claim 1: if our disembodied state is paradisiacal, then bodily resurrection appears superfluous. This tension was recognized by at least some early church writers, including Irenaeus and Augustine (Turner 2015, 37-46), and it was also recognized by Aquinas, who denied IST for this reason (In Sent. IV.43.1.1; Super 1 Cor. 15.2.924). On the other hand, NET undercuts claim 3 due to a widely accepted philosophical axiom that we’ll call No Gappy Existence (NGE): it isn’t possible for one and the same thing to come into existence more than once. If a fire is started, stopped, and then started again, the second fire isn’t numerically identical to the first. It’s also impossible for a person to cease to exist altogether and then come into existence as the same person.

    Therefore, the bodily resurrection poses a philosophical problem for Christians. It’s difficult to hold IST and claim 1 (the centrality of bodily resurrection) at the same time. But it’s also difficult to hold NET and claim 3 (the numerical identity of the dead and resurrected person) at the same time, given the widely accepted axiom NGE. How, then, can we interpret claims 1-3 to be self-consistent?

Substance dualism

    In modern metaphysical anthropology, views about human persons are divided between dualism and physicalism. Dualism says that people are (in some sense) partially corporeal and partially incorporeal, whereas physicalism says that people are entirely corporeal and physical. The most common dualist view is called substance dualism: this is the view that the mind and body are two substances, an incorporeal one and a corporeal one. A substance is an object with independent ontological reality, so that properties (like color, shape, and size) inhere in substances, but substances don’t inhere in anything else. Substance dualism can be interpreted in two ways: either a person simply is her mind, or she is the composite of her mind and body.

Substance dualism and the resurrection

    Let’s take the first interpretation. If a person is her mind, then it’s obvious how claim 2 (immediate paradisiacal existence) could be true, since she (i.e., her mind) can exist independently of a body after death. But this makes claim 2 even harder to reconcile with claim 1 (the centrality of bodily resurrection), since the body is totally superfluous to the flourishing existence of any person. In fact, two of the most historically prominent substance dualists, Plato and Descartes, both saw the body as a sort of prison for the mind/person. This view is completely foreign to the New Testament, as N. T. Wright argues strongly in his book The Resurrection of the Son of God, and it’s contrary to claim 1.

    What about the second interpretation? If a person is the composite of her mind and body, then claim 2 could still be true in virtue of an incorporeal part of her (i.e., her mind) that survives after death. It might also be easier to reconcile with claim 1: bodily resurrection is important because the body is a proper part of a person. But this view seems to run into insuperable difficulties about personal identity, because it means that the person isn’t a thinker or a knower, her mind is. Nor does the person do anything corporeal, her body does. Since she isn’t a substance, but merely the aggregate of two substances (mind and body), the person doesn’t actually do anything. It follows that persons, like other mere aggregates of substances (such as a table with a banana on it), are merely mental constructs. I don’t think it’s even possible to coherently accept this view, since someone who accepts it is denying that they exist. This is also contrary to claim 3 (the numerical identity of the dead and resurrected person), since that claim relies on a concept of real personal identity.

    Finally, the view of the intermediate state that substance dualism implies isn’t Scriptural. Paul looked forward to the resurrection body, but didn’t want to be “unclothed,” that is, without a body (2 Cor. 5:3-4). The Hebrew Bible consistently describes those who are dead as being “no more” (Gen. 37:30; 42:13, 36; Job 27:19; Ps. 37:10, 36; 39:13; 104:35; Isa. 17:14; Jer. 31:15; Lam. 5:7; Ezek. 26:21; 27:36; 28:19; cf. Matt. 2:18), and its wisdom literature repeatedly insists that the dead cannot praise or know God (Ps. 6:4-5; 30:8-10; 88:9-12; 115:17; Isa. 38:17-19), and that their perceptual and cognitive abilities are at the very least severely impaired (Ps. 146:3-4; Ecc. 9:5-10). Both the Hebrew Bible and New Testament writers use sleep as a metaphor for death, which suggests that death impairs a person’s knowledge of the external world and her cognitive abilities. All this is contrary to substance dualism, which entails that embodiment is irrelevant to mental activity.

Substance dualism and philosophy of mind

    In addition to the theological problems with substance dualism (it seems to contradict claims 1 and/or 3), there are a number of philosophical problems. The interaction problem argues that it’s impossible for a corporeal substance (the body) and an incorporeal substance (the mind) to interact with each other. Christians have good reason to accept that incorporeal substances can affect corporeal ones, since we already believe that an incorporeal God can affect the corporeal world. But the reverse is harder to affirm. Why is it the case that damage to the brain can damage a person’s perceptive and cognitive abilities, if they are attributes of a distinct substance? Why does stimulating the brain in a particular way have predictable effects on a person’s conscious experience? Why, for that matter, is the incorporeal mind connected to this particular body and not any other corporeal thing?

   This leads to another problem, which is the fundamentally embodied nature of perception and cognition. If our conscious experiences are mere representations of actual things, projected on a Cartesian theater in our minds, then we can never know the corporeal world as it is. My conscious experience could be exactly the same even if the world were completely different, or didn’t exist at all. To avoid radical epistemic skepticism, there can’t be an infinite regress of representations; at some point, there must be direct perception of the external world, which implies that the mind isn’t wholly incorporeal.

    Likewise, cognition is essentially embodied, since our concepts are set in a (largely subconscious) network of assumptions about the external world. To use an example given by Ed Feser (2024, chap. 7), if I go to a restaurant and say, “Bring me a steak,” I’m employing at least the concepts of steak and bringing. But this comes with background assumptions about the external world, like that the waiter is actually predisposed to bring me a steak, that she will do so on a plate, that she will put it on the table and not in my pocket, etc. Furthermore, the use of language presupposes common experience, that our words can really (and not merely seem to) refer to the same things. But if substance dualism is true, then there is no common environment, just the way things seem to each of us. Therefore, since arguments for substance dualism rely on such shared concepts, it’s self-defeating.

Physicalism

     The non-dualist view of human persons is physicalism, which says that people are wholly corporeal with no incorporeal parts or properties. This comes in two flavors: reductive, which says that the mind exists but is reducible to the physical, and eliminativist, which says that mental states really don’t exist at all. I think that eliminativism is self-defeating, because to accept eliminativism requires things like concepts, beliefs, and truth, which the eliminativist denies are real things. (Eliminativist philosopher Patricia Churchland says that we need a “successor concept to truth,” that has not yet been found, which would mean that statements like “eliminativism is true” have no determinable meaning.) Even if this doesn’t mean that eliminativism itself is necessarily false, it does show that no one can coherently accept eliminativism as true.

Physicalism and the resurrection

    Physicalism fails to make claims 1-3 consistent. If a person simply is, or is reducible to, her body, then she ceases to exist when the physical processes that constitute her life stop. But according to the axiom No Gappy Existence, that same person can’t begin to exist again at the resurrection; at best, a precise copy of her will begin to exist, which is contrary to claim 3.

    The proposed solutions to this problem aren’t very convincing. The “simulacrum” model suggests that God transports a person’s body away at the moment of death, replacing it with a simulacrum, and keeping it in stasis until the resurrection. The “falling elevator” model suggests that a person’s body undergoes some kind of metaphysical fission at death, and one part remains on earth while the other is taken by God and kept in stasis until the resurrection. Both of these models are just strange, and rely on controversial metaphysics. The “simulacrum” model implies that God is actively deceiving us about where a person’s body is after death, and the “falling elevator” model has to say that the corpse and the body in stasis are somehow both numerically identical to the dead person’s body.

    On the other hand, a physicalist could deny NGE and say that a person just ceases to exist after death and comes back into existence at the resurrection when God creates an identical body. But this also leads to strange conclusions. If all that is required for personal identity is for there to be an identical body with identical neurological states, then God could theoretically create two or more of the one and the same person by duplicating their body. Therefore, physicalism can only deny NGE at the expense of losing a robust account of numerical personal identity.

Physicalism and philosophy of mind

    There are also philosophical problems with reductive physicalism. For one thing, conceptual thinking is determinate, but physical processes aren’t determinate, which entails that conceptual thinking isn’t wholly reducible to physical processes (Ross 1992; Feser 2013). One example is given by Kripke (1982, 7-54). Suppose that you have never added numbers higher than 56, and you’re asked to add 60 + 61. You answer “121,” but a skeptic asks you how you know this. Perhaps what was meant by “+” wasn’t addition, but “quaddition”:

x quus y = x + y if x, y < 57; = 5 otherwise.

The correct answer, therefore, might be 5 and not 121. This seems absurd, but the physical facts don’t militate in favor of one answer over the other; you’ve never added numbers higher than 56, so what you meant in the past by “plus” could have been addition or quaddition. Even if you consciously think, “What I mean by ‘plus’ is addition and not quaddition,” this only pushes the issue a step back. The physical facts about the words “plus” and “addition” and your neurological states when you think those words have no determinate meaning other than what we give them.

    Another example is given by Quine (1960). Suppose you’re a field anthropologist following a native person who points at a rabbit and says, “Gavagai!” You might take “gavagai” to mean “rabbit,” but none of the physical facts about the situation require this; it could also mean “undetached rabbit part” or “landscape that includes at least one rabbit” or any number of other things. Even if you knew every physical fact about the native’s neurological state and the surrounding environment, you wouldn’t be able to tell which of these things he meant by “gavagai.” Surely, though, he did mean something determinate when he said “gavagai.” This implies that his concept “gavagai” isn’t reducible to physical facts.

    The fact is, there can’t be an infinite regress of things that merely have meaning because of other things (which are called instrumental signs). In order for anything to have determinate meaning, the regress must stop at things that not only have meaning but are meaning (formal signs), and are therefore irreducible to physical processes. If we deny that concepts and formal functions (like addition and modus ponens) have no determinate meaning, then we deny that our own arguments are logically valid, which is self-defeating.

    A related argument for the incorporeality of the intellect is that our concepts are abstract universals, but nothing physical is an abstract universal. For example, our concept “triangle” doesn’t correspond to any physical triangle, but to that which is common to all triangles (being a closed polygon with three sides). For a triangle to be physical means that it instantiates a certain way that triangles can be, and not triangularity itself. The fact that we can conceive of universals like triangularity and redness, abstracted from any concrete instantiation of those universals, implies that at least some of our concepts aren’t reducible to physical facts. 

    Furthermore, there are a larger number of possible concepts than possible physical configurations, which also implies that at least some concepts aren’t reducible to physical facts. In fact, there’s a potential infinity of concepts! For example, there is a possible concept for each natural number (which is an infinite set). Josh Rasmussen (2015; w/ Bailey 2020) has advanced a formal mathematical argument, based on Cantor’s Theorem, that the number of possible thoughts must in principle be larger than the number of possible physical configurations.

    In summary, physicalism suffers from quite a few metaphysical problems (and the ones I mentioned here aren’t the only ones). Our conceptual abilities can’t be corporeal because concepts have determinate meaning, whereas physical processes have no inherent meaning, and concepts are abstract universals, whereas physical things are concrete particulars. Furthermore, the number of possible concepts must be larger than the number of possibly physical configurations. These facts show that our conceptual abilities (our rational intellect) must be at least partly incorporeal. (However, our perceptual abilities could be wholly corporeal.)

Part 2: A solution to the problem

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.

______________________________

[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.”

Done blogging – vet school!

Tomorrow I start veterinary school at Purdue! I don't anticipate that I'll be blogging anymore, at least for the foreseeable future....