Shep Shepherd's Theology Blog

Peter Lombard: Mastering the Sentences

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Tue, 26 Jun 2018 19:33:00 +0000

[Today's blog post is the second entry in the Defining Systematic Theology series.]

The Sentences of Peter Lombard (c. 1096-1160) stand among the most influential theological writings in the history of the church. Well over a thousand commentaries or glosses on the Sentences were composed by subsequent thinkers, including Bonaventure, Thomas Aquinas, and Martin Luther. Most medieval university professors of theology were expected to lecture through the Sentences. "No piece of Christian literature has been commented upon more frequently - except for Scripture itself."

In our treatment of Hugh of St. Victor, we observed how Hugh's hermeneutic informs the structure of his systematic theology. The relationship between biblical interpretation and dogmatics remains quite close in Lombard's work (and in fact Lombard studied under Hugh in Paris).

As Philipp Rosemann observes, the Latin term sententia has multiple meanings. Primarily, it "signifies an opinion expressed by an authoritative writer." However, "sententia also means the deeper - as opposed to merely grammatical or literal - sense of Scripture, which indicates the origin of the authoritative statements of the Fathers in scriptural interpretation." In other words, the Sentences are meant to express the dogmatic content of Scripture as read by the church catholic throughout history. Lombard's hermeneutic is one of not merely individual but also ecclesial interpretation.

That latter point is really important to Lombard:

This is what the god of this world works in those children of unbelief [2 Cor. 4:4, Eph. 2:2] who do not submit their will to reason, nor apply themselves to the study of doctrine. Instead, they strive to make the words of wisdom fit what they have dreamed up; they follow not the reason of truth, but of what pleases them. Their evil will incites such people not to an understanding of the truth, but to the defense of what has pleased them; they do not desire to be taught the truth, but turn their ears away from it and toward fables. [2 Tim. 4:4] ... inflicting upon others the itching of their own ears [2 Tim. 4:3] under the new dogma of their own desire.

Lombard is explicit about his intent to minimize his own voice and opinions and to instead amplify the voices of past authorities. However, for him the ultimate emphasis is to be placed not even on the teachings of the authorities themselves, but to the objective reality which they witness about.

Much like Hugh before him, Lombard is operating from an Augustinian hermeneutical and sacramental framework. He begins with the statement that "all teaching concerns things or signs." From there he enters into a brief summary treatment of Augustine's De Doctrina Christiana, explicating the distinction between signs and things (all signs are things, but not all things are signs), and between things to be used, things to be enjoyed, and things which are both to be used and enjoyed.

Though it may not be immediately apparent to the modern reader, this series of distinctions is forefronted intentionally to set the systematic structure for the Sentences as a whole:

Some things are to be enjoyed, others to be used, and yet others enjoy[ed] and use[d]. Among those which are to be used, there are even some through which we come to joy, such as the virtues and powers of the spirit, which are natural goods. Before we treat of signs, we must discuss all of these, and first the things which are to be enjoyed, namely the holy and undivided Trinity.

Note the inversion of our modern expectations here. By speaking of human knowledge through signs, active use of things, and enjoyment of things, it might seem to the reader that he has grounded his theological enterprise in human subjective experience, in our perspective and our reality. Yet it is precisely this treatment of signs and things which prescribes a theological system that begins with the reality of God, the thing most fully to be enjoyed. God is the source of our human knowing and action, as well as the teleological end in which we find our fulfillment in joy. Thus, discussion of God's being is prioritized even over extended treatment of the signs by which we come to know about God.

Rosemann explains:

This, then, is Peter Lombard's outline of the structure of the Book of Sentences. A discussion of the Trinity (things to be enjoyed) will precede a treatment of creation (things to be used), which will lead to a third part of the work devoted to man and angels (things that are objects of both enjoyment and use). This will be followed by a theology of the virtues (things through which we enjoy), before the work comes to an end in a part on the sacraments (signs).

The doctrine of the incarnation is treated at length alongside the theology of the virtues. "In becoming flesh, God deigned to be not only the ultimate end of human existence, but the road to that end as well; in other words, God, the ultimate object of enjoyment, allowed himself to be used for human salvation," Rosemann writes. "The virtues find their place in book 3 because Peter approaches them from the point of view of the human Christ; put differently, Peter analyzes the virtues in their most perfect and exemplary state." Lombard's moral theology is Christologically governed. We see how human beings are to live and act by looking not at ourselves but at the perfect image of our humanity.

Medieval commentators did not teach the Sentences uncritically, but often found it to be an edifice upon which they could construct their own theological formulations of traditional catholic teaching. Yet one could not stray far from the organization and instincts of the Sentences without some explanation for it - Lombard's text was the systematic theology text to come to terms with, and valued not only for its pedagogical usefulness but its ability to serve as a foundation for new theological endeavors. Lombard's careful attention to the orders of being and knowing, biblical hermeneutics, and church authority in the shaping of his system should likewise inspire fresh reflection on these things in our own day and age.

Hugh of St. Victor: A System of Mystery

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Tue, 12 Jun 2018 12:00:00 +0000

What is systematic theology? How ought we to define its tasks and objectives? In this post I am beginning a new series which will comment on various definitions of systematic theology, past and present. While I am interested in observing both consistency and development, this series will by no means offer a comprehensive historical survey of the question. My aims are more modest. I simply want to provide opportunities for us to think carefully together, in concert with voices from the church catholic, about the nature and character of systematic theology.

Our first featured theologian is Hugh of St. Victor (c. 1096–1141), a Saxon canon regular who became the head of the school at the Abbey of St. Victor in Paris. His book De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei is arguably the first major work of systematic theology in early medieval scholasticism.

For Hugh, the task of systematic theology is to provide an ordered account of the subject matter of Sacred Scripture. So, what is this subject matter?

1. Hugh of St. Victor, On the Sacraments of the Christian Faith, tr. Roy Deferrari, ed. Joseph Saint-George(Ex Fontibus, 2016), 3. Emphasis added.
The subject matter of all the Divine Scriptures is the works of man's restoration. For there are two works in which all that has been done is contained. The first is the work of foundation; the second is the work of restoration. The work of foundation is that whereby those things which were not came into being. The work of restoration is that whereby those things which had been impaired were made better.

Therefore, the work of foundation is the creation of the world with all its elements. The work of restoration is the Incarnation of the Word with all its sacraments, both those which have gone before from the beginning of time, and those which come after, even to the end of the world.

Accordingly, De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei is split into two books, one covering the work of "foundation" or "institution", the other covering the work of "restoration".

On the surface, the organization of topics in these two books appears to be merely chronological, a narrative sequence of biblical events in salvation history. For Hugh, this is a necessary consequence of the task of tracing out origins and ends. In order to discuss salvation, one must first discuss the fall. In order to discuss man's fall, one must first discuss his created state, and so on. Hugh's aim is to present the exitus-reditus movement of human existence without structurally straying far from the order and internal logic of the biblical account.

The organization of Hugh's system is heavily funded by an Augustinian hermeneutic, in which words and things in Scripture are sometimes signative of other things and meanings. "This subject matter Divine Scripture treats according to a threefold sense: that is, according to history, allegory, and tropology." Hugh's Didascalicon not only followed but in many ways enlarged and built upon Augustine's work in De Doctrina Christiana.

For Hugh, the narrative of Scripture is not merely historical but sacramental, an unfolding of mysteries from which doctrine may be derived (hence the title of his summa). God's works of foundation and restoration are performed in certain ways in order to teach humanity about his being and nature. Hence, for Hugh the creation of the universe in six days is historical fact, but historical fact with doctrinal content. The purpose of De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei is to help students grasp the doctrinal content discovered via the second stage of biblical interpretation, allegory.

Hugh offers a pedagogical justification for his approach by categorizing and relating the various academic sciences. Note here the classical structure presented, with theology ("the divine science") functioning as the governing queen of the rest:

4. Hugh of St. Victor, On the Sacraments, 5-6. Emphasis added.
It is clear that all the natural arts serve divine science, and that the lower wisdom, rightly ordered, leads to the higher. Accordingly, under the sense of the significance of words in relation to things history is contained, which, as has been said, is served by three sciences: grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric. Under that sense, however, consisting in the significance of things in relation to mystical facts, allegory is contained. And under that sense, consisting in the meaning of things in relation to mystical things to be done, tropology is contained, and these two are served by arithmetic, music, geometry, astronomy, and physics.

Besides these, there is above all that divine science to which the Divine Scripture leads, whether in allegory or in tropology; one division of this which is in allegory, teaches right faith, the other, which is in tropology, teaches good work. In these consist knowledge of truth and love of virtue; and this is the true restoration of man.

Allegory is a sort of theological and typological interpretation of Scripture, attesting to the unity of its content in relation to its divine origin. Tropology is the moral interpretation of Scripture from which ethics and righteousness are derived. Such a hermeneutic internalizes the exitus-reditus movement within the reading of Scripture. One begins with history (the foundation), then moves to allegory and tropology (the faith and good works, respectively).

The very unfolding of this movement draws one into the movement. Hugh is attempting to order systematic theology in accordance with biblical epistemology: first we are taught by nature and history, then we are given faith, then we pursue faithful actions.

Hugh's reluctance to stray far from the historical sequence of Scripture even in his treatment of its doctrinal content is indicative of some hermeneutical modesty and concern about overly speculative and fanciful allegoresis. The medieval tradition would continue on this trajectory, with Thomas Aquinas eventually concluding that only the literal sense of Scripture is necessary for the exposition and defense of sacred doctrine.

Perhaps most important for our interests is the observation that Hugh's systematic theology is shaped by a concern for pedagogy and spiritual formation, influenced by the work of Augustine. Theology is here presented not as an academic curiosity but as a spiritual discipline, one of growth in the faith for the purpose of Christian devotion toward God and right action before the world. For both Hugh and Augustine, it is critical that Scripture's mode of teaching ought to shape our own theological pedagogy. Both are interested in the perfect instructive rhetoric of Scripture.

Often in our modern world we divide the substance of content from the method by which it is taught, without allowing the former to inform the latter. Scripture, however, is not a mere collection of useful facts or ideas, but cultivates a certain kind of thinking and living in relation to God. For Augustine and Hugh, theological pedagogy ought in some way to imitate the method by which Scripture guides its reader from historical and sensible things to divine and mystical meanings.

We need not wholly embrace the Augustinian hermeneutic in order to feel the force of their concern here. Perhaps we might ask ourselves in what ways our theological teaching seeks to be biblical not merely in content, but in method. What would such pedagogy look like in connection with a Reformed hermeneutic which avers that Scripture only has one sense, the literal? How might such a pedagogy give shape to systematic theology itself?

David I Have Loved, Saul I Have Hated

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Tue, 05 Jun 2018 14:41:00 +0000

"Yahweh is not a God who consistently forgives," writes Old Testament commentator Walter Brueggemann. "Saul is treated unfairly by Yahweh, and he is assigned a role in the memory of Israel that shows him to be in a position where he can only lose."

1 Samuel 30 is one of the passages that has shaken Brueggemann. In it, David enriches himself off of spoils taken from the Amalekites, Israel's ancient enemies against whom God Himself had declared herem warfare (Ex. 17:14-16). So great is this newfound wealth that David can share it with all of his warriors, including those who out of exhaustion lagged behind and did not participate in the battle (1 Sam. 30:24). On top of that, David still has more left over to send as gifts to various political leaders and elders of Judah, all men whose favor and support will aid him in his rise to the throne (1 Sam. 30:26).

Why is this baffling to Brueggemann? In 1 Samuel 15, King Saul is rejected by God for failing to carry out complete herem warfare against the Amalekites. Saul only destroyed the most worthless of the spoils of war, the rest he gave to his army (1 Sam. 15:9). The prophet Samuel responds to Saul's disobedience (1 Sam. 15:19) by declaring that Saul will be cut off from the throne (1 Sam. 15:26). Hence the apparent contradiction: David seems to be ascending to the throne by the same acts that caused Saul to lose his throne. For Brueggemann, this disparity makes Yahweh seem morally capricious.

All the more concerning for Brueggemann is the fact that Saul begs for forgiveness for his sin (1 Sam. 15:24-25), a plea that seems to be utterly rejected. We know that later on David will commit some grave sins of his own yet will be pardoned by the Lord. The text of 1 Samuel itself seems to be uninterested in directly resolving this apparent theological problem. Can it be resolved at all?

Esau I Have Hated

Perhaps one of the most famous biblical texts on the mysterious favor of the Lord is Malachi 1:2-4, which features the declaration "Jacob I have loved, but Esau I have hated." The passage is cited by Paul in the New Testament as part of a discussion of divine election (Rom. 9:13-16).

The Amalekites are descendants of Esau, and have accordingly been cut off from the inheritance that belongs to Jacob's children. They have especially incurred God's wrath by attacking the vulnerable children of Israel soon after their exodus from Egypt (Ex. 17:8).

The cursed state of Esau and his descendants may seem unfair. Yet Scripture does not only resource the mystery of divine favor and election to address this issue. Esau is notably at fault for his own loss of inheritance, and his descendants suffer for their continued rebellion. The Bible does not hold God's will and human responsibility to be in conflict.

In particular, Hebrews 12:14-17 is a helpful text for understanding God's rejection of Esau:

Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled; that no one is sexually immoral or unholy like Esau, who sold his birthright for a single meal. For you know that afterward, when he desired to inherit the blessing, he was rejected, for he found no chance to repent, though he sought it with tears.

Esau has been identified by the author of Hebrews as an apostate. Hebrews 6:4-8 describes apostates as those who taste the glory of God and yet reject his blessings in favor of physical and fleshly desires. Such people have "tasted the heavenly gift, and have shared in the Holy Spirit." They have "tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the age to come." This makes their apostasy seem all the more absurd.

Esau showed that he despised his birthright by preferring the "taste" of stew to his own inheritance. The connection between Esau's desire for the stew and the desires of the flesh is highlighted by the fact that both the stew and his flesh are "red" and identified as the sources of his name (Gen.25:25,30). The author of Hebrews draws on this imagery to highlight the sheer moral and logical absurdity of apostasy. Just as it seems immensely foolish to give up one's inheritance for a bowl of stew, so also it should seem to us foolish to choose sexual immorality over the blessed inheritance of the beatific vision (Heb. 12:14).

Saul's decisions to curry the favor of the people by sharing the spoils of the Amalekites and to win political favor by sparing the Amalekite king are both instances of the prioritization of immediate and fleshly concerns to the will of God. In other words, Saul is an Esau. He jeopardizes his lasting kingly inheritance out of a desire to secure the moment for himself.

Not only is Saul an Esau, he acts like an Amalekite. Numbers 24:20 identifies Amalek as the "first among the nations," an appellation that John Calvin suggests is mocking. "The pride of Amalek [is] indirectly rebuked, because they claimed superiority for themselves over other nations."

Saul's failure to "blot out the memory" of Amalek's name (Ex. 17:14) shows his lack of faith or interest in the kingly promise of Numbers 24:7. Yet his disobedience is also indicative of his desire to establish his own name through political force, as Samuel observes (1 Sam. 15:17). Obedience to God is not sufficient for Saul. Holiness is not sufficient. He wants to be first among the people (1 Sam. 18:7-8). Saul is an Amalekite.

Hebrews states that Esau found no chance for repentance, and that it is impossible for apostates to be restored to repentance. Similarly for Saul, his pleas for pardon are rejected by Samuel. It is too late. Saul's kingdom will be given to another.

David I Have Loved

Brueggemann's perspective on 1 Samuel 30 is not new. The fourth century Manichean heretic Faustus raised a similar charge against God's moral integrity, necessitating a thorough response from Augustine of Hippo. On God's different treatment of Saul and David, Augustine writes:

3. Augustine of Hippo, Contra Faustum Manichaeum XXII, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers Series vol. IV The Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy (Buffalo, NY: The Christian Literature Company, 1887), 298.
The divine eye saw a difference in the heart. The lesson for us to learn from these things is that the kingdom of heaven is within us, and that we must worship God from our inmost feelings, so that out of the abundance of the heart the mouth may speak, instead of honoring Him with our lips, like the people of old, while our hearts are far from Him.

Augustine clearly has in mind 1 Samuel 16:7, in which God chooses David to be king because of his qualities of heart. David is devoted to God above all else (Ps. 17:15). He does not see God's favor as a means to the end of political power, as Saul does. Rather, the presence of God and his glory is the end itself for David. It is what he desires most to see (Ps. 11:7). He is faithful because he wants the beatific vision, and to inherit the covenant promise of a kingdom that shall never be shaken (Heb. 12:28).

The difference between Saul and David in their repentance is that the former only desires pardon so that he might retrieve the kingdom he has lost. The latter, on the other hand, acknowledges that God desires more than outward obedience or repentance (Ps. 51:6,17). Turning away from sin must be comprehensive, involving the whole man.

Saul's repentance is inconsistent. He regrets seeking to kill David, only to attempt it again and again. This is reminiscent of Esau's desire to kill Jacob (Genesis 27:41), a sin for which he did later repent, but also a sin that many of his descendants persisted in by attempting to wipe out Israel. The heart that sees personal or institutional power as an ultimate end in itself will always react violently or oppressively to forces which seem to threaten that power. By contrast, the heart that seeks after the Lord above all else will find strength even in the most vulnerable and perilous times (1 Sam. 30:5-6).

Saul sees divine favor as a means of obtaining his own political power. Hence his desperation at losing God's favor: when Saul's kingdom is threatened and God will not tell him what to do, Saul seeks out a witch (1 Sam. 28:5-7). Saul is so desperate that he tries to indirectly get a divine word by calling forth the spirit of Samuel (1 Sam. 28:15-18). The only word he receives is a confirmation of the judgment his disobedience has earned. In this very attempt at manipulating divine power for his own interests, Saul has proven that his so-called repentance is a sham. The sin of rebellion and the sin of divination are linked (1 Sam. 15:23).

David uses divination (via ephod) to obtain a word from the Lord, but this is different from the sin of divination. He is not attempting to force a word from the Lord by mystical methods which bypass the need for inner spiritual holiness. Rather, as he has already strengthened himself inwardly in the Lord, he humbly seeks out divine wisdom and direction in his time of need (1 Sam. 30:7-8). David ascribes his victory over the Amalekites to God's providence, not claiming victory in his own name (1 Samuel 30:23).

Beyond this theological backdrop, there are clear contextual reasons why David's taking of the Amalekite spoils differs from Saul. For one thing, David's act was one of retrieval and recovery, taking back all that had been stolen from the surrounding lands. By contrast, Saul was not assaulting an Amalekite raiding force in 1 Samuel 15, but an Amalekite city. Whereas David was taking back, Saul was invading with the task of total destruction.

Furthermore, David is not yet king, and has been exiled from the people of God. The war between Israel and Amalek was declared by God himself in his office as King over Israel (Ex. 17:16), and it is Saul's kingly duty to carry it out (1 Sam. 15:1). Saul's duty to wage herem warfare thus carries a different weight of obligation, and his failure to obey shows that he does not respect God's overarching rule. In other words, David and Saul's missions and obligations both clearly differ in these passages.

Saul, like Esau before him, serves as a warning against apostasy. Let us then take heed:

Turn away from evil and do good;
so shall you dwell forever.
For the LORD loves justice;
he will not forsake his saints.
They are preserved forever,
but the children of the wicked shall be cut off.
(Psalm 37:27-28)

Metaphysics and the Sexual Revolution

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Thu, 08 Mar 2018 14:05:00 +0000

In 1936, German psychoanalyst Wilhelm Reich published a book titled Die Sexualität im Kulturkampf ("Sexuality in the Culture War"). When the book was translated into English in 1945, the title had changed to a phrase Reich coined: The Sexual Revolution. Although Reich did not live to see the sexual revolution come to fruition in America, he has become widely regarded as the movement's "midwife", and his writings as the movement's "roadmap". Many of Reich's most radical ideas at the time - such as homosexual marriage and legalized abortion - are now realities. The aim of his "culture war" was nothing less than the dismantling of what he saw as oppressive institutions of capitalist society: the family and the church.

The sexual revolution was an intentional assault on classical metaphysics, argues Catholic philosopher Augusto Del Noce. A metaphysician influenced by neo-Thomist philosophers like Jacques Maritain and Étienne Gilson, Del Noce used historical analysis of the origins and futures of modern philosophical movements to provide the contextual terrain for his own arguments. In a 1970 essay on eroticism, Del Noce traces the origins of the sexual revolution through Freud, Marx, and Reich, illuminating its radical objectives.

"The question of eroticism is first of all metaphysical," writes Del Noce. "Only a restoration of what for brevity I will call 'classical metaphysics' can truly dismantle the framework of judgments that make up eroticism." More specifically, by "classical metaphysics" Del Noce has in mind the "old Christian-Thomist framework."

How does the sexual revolution undermine this metaphysical framework? First, by assaulting the institution of the family:

What is the repressive social institution par excellence? To Reich it is the traditional monogamous family; and, from his standpoint, certainly he cannot be said to be wrong. Indeed, the idea of family is inseparable from the idea of tradition, from a heritage of truth that we must tradere, hand on. Thus, the abolition of every meta-empirical order of truth requires that the family be dissolved.

The chief weapon employed here is the sheer immediacy of so-called sexual freedom. The past, and the traditions that it imposes upon us, is oppressive. "The domain of free sexuality is the pure present, and this brings us back to the sub-human level, to animalism (think of Leibniz's mens momentanea)." The structures of society must be done away with via bursts of spontaneity, acquiescence to pure instinct. In Reich's view, man is most noble as a savage, and only total freedom from sexual repression can end human aggression and authoritarianism.

Of course, Reich's total war on tradition has not ever been fully realized, even in the achievements of the sexual revolution. The reason for this lies at the intersection of Reich's sexual philosophy and the political philosophy of Marxism. In contrast to Reich's vision of a primitive sexual utopia to which humanity must return, Hegelian influences upon Marxism prevail that the absolute only lies at the end of the movement of history. Thus, "the idea that values have an objective foundation forbids Marxism, at least in its revolutionary version, from becoming a vitalistic doctrine advocating unlimited sexual freedom. On the contrary, it is inclined to regard such freedom as the last stage of disintegration and degeneration of bourgeois society." Those who oppose the movement toward that final stage are often condemned as "on the wrong side of history."

Though Reich's philosophy is not fully realized, it still maintains remarkable political and cultural influence. "Reich was the precursor of the worst and most dangerous aspects of today's mores as well as of today's politics," writes Del Noce. "What today is called the left fights less and less in terms of class warfare, and more and more in terms of 'warfare against repression,' claiming that the struggle for the economic progress of the disadvantaged is included in this more general struggle, as if the two were inseparable."

The family is viewed by many leftist philosophers as the most unjust institution, for it is the greatest source of economic and societal privilege. If the family is done away with as an institution, the community (and/or the state) can raise children in fairness and equality. The outcome of such an effort is of course increased state power over the individual, who has now been isolated from the rights and protections afforded him by a state-recognized family structure.

Del Noce was writing in the 1970s. The effects of Reich's philosophy today are even more pronounced. Even in his day, Del Noce could observe: "today the average man, i.e., the normal man (meaning neither nostalgic nor neurotic) accepts without any moral reaction displays of sexuality that a few years ago were inconceivable."

The new sexual tolerance will tolerate anything except traditional modesty and chastity. This is true even among many Christians. "The demonic always creeps in by creating an opposition between certain truths and virtues that, when they are separated, become errors. In the case at hand, charity vs respect for the objective order of being."

Where Marxism faltered to carry the torch of Reich's sexual revolution, Surrealism picked up the slack. Del Noce writes: "It would be incorrect to regard Surrealism as a merely artistic phenomenon, instead of a comprehensive attitude toward life that aims at embodying the fullness of the revolutionary idea in its primary aspect, which is the will to mark a radical break with the past and the beginning of a new history. ... Surrealists were almost the only ones to realize a fundamental truth: the decisive battle against Christianity could be fought only at the level of the sexual revolution." Del Noce points to Surrealist theoreticians who saw their project as one of demythologization, the eradication of sexually repressive dogma and religious narratives. One of the most repressive doctrines is said to be that of original sin.

Of the three foundational estates of human life - the oeconomia, the ecclesia, and the politia - two are assaulted by the sexual revolution, and one gains to profit by their removal.

The Trinitarian Christology of St. Thomas Aquinas

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Thu, 22 Feb 2018 18:33:00 +0000

Dominic Legge, The Trinitarian Christology of St. Thomas Aquinas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), xviii + 261 pp.

Is Thomas Aquinas' Christology truly Trinitarian? Modern critics have charged that it is not, for a number of reasons. The root suspicion is that Thomas has prioritized metaphysical speculation over attentiveness to biblical testimony about Christ.

What bad fruit does this methodological imbalance bear? Critics direct us to Thomas' argument that any person of the Trinity could hypothetically have become incarnate, a supposition that seems to open a chasm between the inner life of the Trinity and the divine economy. Furthermore, critics argue that Thomas has a disproportionate interest in the hypostatic union, to the detriment of other important themes (such as the role of the Holy Spirit in Christ's life and activity).

Dominic Legge sets out in this book to resolve such concerns by demonstrating that Thomas' Christology really is Trinitarian. That is not to say that Legge's approach is purely defensive. The text is elevated by the author's enthusiasm for the interconnectivity of Thomas' system of thought and for the dynamic movement of salvation to which it bears witness. In fact, to consider this movement is to be taken up into it, for in our contemplation of Christ and his work our thoughts are lifted up to the Trinity itself. With this in view, Legge's authorial voice strikes a tone that is at once both scholarly and devotional.

The book is divided into three parts. The first part sets Thomas' Christology within the broader context of his account of the divine missions. That is, we are given a detailed overview of the place of Christ and his work within the dynamic movement of salvation. The second part then examines more closely the doctrine of the incarnation in its relation to the Trinity. Finally, the third part treats the function of the Holy Spirit in Thomas' Christology.

Part I: The Trinity and the Dispensation of Salvation

In the acknowledgements, Legge credits the scholarship of Gilles Emery with providing the "impetus" for the book. Legge's indebtedness is clearly manifested in the first part, which primarily distills Emery's insightful analysis of Thomas' doctrine of God in his work The Trinitarian Theology of St Thomas Aquinas (Oxford: OUP, 2007). The material here is concise and dense, introducing the reader to the divine processions, missions, habitual grace, and various categories of causality in just two chapters. Those already familiar with these ideas will find this a well-written, refreshing overview, but for anyone new to these aspects of Thomas' thought it may be slow going.

The first chapter opens with an examination of the exitus / reditus motif, which is central to what Thomas has to say about creatures in their relation to God. As Legge observes, the motif predates Thomas, featuring in the works of Albert the Great and Peter Lombard. However, Thomas provides an "original contribution" to theology by using the motif to account for "how the Trinitarian processions themselves ground both creation and the Trinitarian dispensation of grace." This allows Thomas to elaborate upon "the scriptural and Patristic teaching that we return to the Father through the missions of the Son and the Holy Spirit." Grasping the Trinitarian pattern of the exitus / reditus movement is thus crucial for properly understanding Thomas' Christology.

The discussion of the divine processions in this chapter also introduces Thomas' "Word Christology." That is, the second person of the Trinity as "Word" proceeds from the Father in a manner analogous to how the word of thought proceeds from the intellect that conceives it. Another name for the Word is "Image." Alternate names for the Spirit are "Love" and "Gift." The Spirit proceeds from the Father and Son in a manner analogous to how the will proceeds from intellect and thought. Many of these names are grounded in the biblical witness and explicated by analogical reflection upon the function of word, love, gift, and will in the natural world.

From here, Legge moves into a general introduction to the divine missions. Said missions have two relations: a procession and a terminus. The former is eternal, subsisting in the inner life of the Godhead. This ad intra relation is immutable. The latter pertains to creaturely reality, as in an economic mission a divine person is made present to a creature. Such an event of grace entails no change in the being of God, but does effect change in the creature. Observation of this fact naturally moves Legge's analysis into a treatment of mixed relations in Thomas' thought.

In the second chapter, Legge discusses the visibility and invisibility of the divine missions. Invisible missions are those in which, as mentioned, the divine persons come to "indwell" creatures with "sanctifying or habitual grace."

What is this grace, exactly? Legge lingers here to establish some careful distinctions. Uncreated grace refers to the presence of a divine person. Habitual grace is an infused "quality of soul," functioning as "the created formal cause by which a human being is elevated and given to participate in a new and high nature, the divine nature itself." In other words, habitual grace is the change brought about in the soul by the new creation of the creature in salvation. The active presence of the Triune persons to the creature effects this new creation.

Certain gifts flow from habitual grace. These gifts are not detached from the divine persons. Rather, the divine persons are supremely the gifts given to the creature. The creature is "assimilated to - conformed to, made like, made the bearer and possessor of - the Son and Holy Spirit according to their eternal processions." Creaturely movements analogous to those processions are thus sanctified toward perfection by this divine presence. The creature's faculties of thinking, willing, and loving are thus made holy by the act of the divine persons. Since these movements are likenesses of the divine processions, the persons lead the creature through thought, will, and love back to the Father. Thus, the exitus-reditus motif is displayed in grace. Legge closes this section with a lengthy discussion of of causality in grace, laying more important groundwork for later chapters.

The visible missions are the incarnation and the various manifestations of the Spirit in Scripture (at Christ's baptism, the transfiguration, and Pentecost). The visibility of the incarnation is obviously unique, while the Spirit is merely manifested through creaturely signs. As creatures can only come to know the invisible through the visible, God saves us in a manner that befits our nature. As we are conformed to the divine persons made present to us, God makes his grace visible to the world through the church.

Part II: Jesus Christ, the Word of the Father Sent in the Flesh

The third chapter addresses the fact that it was the second person of the Trinity specifically who became incarnate. Returning to Thomas' Word Christology, Legge explains that "in the Word is included not only all that God knows of himself, but also, within that knowledge of himself, the ideas of all creatures. As a corollary, Thomas says that creatures are in a certain expressions and representations of what is in the Word." The analogy here is that of craftsmanship: the thing made by the artist represents the idea conceived in his intellect. The Word is thus the exemplar cause of all creation, the person through whom the eternal ideas and plan of creation are spoken into existence. As such, it is uniquely fitting that the Word, as the wisdom through which all things were made and ordered, should become incarnate to save all things. Furthermore, just as a word reveals the heart of the one who spoke it, so also the eternal Word in the incarnation reveals the Father who sent him. Thus, just as the Wisdom of God ordered creation, so also it is incarnate to reorder it back to the Father.

The second person of the Trinity is not only Word, but Son. It is fitting, Thomas argues, that the eternal Son should become incarnate so that creatures might be adopted as sons of God, and given a share in his eternal inheritance. Legge describes the various dimensions of this theme in Thomas' Christology:

While [this] adoption by sanctifying grace is efficiently caused by all three divine persons, we recieve in sanctifying grace and by way of knowledge a participated likeness of the Son's proper filiation, just as the Son, as Son, knows the Father perfectly (the first dimension discussed above). Our filial adoption draws us into the Son's unity with the Father (the second dimension); "born again" or "regenerated" by grace, we are made like him who is eternally begotten (the third dimension). We thus participate in a likeness of his eternal and perfect reception of the riches or inheritance of the Father (the fourth dimension). Under each of these aspects, the salvation that comes to us through the incarnation generates a likeness in us of the eternal filiation of the Son. In other words, Aquinas brings to light the wisdom of the divine plan which, through the Son's visible mission in Christ, draws us into the Trinity - and ultimately, to the Father - as adopted sons and daughters through and in the Son.

Furthermore, the second person of the Trinity is the eternal Image of God. Human beings also image God in a creaturely sense, but this image has been corrupted by the Fall. Thus, it is fitting that the eternal Image should become incarnate to restore the imago Dei in creatures. Just as this person's identity as Word indicates a certain affinity with creation (as the eternal Word has in himself the ideas of creation) so also his identity as Image indicates that affinity (human nature is in the image of God, and the second person of the Trinity is the eternal Image, thus the second person is uniquely fit to assume that humanity). Grace not only conforms us to the second person of the Son as God, but also as man. As we conform to Christ's new humanity, the broken image in our nature is healed.

Legge lastly observes how Thomas ties the fittingness of the incarnation to the Son's biblical identitification as the author of salvation. The basic argument here is that the Spirit's eternal procession from the Son is revealed in the incarnation, since Christ in his humanity both achieves salvation and gives it to the world, and the Spirit is the eternal Gift of God. It was fitting that the Son become incarnate to give this Gift to humanity.

Chapter four then deals with the relationship between the incarnation and the Trinity. As the Triune God is indivisibly united in all economic acts of salvation, the incarnation is accomplished by all three persons, with the Son as the sole terminus of this act. Thus, the Son alone is incarnate while remaining unseparated from the Father and Spirit in being and act.

Legge distinguishes the notions of the divine esse and personal esse in Thomas' doctrine of God. The former refers to the being common to all three persons of the Trinity, while the latter refers to their personal modes of being, i.e. their subsistent relations. Christ's humanity is related to the divine esse through the Son's personal esse, and thus is determined by the Son's eternal filial relation. This means, among other things, that Christ as man always acts "from the Father," as John 8:28 indicates. The main point being made here is that the Son's personal acts in his human nature are always characterized by his personal esse. Thus, Christ's acts reveal him to be the Son of God and thus also reveal the Father and Spirit to whom he is eternally related. That is why Christ states that the one who has seen him has also seen the Father (John 1:14, 14:9).

In the Summa Theologiae III.3.5, Thomas argues that "Whatever the Son can do, so can the Father and the Holy Spirit, otherwise the power of the three Persons would not be one. But the Son was able to become incarnate. Therefore the Father and the Holy Spirit were able to become incarnate." As previously noted, this argument has been a cause of concern for many readers of Thomas. Legge clarifies that this means any divine person could have served as the terminus of the unified divine act of the incarnation. This does not suggest that the incarnation of the Son was arbitrary, for Thomas goes to great lengths to emphasize his unique personal fittingness for the incarnation. Thus, Thomas' actual argument is something like this: "The incarnation requires a divine person as its terminus. In the Trinity there are three divine persons, thus three possible termini. There is a certain fittingness to the incarnation of the Son specifically. The fact that the Son becomes incarnate (and not the Father or Spirit) displays the wisdom of God and his plan to order creation in a fitting way."

Part III: Christ and the Holy Spirit

In the third part of the book, Legge explores the Holy Spirit's relationship to Christ's habitual grace (chapter 5), his human knowledge (chapter 6), and his human actions (chapter 7) in Thomas' thought. Lastly, he looks more closely at how Christ gives the Holy Spirit (chapter 8).

Chapter 5 treats Thomist debates about the relationship between the grace of the hypostatic union and the idea of Christ's habitual grace. This discussion is quite involved, and Legge provides a clear summary of the central figures and arguments (which I will not attempt to reproduce in even briefer summary here). Legge concludes as follows:

Christ's habitual grace is really and formally distinct from the grace of union and not merely reducible to it, but is also necessarily entailed by the grace of union according to a triple title: (1) on the side of God, the mission of the Holy Spirit always accompanies the mission of the Son just as, in God, the Spirit proceeds from the Son and love from wisdom; (2) from the perspective of the created effects of a divine mission (always efficiently caused by all three persons together), habitual grace is a created effect of the divine presence, which is understood in Christ part excellence by the union; (3) the end of the union is that Christ would act as man in the world, which requires, on the side of Christ's created nature, that he receive the habitus given in habitual grace that would dispose him to that action.

This leads into a discussion of the fact that, in his humanity, Christ receives the whole Spirit (totum spiritum). This is not to say that in other instances of creaturely reception of the Spirit, the divine person is somehow only partially given. Rather, the presence of the Holy Spirit in creatures brings about created effects which can be only partial. For example, a prophet "must wait for the Spirit to come to him" but Christ has the fullness of the Spirit from the "first instant of his conception." The Spirit proceeds from the Word, and Christ's human nature is hypostatically united to that Word.

Again, the relations of the Son's personal esse affect his humanity. Christ's creaturely nature does not command the Spirit, but is given mastery over the gifts in his humanity which come from the Spirit. Thus, the incarnate Christ is not only full of grace but pours out the Spirit of grace upon humanity. Here the ordered priority of the grace of the hypostatic union to the habitual grace of Christ's humanity may be more fully seen. The union of Christ's humanity to the Word helps to specify the relation of the Spirit and habitual grace to said humanity.

In chapter 6, Legge discusses Thomas' views on Christ's human knowledge, specifically his possession of the beatific vision and his divinely infused knowledge. These come not only from the Holy Spirit who is poured out on Christ's humanity, but also from the Word to which that humanity is united. Again, these two sources are ordered. Because of the hypostatic union, Christ's humanity receives the whole Spirit, including the gift of the beatific vision. Christ's humanity cannot grasp the divine light of the Word by virtue of the hypostatic union alone, but must be intellectually illumined by the Spirit.

Secondly, Christ's humanity is infused with divine knowledge of the "mystery of grace," i.e. prophetic knowledge about the divine plan of salvation. Again, both Word and Spirit serve as properly ordered co-principles of this knowledge.

Chapter 7 zeroes in on the subject of Christ's habitual grace. It was necessary for the Spirit to be poured out in fullness upon Christ's humanity so that he would have the gifts of habitual grace for his virtuous and salvific human acts. Legge here treats Thomas' understanding of Christ's actions as theandric, in which his humanity is an instrument of the Word that acts in and through it. As Legge specifies, Christ's humanity is a conjoined instrument, such that "the actions of the human nature are not simply the actions of a separated instrument, but are properly attributed to the Word himself as the subject who is acting in and through that human nature."

Christ's humanity cannot be moved by the Word in a way that destroys its creatureliness, however. Thus, an account of habitual grace in Christ's humanity is necessary to show how it is prepared and disposed to be moved as an instrument. This is similar to how, in salvation, gifts of entitative habitus

prepare man to be moved directly by God; they "proportion" and "dispose" man's powers and even his supernaturally infused virtues and charisms, so that the divine movement of them is not extrinsic (like a movement by violence) but rather profoundly interior. Neither do man's powers and virtues merely "cooperate with" the divine movement, as if acting alongside and parallel to the divine movement; rather, they are disposed to be "inspired" or actuated by God according to what Thomas calls a "divine instinct".

This means, too, that Christ's humanity is not only moved by the Word acting in and through it, but also by the Spirit whose gifts activate his human powers and virtues. This is why, Thomas argues, Scripture speaks of Christ being "led by the Spirit" (Luke 4:1). The Spirit proceeds and acts from the Word, so that again the instrumental movement of Christ's humanity is construed according to the Trinitarian order of relations.

Lastly, chapter 8 discusses Christ's pouring out of the Spirit upon humanity. Legge observes that Augustine did not argue that Christ poured out the Spirit as man, but only as God. Aquinas diverges from Augustine somewhat by arguing that while only God gives the Spirit authoritatively, Christ's humanity does give the Spirit instrumentally or ministerially. "Augustine does not speak in this register about Christ's humanity," argues Legge. "It is a unique and genuine contribution of the Master from Aquino, and a point on which Aquinas was unique among thirteenth-century theologians. ... Aquinas gives Christ's humanity and its concrete history a weight and scope vastly greater than his contemporaries."

The Holy Spirit unites us to, conforms us to, and gives us participation in Christ's humanity, on which the fullness of the Spirit and the gifts of grace have been poured out. Thus, through our spiritual union with Christ we are given a share in the gifts of the Spirit. This is repeatedly framed in terms of adoption: we receive the spiritual gifts (our inheritance) that have been poured out upon Christ's humanity.

Conclusion

Legge's book clearly demonstrates the Trinitarian structure of Thomas Aquinas' Christology, especially underlining the medieval doctor's robust Word-Christology and Spirit-Christology. There is much here that is fruitful for discussion and consideration. I will not venture to critically evaluate Thomas' complex views on grace here, though I will say I understand those views much better after reading this book. Many commonplace misunderstandings of Thomas' thought are dispensed with in this text. Legge's writing style is academic and precise while still attuned to the spiritual gravity of the subject matter. All in all, the book is a must-read for any scholar wishing to engage with Thomas' theology or with the subject of Christology in general.

Davenant Guides: Natural Law

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Tue, 06 Feb 2018 11:00:00 +0000

David Haines & Andrew A. Fulford, Natural Law: A Brief Introduction and Biblical Defense (Lincoln, NE: Davenant Press, 2017), 124 pp.

In this volume are two little complementary books on natural law: a philosophical defense by David Haines (pp. 1-48) and a biblical defense by Andrew A. Fulford (pp. 49-115). The two respective parts are undoubtedly too brief to settle the matter in the minds of natural law critics, but will be indispensably helpful for pastors, students, and scholars seeking to find their bearings on the topic, and will correct a number of common misunderstandings.

I found Haines’ part of the book beneficial in a number of respects. First, Haines provides careful definitions for many of the terms and categories attending any discussion of natural law. For example, Haines defines natural law as follows:

“By natural law . . . we mean that order of rule of human conduct which is (1) based upon human nature as created by God, (2) knowable by all men, through human intuition and reasoning alone (beginning from his observations of creation, in general, and human nature, in particular), independent of any particular divine revelation provided through a divine spokesperson; and thus (3) normative for all human beings.”

Second, Haines offers a well-ordered, systematic approach to natural law theory that begins in the being and eternal law of God, then works briefly through the doctrines of creation, providence, anthropology, and epistemology. This provides the reader with a sense of the dogmatic and philosophical depth of natural law theory.

One particularly helpful distinction presented by Haines pertains to the analogical relationship of natural law to God’s eternal law. The two concepts are not coextensive, for “(1) man cannot know the mind of God, neither by intuition, nor by any reasoning process, but man can know the natural law, and (2) though the natural law finds its basis in the eternal law, eternal law is not based upon the created natures, but rather is the Divine mind from which all created natures flow.” Thus, natural law participates in eternal law without the elision of the Creator / creature distinction.

Third, Haines demonstrates the historic stature of natural law theory via references to a wide array of theologians and philosophers past and present. One can only hope that this sampling of literature will encourage readers to dig deep into these rich resources.

Fourth, Haines presents a brief defense of natural law theory against its critics. Cornelius Van Til is especially in view here, as well as Karl Barth and Stanley Hauerwas, among others. In the definition cited above, the second point is directed toward such critics, positioning natural law theory against their claim that fallen human beings cannot truly know such moral standards apart from the intervening, salvific assistance of divine special revelation. Haines observes that no classical Christian natural law theorists maintain the notion of an independent, autonomous fallen human intellect – the notion which Van Til and others erroneously suggest inheres necessarily in natural law theory.

Andrew A. Fulford’s exegetical defense seeks to demonstrate from Scripture (1) the “objective order to the universe” previously described by Haines, (2) the objective visibility of this order before the eyes of the entire human race, (3) the fact that “at least some unregenerate people perceive this order.”

Fulford then devotes a chapter each to Old Testament passages, extracanonical Jewish texts, and New Testament passages. The analysis of each passage is quite short, though nonetheless compelling in its summary form. It at least inspired in me an interest in looking at each individual passage in greater depth on my own at some point. Fulford keeps his focus constrained, for the most part, to the demonstration of his modest three points, which seem self-evident in many passages. As might be expected, Fulford devotes the most space to relevant passages in Romans, with some fleeting but helpful interactions with contemporary scholarship on these texts.

Lastly, Fulford outlines the benefits of this study, arguing that the biblical case for natural law is useful for apologetics, for understanding the history of the early church, for finding common ground with unbelievers in missions, for defending a Protestant Christendom, for resolving exegetical questions, and for meditating upon the goodness of God’s law.

All in all, this little book accomplishes exactly what it sets out to do. I was able to read through the book easily in a few hours, and found it to be a great resource.

I should note two things briefly in closing. First, in the interests of full disclosure, I won a copy of this book from the publisher in a Facebook contest, but I was not required by them to give a review. Second, though the content of the book is excellent overall, the presentation occasionally contains some errors not caught in the editing process. One of the more notable examples may be found on page 37. The first full paragraph ends with a statement setting up a quote from Edward Feser, only for the quote to be missing entirely.

Update (2/7): I have been told via the Davenant Facebook group that the above error will soon be fixed... even as soon as this month, given that the book is print-on-demand.

New Studies in Dogmatics: Sanctification

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Thu, 01 Feb 2018 11:00:00 +0000

Michael Allen, Sanctification (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2017), 302 pp.

In one of my favorite statements in his Institutes of the Christian Religion, John Calvin makes the hamartiological observation that "each individual, by flattering himself, bears a kind of kingdom in his breast." He goes on to exhort his readers: "Unless you give up all thought of self and, so to speak, get out of yourself, you will accomplish nothing here."

How does Calvin proceed to work this idea out? He moves to a treatment of Christian love towards others, grounding the dignity of our neighbors not in our self-evaluation of their pleasantness or attractiveness, but in God's generosity towards them, creating them in his image and giving them personal gifts which we are obligated to recognize and respect. We should love our neighbors because God loves them and has sovereignly placed them in our lives. In other words, our thinking about our neighbors really begins in who God is and what he has done, and not in our personal context or concerns.

While one might limit an account of sanctification to the practical concerns of the everyday Christian life and still have much of value to say, there is tremendous benefit to presenting sanctification in an ordered way that begins with God and his acts, and works from there to the reality of sanctification in the lives of creatures. Such an ordering compels us to "get out of ourselves," so to speak, undermining a myopic and shallow view of the Christian life. Theology itself is a spiritual discipline, concerned primarily with contemplating, praising, and coming to know the God who sanctifies. Though we might find it counter-intuitive in our busy culture, one of the most practical ways in which we can work out our sanctification is to meditate upon the self-revelation of the Most Holy God.

Michael Allen has provided us an account of sanctification with this kind of robust theological depth. "We begin with the doctrine of the triune God and his own holiness," writes Allen. "Subsequently, we consider the shape of the gospel economy wherein that holiness is communicated to creatures in creation and, then, in Christ's fulfillment of the covenant on the far side of the fall and its many consequences."

Allen reminds us that this sort of systematic approach is crucial in our current context, despite the temptation to move quickly past this work to what we might deem more pressing concerns:

The cultural moment (as least of the post-Christian modern West) calls for deeper attention to systematic theology precisely for missiological reasons, however much presumptions may tend to identify the systematic task as impractical or esoteric. In a context with much remaining capital in terms of Christian imagination regarding questions, terms, and categories, one might proceed with less overt attention to synthetic connections. In Babylon, however, we dare not presume that the basic lineaments of the gospel have taken root without constantly tracing our way back to the principles of the faith.

Some will rightly see here in Allen's approach the influence of John Webster's theological methodology. Webster always emphasized that theology ought to truly be theological, truly concerned first and foremost with God and his works. "All creaturely acts are to be understood by first considering the divine works which cause creatures to live and move," writes Webster. "The theology of the Christian life is an extension and application of the doctrine of the triune God."

Calvin, Owen, and Aquinas also feature heavily in the book, among a few other thinkers. Most importantly, however, Allen's work is carefully attentive to Scripture, pausing frequently to present exegesis of key texts on the topic of sanctification.

I was particularly intrigued by Allen's compelling and nuanced treatment of grace in the book. Calvin's concept of the duplex gratia gives structure to much of the text's central material. This is book-ended by a thoughtful defense of the notion that "grace perfects nature," relying heavily on the work of Herman Bavinck. As part of his biblical defense of this idea, Allen draws upon the oft-overlooked transfiguration of Christ, which, coupled with the crucifixion, displays the dual effect of grace: redemption from sin and the perfection of our humanity. The transfiguration displays the fact that the glorious perfection to which sanctification orders us is "genuinely humane and creaturely." Allen safeguards this notion from various Roman Catholic errors on the one hand, and certain Reformed over-corrections on the other.

The concept of habitual grace is provided a similar retrieval and defense. "In bygone days, the notion that sanctifying grace works by infusing habits in the Christian has been a means in the Thomistic and Reformed traditions for speaking to the deeper or more elongated effects of grace beyond its impelling specific actions." Allen draws upon New Testament imagery which presents sanctification in terms of organic growth to defend a Reformed, covenantal construal of habitual grace.

Many other arguments in the book could be mentioned and discussed, but I will conclude by reporting that Allen is (rightly, I think) critical of the language of "irresistible grace" (though not of the substance and meaning of the classic Calvinist doctrine). Such language is at best "meaningless" given the character of grace, and at worst reduces our consideration of grace to creaturely concerns. In other words, it is language that fails to help us to get out of ourselves in our understanding of grace.

Grace is effective, to be sure, and does not return void. But to speak of its irresistibility is to think it alongside and amongst other creaturely causes, and that is necessarily to think too little of it. . . . We do well to speak of the surety and efficacy of regenerative and salvific grace, but to avoid the misleading language of irresistible grace. Ironically enough, we do so because the very register of affirmation there - resistible or irrestisble - reduces God's action (grace) to the sphere of the creaturely.

The book is full of such helpful correctives to our theological approach to the doctrine of sanctification. As a work of well-ordered dogmatic thinking, it stands as one of the best publications of 2017.

--------------------------

Come back next Tuesday for my review of the new Davenant Guide on Natural Law!

John Webster (1955-2016)

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Thu, 26 May 2016 15:37:00 +0000

Just before I moved back to the states, I had a final meeting in Aberdeen with my supervisor, John Webster, in his office. As I was about to leave, he said "I look forward to our next meeting." I looked at him, a bit confused. He added: "in this world, or in the next."

The church has lost a humble, gracious, and wise theologian, who in the brief years that I knew him changed my life and thought forever.

John delighted in the Lord. I know he rejoices to have entered his rest.

I will look forward to our next meeting.

The Tombs of Kings

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Sun, 27 Mar 2016 15:21:00 +0000

In Genesis 14, the patriarch Abraham goes to war. He takes a little over three hundred men and makes a daring night raid against the forces of Chedorlaomer in order to rescue his captive kinsman, Lot. Abraham is victorious in this rescue mission. Upon his return, he is met by the enigmatic King Melchizedek of Salem, who prepares for Abraham a eucharistic meal of bread and wine (Gen. 14.18-20). Melchizedek, whose name means "king of righteousness," becomes the quintessential image of a "priest-king" in the book of Hebrews. Christ is a priestly king of "the order of Melchizedek" who brings this imagery to its fulfillment (Heb. 5.5-6).

There is also a third Melchizedek, identified by the interchangeable name Adoni-zedek ("lord of righteousness") in the book of Joshua. He, too, is a king of Salem (Jerusalem). However, whereas Melchizedek blessed Abraham, Adoni-zedek is an enemy to the children of Abraham (Josh. 10.1-4). This enmity leads to his downfall in the battle of Makkedah. Joshua take Adoni-zedek captive and executes him before the people of Israel.

What is the mode of that execution? Adoni-zedek is hung on a tree (Josh. 10.26). In keeping with the law of Israel, he is hung on the tree only until evening (Deut. 21.22-23). After this sentence, Adoni-zedek is buried in the cave of Makkedah. The people of Israel "set large stones against the mouth of the cave, which remain to this very day." (Josh. 10.27)

The purpose of this story is to indicate Israel's faithfulness to God's command. The stone over the mouth of the cave is a monument of Israel's obedience for any traveler who lived at the time of Joshua's authorship. Yet the imagery of the cursed, hanged man and the stone rolled over the mouth of the tomb clearly also bears typological parallels to Christ's death and burial in the New Testament. Despite his name, Adoni-zedek was not a lord or king of righteousness. He was guilty of being an adversary to God's people. It was God who gave Israel victory over Adoni-zedek, judging him for his sins.

Whereas Adoni-zedek's death is devoted substantial attention in Joshua 10, Melchizedek's death is never mentioned by Scripture. The author of Hebrews draws a connection between this omission and the promise of eternal life: "[Melchizedek] is without father or mother or genealogy, having neither beginning of days nor end of life, but resembling the Son of God he continues a priest forever." (Heb. 7.3) In other words, the principle of eternal life or fullness of life is associated by the author of Hebrews with the figure of Melchizedek. God alone properly has fullness of life in himself, but he gives to creatures to share in this life through his Son, who was and is forever the fullness of divine life incarnate in human flesh (Col. 2.9-10).

Thus, the typology folds together as follows: Christ, the Most High Priest of the order of Melchizedek, dies the death of the enemies of God. He dies like Adoni-zedek, hung on a tree and entombed in a cave. Yet whereas the stone remains on Adoni-zedek's tomb until this day, the stone on Christ's tomb was rolled away. He rose to newness of life, because He is life. As the fulfillment of the Melchizedek and his role as priest-king, Christ is the ultimate life-filled servant, the one who the death of the grave cannot defeat, and thus the one who alone can function as both the sacrificing priest and the sacrificial lamb.

The word "Salem" means "peace." The city of Jerusalem is the city of peace. Melchizedek is a king of peace, who offers peace and blessing to Abraham. Adoni-zedek corrupts the meaning of Salem. Rather than being a king of peace, he goes to war against God's people, persecuting them. He is a king of the city of man. Yet Christ is the king of the city of heaven, the heavenly Jerusalem, and as the greater Melchizedek he triumphs over the grave of Adoni-zedek and brings true peace - true shalom - to both heaven and earth.

Christ the Lord is risen today.

An Eternal Creation?

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Mon, 08 Feb 2016 13:30:00 +0000

Thomas Aquinas, in his work De Aeternitate Mundi Contra Murmurantes, acknowledges that according to "the catholic faith . . . the world had a beginning in time." However, he also argues that the world could have been eternal, concluding that "there is no contradiction in saying that something made by God has always existed." Such an argument will no doubt strike many modern readers as strange, or at least inconsequential. Why entertain such a hypothetical?

The answer is not that Aquinas is somehow struggling to reconcile Aristotelian influences on his thought with the Christian doctrine of creation. Rather, Aquinas discusses this hypothetical in order to more precisely define creatio ex nihilo. His position is something like this: “the primary subject matter of theological treatment of creation out of nothing is God himself; it inquires first, not into the world’s beginning but into ‘who gave it this beginning, and who was the creator’.” In other words, creatio ex nihilo secures the logical priority, not the temporal priority, of divine creative action. It is first and foremost about cosmology, not cosmogony; about the relation of the created order to God, not the inchoation of its history.

Is it possible to suggest that the created order could have been eternal, while still maintaining the creator-creature distinction? Can divine freedom and creaturely contingency still be preserved in theology? Aquinas thinks so. However, he grounds these concepts not on a supposed "newness" of creation for God, nor upon a sequence of before-and-after, but simply on the priority of the divine will itself. God's active freedom is the principle (not the conclusion) of this argument.

In other words, Aquinas argues that God could have created an eternal universe ex nihilo, because ex nihilo does not mean “from nothing” or “after nothing,” but rather it means that creation, far from being derived from some pre-existing material or a reality co-existent with God, is brought into being by sheer divine fiat. In defining creatio ex nihilo in this way Aquinas actually assaults the deism of Greek philosophy, for he argues that the doctrine of creation describes God’s ongoing, omni-causal activity, rather than merely providing an account of a beginning in which the universe was set into motion and left to its own ends.

“Thomas, who follows the Bible, sees in [creation] an act of wisdom and of free will, stemming from a gratuitous love that desires only to share its own good. . . . Thomas takes pains to disassociate the very idea of creation from that of the beginning of the world in time. . . . One should not imagine creation as an isolated act that occurred in a distant past; rather, it is a present reality.”

Since creatio ex nihilo is not primarily a matter of temporal sequence but of ineffable divine causality, it is not a change or conversion, e.g. from non-being to being. Nor is creation the bringing into being of that which was once becoming, for that would imply that something analogous to creaturely motion takes place in God. Creation is instantaneous, not a motional or temporal act, and thus the created order is both “being” and “becoming” simultaneously - that is, being sustained and directed to its telos by the omni-causal governance of God’s loving power.

These ideas do not threaten the newness or dynamism of creation as a divine act. Rather, they define that newness in relation to God. Thus, as Peter Lombard argues, when God creates the universe, it is “not that something new is happening in him, but that something new is made as it had been in his eternal will, without any motion or change on his part.”

Does this mean that God is eternally the Creator, and that creation is thus a necessary act? No. Nor does God become the Creator, for he is not constituted or defined by his relationship to creation. “Aquinas thinks that God is not essentially the Creator of things.” Creating the universe brings about no change in God’s essence, in his identity. This does not mean the act of creating is somehow arbitrary or detached from God. Though it does not define or redefine his being, the act of creation is in accord with and coherent to the nature of his being. To say that God is not constituted by his relation to creatures is to affirm that this relation purely reposes on his free and loving will. God is not essentially Creator, but he is essentially loving.

In short, “Thomas’ God has nothing in common with the impersonal principle of deism, which is unconcerned with the world. The Trinitarian God of the Bible is actively involved in his creation. Not only is he its absolute origin and constant support, but he loves it with the same love that he loves himself.”

A Prayer for Students of Theology

noreply@blogger.com (Shep Shepherd) — Thu, 04 Feb 2016 12:00:00 +0000

"Theological work can be done only in the indissoluble unity of prayer and study," wrote Karl Barth. "Prayer without study would be empty. Study without prayer would be blind."

Study without prayer is stripped of vitality. In theology we contemplate a personal and relational God, who freely reveals himself to us and teaches us about himself. We cannot contemplate him apart from these divine acts -- the speaking of the Word and the illumination of the Holy Spirit. In prayer we appropriate a posture of expectant hope and receptivity, eagerly awaiting and seeking the One who renews minds and draws creatures into fellowship with himself.

The following prayer, traditionally attributed to Thomas Aquinas, is one of my favorites. I think it exemplifies the aforementioned approach and posture. The translation from the Latin is by John Webster.

"Ineffable Creator . . .
You are proclaimed the true font of light and wisdom,
and the primal origin raised high beyond all things.
Pour forth a ray of your brightness
into the darkened places of our minds;
disperse from our souls
the twofold darkness of sin and ignorance.

You make eloquent the tongues of infants:
refine our speech and pour forth upon our lips
the goodness of your blessing.

Grant to us keenness of mind,
capacity to remember,
skill in learning,
subtlety to interpret,
and eloquence in speech.
May you guide the beginning of our work,
direct its progress,
and bring it to completion,
for you are true God and true Man,
who live and reign,
world without end."