D.B. Hart on Reason

I have not yet read David Bentley Hart’s The Beauty of the Infinite, though I have read his small book on theodicy and various articles of his, many of which can be accessed for free on www.firstthings.com. I find him to be an exhilarating writer and am often carried away by the beauty of his prose. Until now, however, I had the same concerns over his theological orientation as I have over Milbanks’. I was therefore extremely pleased to see him address these outright in the latest issue of New Blackfriars.

He responds to three evaluations of his work and it is his response to James K. A. Smith that I was most interested in. He contends that Smith has misread his intentions in The Beauty of the Infinite, and aligned him far too much with ‘Yale School’ tendencies which he had expressed dissatisfaction with but had perhaps not sufficiently distinguished his position from. Thus he flat out asserts that:

In my haste to dismiss the Enlightenment myth of a "pure reason," neutrally available to every reflective mind, undetermined by the particularities of language or culture, I seem not to have made it sufficiently clear that I was by no means calling into question the power of natural reason to discern many truths, to clarify its understanding of those truths, and to inform and receive nourishment from reasoned debate and reflection.

I have to say that this was music to my ears, coming as I do from a Roman Catholic perspective. I fully agree that there is no such thing as a “pure reason” but it seems to me that the rejection of this should not entail a rejection of the possibility of the human mind ‘naturally’ attaining truth. I think it’s all the more important for Catholics to remember that this is not a negotiable aspect of their faith.

Hart continues in the same vein when speaking of God‘s revelation:

He reveals himself in nature, in human reason, in human culture, in human religions: always now through a veil of sin and death, perhaps, but never unavailingly.

Hart, however, does not overstate the role of reason and his view of the analogia entis remains firmly within that established in 1215 by the Fourth Lateran Council wherein it was stated that:

For between creator and creature there can be noted no similarity so great that a greater dissimilarity cannot be seen between them.

This was the view followed by Przywara and, following him, Balthasar.

Thus Hart remarks (perhaps rhetorically overstating the case in my view) that:

Still, all that said, I grant that we are talking about a very great difference of degree indeed—as great, perhaps, as the difference between the self-love of the suicide and the self-love of the saint (who loves himself wholly and only in God).

On a separate note, I must say that I was also very pleased when Hart, in the best tradition of 1 Cor 15:14, called himself an “unregenerate primitive” regarding the resurrection, unequivocally asserting that the resurrection only makes sense if it is understood as a literally historical event occurring after the crucifixion. I am of the same opinion and must confess myself completely befuddled as to what some theologians are really saying when it comes to the resurrection (Rahner in The Foundations of Christian Faith springs to mind). I often find myself exasperated at such equivocations and just want them to say outright whether they believe the resurrection really occurred in history.

Newman on Conscience (3)

Given what I posted earlier, it might appear as if Newman considers it acceptable to dissent from the Pope’s teaching provided it is not an infallible statement and he has often been recruited as an advocate for such a position. But Newman will have nothing to do with such an attitude and whilst he certainly maintains that conscience must be obeyed under all circumstances, disagreement with the Pope must follow from serious thought, prayer and a serious ‘examination of conscience’ to ensure one is really doing right by one’s conscience.

This is a serious issue because Newman saw that in his day and age (and the same can be said of ours) there was something else acting under the name of conscience, a “counterfeit” which was really only the claims of a Nietszchean will-to-power, the assertions of self-will. Newman rejects any secular liberal conception of conscience which has no reference to God. Strictly speaking, for Newman, conscience and authority could not really come into collision over matters of belief. So the precedence accorded to conscience does not entail a precedence in the matter of collision contra what modern-day dissenters would assert. Newman’s idea of conscience is not synonymous with so-called ‘liberty of conscience’ which has, as Newman says, “has become a license to take up any or no religion…the right of self-will.” Nevertheless Newman’s work on conscience can be seen to have had an effect on the Church’s teaching. If he really is the ‘father’ of Vatican II, then his influence can be seen in such documents as ‘Dignitatis Humanae’ which asserts the right of freedom to worship according to one’s conscience. Newman’s assertion that conscience is the surest way to knowledge of God’s presence (as opposed to a mere assent to certain doctrinal propositions) would appear to be a more credible articulation of how an individual comes to know God, as opposed to any strictly 'rationalist argumentation that may be employed. Most people simply do not come to believe in God in such a manner. Most people, however, can be said to acknowledge a moral law, and certainly if they do not consider this to be a matter of mere subjective preference then surely they must ask from where this Law is derived. Newman wanted faith to be an affair of the whole person, something that would truly change one’s life. Thus he attempted to link doctrine to the moral sense in order to make it something existentially significant to the individual. This must not be presented as Bremond does, as if Newman advocated bracketing one’s faith before investigating a doctrine to see if it was enriching of the moral life. This would be to abandon the “obedience of faith”. (S.A. Graves) Nevertheless, Newman did feel that conscience gave a sort of affirmation of the truth of doctrine in that it bore real “fruits”.

Newman on Conscience (part 2)

Newman's conversion to the Catholic Church necessitated his defence of the doctrine of Papal Infallibility when it came against the attacks of erstwhile critics such as the great statesman and Prime Minister W.E. Gladstone. Newman was keen at all points to stress that the doctrine did not impinge on the rights of conscience and he was as eager to counter the criticisms of Anglicans as he was the 'ultramontanism' of fellow Catholics such as Cardinal Manning.

The promulgation of the doctrine of papal infallibility at the First Vatican Council (1870) and William Gladstone’s attack on it in 1874 gave increased impetus to the need to reconcile conscience with authority. Gladstone’s attacks claimed that the Vatican decrees had completely bound the conscience of every Catholic to the Pope and placed it under his disposal. He brought up the sensitive issue of whether Catholics could really be considered loyal British citizens since they were bound to the decrees of a foreign leader. Newman gave his reply in “A Letter to the Duke of Norfolk” (1875). Newman, who had no problem with the declaration itself but had felt it to be an inopportune moment to declare it, was keen to make clear just what it meant, in order to counter any accusations that it led to a “degrading bondage” as he himself put it in his Apologia. He therefore pointed out that it did not mean that the Pope had general authority over Catholics in all things whatsoever (though some Catholics such as the aforementioned Cardinal Manning seemed to have hoped that this would have been the case) but only spoke infallibly on matters of faith and morals. Science, for example, was outside his jurisdiction to speak infallibly on. Newman then tried to set out ‘the rights of conscience’.

He drew on the Catholic tradition that conscience is always to be obeyed – this was something Thomas Aquinas had himself stated - even if the act was morally wrong in the eyes of the Church. The authority of conscience is not diminished even when it is mistaken due to previous wilful wrongdoing or negligence (for this the person is responsible – but conscience must still be obeyed). In Newman’s conception, conscience determines the rightness or wrongness of actions in the concrete situation in which we find ourselves. That is to say, it bears on something that needs to be done or not done. Papal infallibility, however, deals with general propositions. Thus only if the Pope commands something to be done or not done could conscience come into conflict with authority, but the Pope is not infallible when commanding, and so the problem ‘disappears’. Newman ends his ‘Letter’ with the statement that he “drinks to the Pope, but to conscience first.”

Newman's attempts to allay the sorts of fears which surrounded the promulgation of the doctrine are, I think, important from an ecumenical point of view, in particular as regards the 'High Anglican' tradition which Newman himself came from.

Newman on Conscience (part 1)

I haven't posted anything for a while as I was on holiday. Anyway, here is a post on Newman's attitude towards conscience and its 'freedom'.

The role conscience played in religious life for Newman can hardly be understated. In fact, Henri Bremond goes so far as to say that “for him…the whole religious edifice rests on the conscience.” Newman certainly spoke in very high terms about conscience, calling it “the aboriginal vicar of Christ”. It is an essential constituent of the religious life because it affords the individual an immediate certainty of God’s presence in the world – for Newman, to listen to the voice of conscience is to listen to the Living God Himself.

This ‘immediate presence’ is not to be understood as anything extraordinary or ‘mystical’ in the rigorous sense of the word – it is perfectly ‘ordinary’ and can be experienced by all human beings. It is therefore not surprising that Newman thought that the greatest proof of God’s existence is the ‘moral proof’, that is to say, conscience itself. As he himself states: “[The] Law as apprehended in the minds of individual men, is called conscience.” In looking inwardly one finds one’s conscience – a knowledge of good and evil, and this leads to an understanding of sin; which is to disobey this moral law inscribed in our hearts. The Law is known to be an ultimate law and cannot be reduced to a mere socially constructed law. From disobedience of the Law come feelings of guilt and this leads to the question of from whence this Law comes. The feelings of guilt will also necessarily lead to a search for salvation and this prepares the individual for the acceptance of Christianity. One recalls here Kierkegaard’s statement to the effect that the only way to Christianity is through an agonized conscience. Newman would have agreed.He even goes so far as to say that, were it not for conscience, he would be an atheist, a pantheist or a polytheist for he sees no reflection of the Creator in this “busy little world.”

It is interesting to note the contrast between Newman's view and that of contemporary 'Intelligent design' proponents. Newman states flat out that "I believe in design because I believe in God; not in God because I see design". Perhaps all 'ID' theorists should bear in mind that "The Almighty is something infinitely different from a principle, or a centre of action, or a quality, or a generalisation of phenomena".

More to come tomorrow (hopefully). Once again, comments are always welcome.

I've taken lots of the quotes from a useful article in New Blackfriars, vol. 88, 'Newman on the Argument from Design' by Noel Keith Roberts)

The Venerable John Henry Cardinal Newman

John Henry Newman has been called the “father of Vatican II”, his work was introduced into Germany by such luminaries as Erich Przywara and was undoubtedly an intellectual giant of his age. In recent times, however, his light has been somewhat eclipsed. Even today though, many appeal to him for varied reasons: ‘liberals’ look to him as the champion of the rights of conscience over authoritarian ecclesiological structures whereas ‘conservatives’ see in him a defender of the vitality of tradition against liberal vapidity. His work on the development of doctrine is of great importance and ecumenical relevance.

Newman also shed light on other aspects of the theological endeavour such as the relations between faith and reason (in his Grammar of Assent) and is thus of great contemporary importance. Like all great theologians (think Barth, Rahner, Balthasar), he was also a superb preacher and has been credited with providing the impetus for many a conversion. His sermons are invigorating in their application to the ‘ordinary’ Christian in the pew, the spiritual difficulties and doubts undergone by most Christians during their lifetime. He was also, of course, a master prose stylist and greatly admired by James Joyce. His spiritual autobiography, Apologia Pro Vita Sua, is acknowledged as one of the great Christian ‘confessions’ and his wit and erudition are nowhere in more evident display as he defends himself against charges of hypocrisy and insincerity in converting to the Catholic Church.

In short, I think he is a fantastic theologian and one who more people should be aware of. I therefore propose to offer some thoughts on various aspects of his theology in the coming days (not that anyone’s really reading).

Newman’s works are available online and can be perused at one’s convenience over at www.newmanreader.org

John Milbank and the Theology of Religions (3)

To conclude this mini-series I offer some thoughts and criticisms on Milbank's approach.

A major criticism of Milbank’s approach in general is that, despite his rhetoric about the possibility of harmonious difference, his assertion of theology (i.e. Christianity) as a master-discourse leaves little room for any other voices to co-exist. Milbank tells us that Christian theology has no need for any “external supplementation” to tell its story, but if this is the case, how can it be anything else than a totalizing discourse which obliterates all other narratives which ultimately have nothing to tell it?

Milbank, of course, firmly resists any notions that to regard Christianity as a master-discourse is to predispose one to act in a violent manner towards others. As we have seen he strongly emphasises the elements in Christianity which are completely opposed to such violence. However, it may well be questioned whether this is very convincing given the Church’s historical record.
His argument that the religions are absolutely incommensurable and that there exists no possibility of dialogue whatsoever can also be questioned. Is it really the case that the religions differ so vastly that no point of contact at all can be established from which some form of dialogue can ensue?
It is further claimed that Milbank’s construal of the other as the object of out-narration is unnecessary and that “the other may teach Christians to know and worship their own Trinitarian God more truthfully and richly.” (Gavin D’Costa, The Meeting of Religions and the Trinity)
A final criticism is that Milbank’s contention that the religions are incommensurable and that no dialogue can take places leads to a form of relativist fideism. Thus it can be seen that the principle objections to Milbank’s challenge are to do with the perceived ‘totalitarian’ character of his thesis which does not allow other narratives, including the religions, to adopt an even remotely positive position as regards the Christian meta-narrative.

Milbank’s challenge to theology of religions is clearly a provocative one. I believe, however, that he is right to assert the priority of mission and the task of conversion over any dialogical attempts to neuter the differences between the religions. In fact, I believe that here Milbank’s rhetoric can at times betray the possibility of conversation which Milbank himself acknowledges.

When Milbank proclaims the end of dialogue it is important that one realises that by this Milbank has in mind primarily the sort of ‘dialogue’ practiced by Pluralists that negates differences deemed to be merely external, in order to reach an underlying Truth shared by all the religions. Since this sort of dialogue is, ironically, profoundly disrespectful of the “otherness of the other” it is to be commended that Milbank denounces it so strongly. Nevertheless, Milbank’s blanket condemnation of ‘dialogue’ does not appear to me to be entirely necessary. Milbank himself states that each of the religions is a reading about Being or “what there is”. This in itself is a sort of ‘commonality’ which can open the way to ‘conversation’ (and Milbank states as much). Furthermore, Milbank does acknowledge the possibility of a joint stand on certain ethical issues (he cites usury) between the religions yet laments that this has not taken place. Milbank’s insistence that Christianity must simply “out-narrate” all other discourses does not mean that there can be nothing positive for the Christian to gain out of an encounter with other religions. In fact, he explicitly claims that in the process of encountering the other with the gospel, the Christian can expect to receive Christ time and again.

This, however, will take place in the context of the Christian’s explicit missionary mandate that must not be downplayed – the other can never simply be the object of dialogue for its own sake, the Christian must remember that the other too is called to enter the Church. It is precisely this sort of thinking that is often criticised by Pluralists, but it is hard to see how the Christian can theoretically adopt any other position without thereby ceasing to be a Christian. From a Christian perspective one also has to be prepared to accept that aspects of other religions may be detrimental to the human good. Thus Milbank’s argument that other religions do not contain the resources within themselves for concrete ethical action need not be all that alarming. If it is believed that Christianity is in fact the true story of God’s condescending love for humanity, and that the Church is the community in which this salvific love is actualised, it need not surprise one that from the perspective of the Church other traditions will be found wanting. As Milbank points out, the Church was firm in its insistence that extra ecclesiam nulla salus. (This need not be construed as meaning that the ultimate eschatological fate of non-Christians is perdition). G.K. Chesterton provides an example of this when he compares Christianity to Buddhism and argues that it is Christianity, not Buddhism, which offers an impetus towards moral action due to the utterly different ontological assumptions which characterise either religion. (G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy)

On the whole then, Milbank's position is a strong one and his critique of pluralist approaches to the theology of religions is to be commended. That said, I would argue that despite there being no 'neutral' vantage-point from which to survey the religions, a Macintyrean approach which fully acknowledges this yet still holds out the possibility of dialectically engaging other religious traditions is one which offers a more fruitful method with which to approach the issue.

John Milbank and the Theology of Religions (2)

Here is the continuation of the post from yesterday:

Milbank is again demonstrating his conviction that it is Christianity alone which can ultimately serve the cause of justice which pluralism conspicuously fails to do. His view of Christianity as the 'master discourse' is never more apparent. In answer to the criticisms of Western imperialism, Milbank answers that the notions of justice and the Good are themselves inextricably tied up with the West and that the East has no such concept of the Good available to it and so the Eastern religions cannot in fact provide the grounds for concrete ethical action. On the other hand, what Milbank calls the “Platonic-Jewish-Christian mode of social-intellectual imperialism” contains within itself directives to respect the “otherness of the other".

Again, Milbank’s thesis that Christian theology alone can allow for harmony between other discourses in a fundamental ontology of peace comes through here. This respect of the Other, however, has nothing to do with the liberal mode of dialogue which essentially respects the Other only as a mirror of oneself, instead of respecting precisely the otherness of the Other.

Finally Milbank tackles the theory of Raimundo Panikkar who attempts to posit an identity between the Trinitarian difference and neo-Vedantic difference. Milbank claims that, once again, such a project will only lead to the reinforcement of the ideology of liberal society’s pluralism. Milbank ends his essay with the claim that Christianity must continue the work of conversion and only in this context engage in conversation (not ‘dialogue’) between other religions which each represent readings of the nature of Being itself. This will not attempt to play down differences between religions but will respect the ‘otherness of the Other’ whilst at the same time continuing the work of conversion.

'Sleep' - Charles Peguy

Human wisdom says Don’t put off until tomorrow
What can be done the very same day.
But I tell you that he who knows how to put off until tomorrow
Is the most agreeable to God
He who sleeps like a child
Is also he who sleeps like my darling Hope.
And I tell you Put off until tomorrow
Those worries and those troubles which are gnawing at you
today
Put off until tomorrow those sobs that choke you
When you see today's unhappiness.
Those sobs which rise up and strangle you.
Put off until tomorrow those tears which fill your eyes and
your head,
Flooding you, rolling down your cheeks, those tears which
stream down your cheeks.
Because between now and tomorrow, maybe I, God, will have
passed by your way.
Human wisdom says: Woe to the man who puts off what he
has to do until tomorrow.
And I say Blessed, blessed is the man who puts off what he
has to do until tomorrow.
Blessed is he who puts off. That is to say, blessed is he who
hopes. And who sleeps.

John Milbank and the Theology of Religions

As is probably to be expected given Milbank's views on Christianity as a 'master discourse' placing all other narratives, he does not have a very positive view on the so called 'theology of religions'. This can be seen through an analysis of his essay entitled 'The End of Dialogue'.

Milbank’s essay ‘The End of Dialogue’ appears in the collection Christian Uniqueness Reconsidered which was designed as a response to the volume The Myth of Christian Uniqueness. In this essay, Milbank takes issue with several of the contributors to Myth and their attempts to render possible a dialogue between different religions. Milbank is critical of the notion that ‘religion’ is a genus which all the different traditions belong to. This (Western) assumption assumes that all the different traditions share similar characteristics and so there can be dialogue between them. On the contrary, argues Milbank, different traditions have construed the world in radically different ways which are ultimately incommensurable.

He acknowledges that various of the contributors have abandoned any attempts to ground dialogue in foundational theoretical reason (which as we have seen Milbank considers an impossibility) and have instead looked to practical reason as a means out of the impasse. Milbank, however, rejects this grounding in praxis as equally mistaken. Praxis does not offer an objective starting point for dialogue but in fact is as inseparable as theoretical reason is, from the tradition in which it originates.

The religions themselves embody certain social projects (i.e. they are ‘political’) in a manner which does not allow for the neat separation of a political realm from an individual sphere of religious experience. Furthermore, even if the pluralists were right, and these two realms could be separated and a common action agreed upon this would do nothing to help mediate the differences between the religions themselves.

Thus with the rejection of theoretical reason as a supposed objective meeting place for the religions, Milbank is able to dismiss such pluralist theologians as John Hick who posits a noumenal realm of pure ‘religious experience’ which bypasses all the supposedly external trappings of religion. With his rejection of the praxis solution it is theologians such as Paul Knitter and Rosemary Radford Reuther who fall under the axe.

Milbank further criticises the pluralists because he believes that their position is in fact detrimental to the social justice agenda they are keen to push. This is a rather damning indictment. Milbank charges that the pluralists are doomed to failure for their notions of justice remain tied to a Western Liberal-capitalist framework. Hence, ‘dialogue’ is not really of any relevance to the poor for whom it is necessary to create the conditions where they can enter conversations no longer as the poor.

Milbank charges that Rosemary Radford Reuther’s use of liberal discourse in speaking of justice for the Third World questions whether she (and others like her) truly desire a post-liberal outcome. Furthermore, if it were accepted that all cultures (the term by which Milbank designates the religions) had equal access to the truth then there would be no place for any criticisms of certain practices which these religions embody. Once again Milbank’s claim that the Church must of necessity provide criticism of other readings of Being is apparent here. He does not, however, deny that this criticism is coming from a non-neutral and inherently ‘biased’ position.

I'll post some more on this topic tomorrow, hopefully.

Simplicity Itself: John Milbank's thesis in Theology and Social Theory

Fergus Kerr once remarked that John Milbank's argument in his magisterial Theology and Social Theory could be described as 'simplicity itself' (New Blackfriars 73 (1992)). This will be seen as an extremely odd claim for anyone who's attempted to slog through the 400 plus pages of a book densely packed with references to just about every important and even somewhat marginal figures in the history of Western thought. The general contours of his argument are not, however, difficult to grasp and I offer a brief summary of his thesis below which, if anyone ever comes across it, may be of some use as a very short introduction to John Milbank's theology.

Milbank’s aim in Theology and Social Theory is nothing less than to show how all social theory is in fact ‘heresy’, for it is parasitic upon theology. There is no such thing as an autonomous realm of the secular; as Milbank has it: “once there was no secular”. Milbank decries the “false modesty” of theology which has abandoned its position as the “queen of the sciences” and entered an unholy alliance with social theory. He calls for a complete overturn of this situation: theology must no longer allow itself to be positioned by other discourses.

If secular reason is itself a contingent narrative competing amongst others and not the unfolding of a universal and foundational reason there is no need for theology to prove itself before the tribunal of secular reason. There is no such fundamental account of society and history available and so theology itself must provide its own account. The ‘post-modern condition’ creates the space for Christian theology to reassert itself as a master-discourse. Milbank explains that if Christianity is persuasive then this because of the intrinsic persuasive power of the Christian Logos itself “not the apologetic mediation of a universal human reason.” The virtue of Christianity is that, in contrast to the narratives of modernity and post-modernity, it alone affirms an ontological priority of peace as opposed to an ‘original violence’: “theology, alone remains the discourse of non-mastery”.

Modernity and post-modernity ultimately end up in nihilism. Modernity’s pretensions are exposed as a genealogy of violence by Nietzsche and post-modernity abandons any attempts to ground the human telos in any notion of the good, leaving only an anarchic reality which can only be controlled by subjecting it to the will-to-power. Milbank tells us that the any attempts at a separation of the term ‘good’ from the term ‘God’ invariably lead to the positing of the priority of ‘right’ over the ‘good’ and the abandonment of any objective telos for human beings at all.

I was initially extremely attracted to Milbank's robust assertion of the claims of Christianity as master-discourse and in many ways I still feel he is right about a lot of things. However, it is clear that from a Roman Catholic perspective, Milbank's position cannot be adopted in its totality. He allows no room for any natural law or 'natural' knowledge of God - a position which is simply untenable in Roman Catholic theology. Of course it is tempting to jettison such concepts, especially in today's theological climate, but doing so would go against the grain of the entire Catholic tradition including Vatican I. Milbank (and Pickstock's) attempts to gain Thomas Aquinas for their project are thus rather strange in this context. The fact is Thomas did allow for a 'natural' knowledge of God (i.e. one which has no recourse to revelation) and despite Milbank and Pickstock's tendentious exegesis in Truth in Aquinas, I do not believe it is possible to claim Aquinas for their position.

Denys Turner's book Faith, Reason and the Existence of God is a strong defence of Aquinas' (and Vatican I's) claim that the existence of God can be known through the light of natural reason and he also offers a strong critique of Milbank's claims that Aquinas never meant for his "5 ways" to be taken as demonstrative proofs of God's existence. I hope to write something about this in the future.

More on a theology of the cross

It is also important to recognise that there are pastoral implications involved in the doctrine as well. Whilst those who espouse the notion that God Himself suffers have claimed their doctrine for the purposes of theodicy, it is in fact possible to 'turn the tables', and argue that the doctrine of impassibility guarantees a theodicy of solidarity with suffering human beings - something which the proponents of a 'suffering God' theology cannot do.

As Karl Rahner remarks: “To put it crudely, it does not help me to escape from my mess and mix-up and despair if God is in the same predicament”.

Whilst it is permissible to speak of the death of the Son, this is to be understood as the death of the Son of God as a human being. The new mode of the existence of the Logos is as a human being, and it is as a human being that he experiences suffering and death, not as God. It is nevertheless right and proper to equally assert that it was the Son of God who experienced this. God truly experiences our human suffering and radical finitude as manifested in death. Thus one can, along with Moltmann, assert God’s solidarity with suffering humanity and furthermore it is experienced in a like manner to us; as explicitly human suffering. The preoccupation that theologians like Moltmann have with asserting that God in is essence suffers makes them lose sight of the essential truth that God suffers as a human being and that it is this which comforts and, more importantly, saves us.

A God who was entrapped in the same ontological reality as us human beings would be similarly trapped in this 'vale of tears'. Moreover, to say that God the Son dies, but that God the Father does not, imperils the unity of the Godhead: Opera Trinitatis ad extra sunt indivisa (“the external works of the Trinity are undivided”).

Does God die on the Cross?

The question of God’s capacity for suffering ‘even unto death’ is one which has become a prominent issue in 20^th century theology, Moltmann’s book "The Crucified God" being one example of such a concern with this issue.Traditional understandings of God's impassibility have come under severe criticism. I aver that Moltmann's understanding of the notion of impassibility as it acts in someone like Aquinas' theology is completely mistaken.

Moltmann feels that in order to do justice to a theology of the cross he must reject the notion of impassibility. But his understanding of impassibility stems more from a preconceived idea that impassibility renders God something of an apathetic rock. He follows the thesis of the disastrous 'hellinisation' of theology wherein God's Triune nature is clouded and the emphasis is placed primarily on God as an Aristotelian 'Unmoved mover'. This, Moltmann contends, divorces theology from its necessary basis - the cross of Christ.

Moltmann speaks not of the ‘death of God’, but of ‘death in God’, and this can only be achieved by thinking in exclusively Trinitarian terms and not by starting with the concept of a monotheistic God which has been derived from philosophical arguments. For Moltmann then, it cannot be asserted that ‘God’ died on the cross, but that the Son did, and in so doing death itself was brought into the midst of the Godhead itself and as a consequence death itself is overcome.

Thus Moltmann feels he must overcome the axiom of apatheia, in favour of a dynamic, interpersonal understanding of the Triune God, which enables one to speak of the death of the Son, and the suffering of the Father, who yet remain bound in love even in the midst of this momentous event in the history of God himself.

However, contrary to Moltmann's thinking, the doctrine of God's impassibility does not render God completely 'immobile' and uncaring in the face of human suffering. This can best be illustrated with a brief look at Aquinas' understanding of the issue. To state that God is impassible is not to say that He is incapable of love but that He could not possibly love any more than He always has. (cf. Thomas Weinandy's "Does God Suffer?") The assertion of God's impassibility is a function of an apophatic theological method: it simply states that God has no deficiencies of being whatsoever - He is the actus purus. God cannot be 'moved' to love because He already loves absolutely, or to be more exact, He already is Love. The love between the persons of the Trinity is already complete in itself.

Comments are welcome.