The Historical Development of the Doctrine
The Historical Development of the Doctrine
The starting point for Christian reflections on the Trinity is, as we have seen, the New Testament witness to the presence and activity of God in Christ and through the Spirit. For Irenaeus of Lyons (c.130–c.202), writing in the late second century, the whole process of salvation, from its beginning to its end, bore witness to the action of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Although Irenaeus did not use the vocabulary of later writers – such as “person” – he did make use of a term which would feature prominently in future discussion of the Trinity: “the economy of salvation.” The term “economy” needs clarification. The Greek word oikonomia basically means “the way in which one's affairs are ordered” (the relationship to the modern sense of the word “economy” should be clear). For Irenaeus, “the economy of salvation” meant “the way in which God has ordered the salvation of humanity in history.”
At the time, Irenaeus was under considerable pressure from Gnostic critics, who argued that the creator God was quite distinct from (and inferior to) the redeemer God (see pp. 110, 196). Marcion of Sinope (c.85–160) expressed this Gnostic idea in the following form: the Old Testament God is a creator God, and totally different from the redeemer God of the New Testament. As a result, the Old Testament should be shunned by Christians, who should concentrate their attention upon the New Testament. Irenaeus vigorously rejected this idea. He insisted that the entire process of salvation, from the first moment of creation to the last moment of history, was the work of one and the same God. There was a single economy of salvation, in which the one God – who was both creator and redeemer – was at work to redeem the creation.
In his Demonstration of the Apostolic Preaching, Irenaeus insisted upon the distinct yet related roles of Father, Son, and Spirit within the economy of salvation. He affirmed his faith in
God the Father uncreated, who is uncontained, invisible, one God, creator of the universe; this is the first article of our faith. [...] And the Word of God, the Son of God, our Lord Jesus Christ, [...] who, in the fullness of time, in order to gather all things to himself, he became a human being amongst human beings, capable of being seen and touched, to destroy death, bring life, and restore fellowship between God and humanity. And the Holy Spirit [...] who, in the fullness of time, was poured out in a new way on our human nature in order to renew humanity throughout the entire world in the sight of God.
This passage brings out clearly the idea of an economic Trinity – that is to say, an understanding of the nature of the Godhead in which each person is responsible for an aspect of the economy of salvation. Irenaeus tends to speak simply of “God” or “Father,” “Word” or “Son,” and “Spirit” or Wisdom,” often using the image of the Son and Spirit as the “two hands” of God. “The one God made and ordered all things by his Word and Wisdom.” Far from being a rather pointless piece of theological speculation, the doctrine of the Trinity is grounded directly in the complex human experience of redemption in Christ, and is concerned with the explanation of this experience.
Neither the developed trinitarian vocabulary nor the specific concepts developed by Christian theologians to express the Christian vision of God are explicitly stated in the New Testament. As Athanasius (c.293–373) argued in his letters to Serapion, the theological vocabulary of the church had to be expanded beyond the vocabulary of the Bible itself in order to cope with the deeper themes implicit within the Bible, especially those relating to the Christian understanding of God and the identity of Jesus Christ. Some radical Christian writers of the sixteenth century argued that, since the doctrine was not explicitly set out in the Bible, it was not a biblical idea. Michael Servetus's On the Errors of the Trinity (1531) develops this line of argument. It is therefore important to trace the development of the doctrine as the early church realized the implications of its vision of God and sought to make explicit some of its implicit ideas, and find a suitable vocabulary to express these. We begin by considering the emergence of the vocabulary of the Trinity.
The Emergence of the Trinitarian Vocabulary
The vocabulary associated with the doctrine of the Trinity is unquestionably one of the biggest difficulties for students. The phrase “three persons, one substance” is not exactly illuminating, to say the least. However, understanding how the terms came to emerge is perhaps the most effective way of appreciating their meaning and importance.
The theologian who may be argued to have been responsible for the development of the distinctive trinitarian terminology is Tertullian (c.160–c.220). According to one analysis, Tertullian coined 509 new nouns, 284 new adjectives, and 161 new verbs in the Latin language. Happily, not all seem to have caught on. It is thus hardly surprising that a shower of new words resulted when he turned his attention to the doctrine of the Trinity. Three of these are of particular importance.
Trinitas
Tertullian invented the word “Trinity” (Trinitas), which has become a characteristic feature of Christian theology since his time. Although other possibilities had been explored, Tertullian's influence was such that this term became normative within the western church. We shall use the original Latin terms coined by Tertullian, while providing English translations and commentary.
Persona
Tertullian introduced this Latin term to translate the Greek word hypostasis, which had begun to gain acceptance in the Greek-speaking church. Scholars have debated at length over what Tertullian meant by this Latin term, which is invariably translated into English as “person” (on which see pp. 177–81). The following explanation commands a wide degree of assent and casts at least some light on the complexities of the Trinity.
The term persona literally means “a mask,” such as that worn by an actor in a Roman drama. At this time, actors wore masks to allow the audiences to understand which of the different characters in a drama they were playing. The term persona thus came to have a developed maning, along the lines of “the role that someone is playing.” It is quite possible that Tertullian wanted his readers to understand the idea of “one substance, three persons” to mean that the one God played three distinct yet related roles in the great drama of human redemption.
Behind the plurality of roles lay a single actor. The complexity of the process of creation and redemption did not imply that there were many gods, simply that there was one God who acted in a multiplicity of manners within the “economy of salvation” (a term which will be explained in more detail in the following section).
Substantia
Tertullian introduced this term to express the idea of a fundamental unity within the Godhead, despite the inherent complexity of the revelation of God within history. “Substance” is what the three persons of the Trinity have in common. It must not be thought of as something which exists independently of the three persons; rather, it expresses their common foundational unity, despite their outward appearance of diversity.
The Emergence of Trinitarian Concepts
Tertullian did more than give the theology of the Trinity its distinctive vocabulary (as noted above); he also made significant contributions to shaping its distinctive form. God is one; nevertheless, God cannot be regarded as something or someone totally isolated from the created order. The economy of salvation demonstrates that God is active in creation. This activity is complex; on analysis, this divine action reveals both a unity and a distinctiveness. Tertullian argues that substance is what unites the three aspects of the economy of salvation; person is what distinguishes them. The three persons of the Trinity are distinct yet not divided (distincti non divisi), different yet not separate or independent of each other (discreti non separati). The complexity of the human experience of redemption is thus the result of the three persons of the Godhead acting in distinct yet coordinated manners in human history, without any loss of the total unity of the Godhead.
By the second half of the fourth century, the debate concerning the relationship of the Father and the Son gave every indication of having been decided. The recognition that Father and Son were “of one being” settled the Arian controversy and established a consensus within the church over the divinity of the Son. But further theological construction was necessary. What was the relationship of the Spirit to the Father? And to the Son? There was a growing consensus that the Spirit could not be omitted from the Godhead. The Cappadocian fathers, especially Basil of Caesarea (c.330–79), defended the divinity of the Spirit in such persuasive terms that the foundation was laid for the final element of trinitarian theology to be put in its place. The divinity and coequality of Father, Son, and Spirit had been agreed; it now remained to develop trinitarian models to allow this understanding of the Godhead to be visualized.
In general, eastern theology tended to emphasize the distinct individuality of the three persons or hypostases, and to safeguard their unity by stressing the fact that both the Son and the Spirit derived from the Father. The relationship between the persons or hypostases is ontological, grounded in what those persons are. Thus, the relationship of the Son to the Father is defined in terms of “being begotten” and “sonship.” As we shall see, Augustine moves away from this approach, preferring to treat the persons in relational terms.
The western approach, however, was more marked by its tendency to begin from the unity of God, especially in the work of revelation and redemption, and to interpret the relationships of the three persons in terms of their mutual fellowship. It is this position which is characteristic of Augustine, and which we shall explore later (see pp. 312–13).
The eastern approach might seem to suggest that the Trinity consists of three independent agents, doing quite different things. This possibility was excluded by two later developments, which are usually referred to by the terms “mutual interpenetration” (perichoresis) and “appropriation.” Although these ideas found their full development at a later stage in the development of the doctrine, they were unquestionably hinted at by both Irenaeus and Tertullian, and found more substantial expression in the writings of Gregory of Nyssa (c.335–c.394). We may usefully consider both these ideas at this stage.
Perichoresis
This Greek term, which is often found in either a Latin (circumincessio) or English (“mutual interpenetration”) translation, came into general use in the sixth century. It refers to the manner in which the three persons of the Trinity relate to one another. The concept of perichoresis allows the individuality of the persons to be maintained while insisting that each person shares in the life of the other two. An image often used to express this idea is that of “a community of being,” in which each person, while maintaining its distinctive identity, penetrates the others and is penetrated by them.
Leonardo Boff (born 1938; see p. 119) and other theologians concerned with political theology have argued that this has important implications for Christian political thought. The mutual relationships between three coequal persons within the Godhead could provide a model both for human relationships within communities and for Christian political and social theorizing. Our attention now turns to a related idea of importance in this connection.
Appropriation
This second idea is related to perichoresis and follows on from it. The modalist heresy (see p. 308–10) argued that God could be considered as existing in different “modes of being” at different points in the economy of salvation, so that, at one point, God existed as Father and created the world; at another, God existed as Son and redeemed it. The doctrine of appropriation insists that the works of the Trinity are a unity; every person of the Trinity is involved in every outward action of the Godhead. This idea is often expressed using the Latin slogan opera trinitatis ad extra indivisa sunt (“the outward actions of the Trinity are indivisible”). Thus Father, Son, and Spirit are all involved in the work of creation, which is not to be viewed as the work of the Father alone. For example, Augustine of Hippo affirmed the overall unity of the actions of the Trinity while allowing for distinctiveness at points of detail.
There is one God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. When this Trinity is known, to the extent possible in this life, it is clear that every creature – whether intellectual, animal, or physical – may be perceived to derive its existence from this same creative Trinity. It has its own form, and is subject to this most perfect order. It is not as if the Father were understood to have made one part of creation, the Son another, and the Spirit another. Rather, the Father made everything through the Son in the gift of the Holy Spirit.
Elsewhere, Augustine pointed out that the Genesis creation account speaks of God, the Word, and the Spirit (Genesis 1: 1–3), thus indicating that all three persons of the Trinity were present and active at this decisive moment in salvation history. Yet it is still appropriate to think of creation as the work of the Father. Despite the fact that all three persons of the Trinity are implicated in creation, it is properly seen as the distinctive action of the Father. Similarly, the entire Trinity is involved in the work of redemption (although, as we noted on p. 260, a number of theories of salvation, or soteriologies, ignore this trinitarian dimension of the cross and are impoverished as a result). It is, however, appropriate to speak of redemption as being the distinctive work of the Son.
Taken together, the doctrines of perichoresis and appropriation allow us to think of the Godhead as a “community of being,” in which all is shared, united, and mutually exchanged.
Rationalist Critiques of Trinitarianism: The Eclipse of the Trinity, 1700–1900
We have already noted some of the criticisms directed against the doctrine of the Trinity. One of the most significant of these came from various forms of rationalism, which held that the Trinity was logically incoherent. Yet it is important to appreciate that some Christian theologians held similar misgivings about the doctrine. During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the doctrine of the Trinity appears to have receded into the background. It was, of course, taught in seminaries. Yet the doctrine was increasingly regarded as something of an apologetic liability on the one hand and as being of little constructive use on the other.
The origins of this trend lie in the radical wing of the sixteenth-century Protestant Reformation. A leading theme of the Reformation was its insistence that all its doctrines and practices should be justified on the basis of the Bible. Many more radical Protestants argued that the doctrine of the Trinity was not explicitly stated in the Bible. Far from being an authentic Christian doctrine, it reflected the later speculations and elaborations of misguided theologians. Anti-trinitarianism, already evident in the late 1520s, became a hallmark of the radical Reformation in the 1550s, causing widespread concern in both Protestant and Catholic circles. For Juan de Valdés (c.1509–41) and others, the doctrine of the Trinity was simply not to be found in the Bible, nor could it be defended on its basis.
The rise of rationalism in western Europe and North America, however, created a context in which the apparent irrationality of the doctrine created serious apologetic difficulties for Christian orthodoxy. This is especially obvious in the English debates of the eighteenth century. Here, Deist critics of traditional Christianity argued that its doctrine of the Trinity lacked scriptural grounding, that it involved obvious contradictions, and especially that, as a supposed “mystery” beyond the reach of human reason, it offended reason by requiring belief in what could not be understood.
Yet the real problem was that the doctrine of the Trinity seemed to confer no particular benefits to offset its apparent irrationality. Most leading theologians of the seventeenth century seem to have held on to the doctrine of the Trinity out of respect for tradition, while privately conceding that it seemed irrational in the light of the growing emphasis upon the “reasonableness of Christianity” and that it seemed to provide little in the way of spiritual or theological benefits. The defense of the doctrine by John Tillotson (1630–94), sometime archbishop of Canterbury, amounts primarily to a reaffirmation that there are doctrines which go beyond reason without thereby contradicting reason. Yet Tillotson seems decidedly coy about precisely what insights or values the doctrine of the Trinity confers. In an era in western culture which was increasingly dominated by the Enlightenment, Christian apologists appear to have downplayed their commitment to the notion of the Trinity, presenting Christianity in theist, rather than trinitarian, terms.
All this changed in the twentieth century. The pioneering work of Karl Barth (1886–1968) in Protestant dogmatics triggered a re-evaluation of the place of the doctrine. Barth made the doctrine the structuring principle of his Christian dogmatics, establishing a firm connection between this doctrine and the actuality of revelation in history. The foundations had been laid for a major revival of the doctrine, especially as it now seemed to safeguard the distinctiveness of Christianity at a time of increased awareness of religious pluralism. Karl Rahner (1904–84), Hans Urs von Balthasar (1905–88), Thomas F. Torrance (1913–2007), Robert Jenson (born 1930), and Colin Gunton (1941–2003) made important contributions to the present trinitarian renaissance in theology, which shows no sign of abating.
The Problem of Visualization: Analogies of the Trinity
As noted earlier, the doctrine of the Trinity is not without its difficulties. The real difficulty for most people lies in the visualization of the Trinity. How can we make sense of such a complex and abstract idea? St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, is rumored to have used a shamrock to illustrate how a single leaf could have three different elements. Gregory of Nyssa used a series of analogies in his letters to help his readers grasp the reality of the Trinity, including:
Figure 13.1 Andrei Rublev's famous icon of the Trinity (1410).
Source: Moscow, Tretyakov State Gallery. © 2015. Photo Scala, Florence.
Useful though these patristic analogies may be, they do not really solve the problem of how such a difficult and abstract notion can be visualized.
“Economic” and “Essential” Approaches to the Trinity
For classical Christian theology, Father, Son, and Spirit are not three isolated and diverging compartments of a Godhead, like three subsidiary components of an international corporation. Rather, they are differentiations within the Godhead, which become evident within the economy of salvation and the human experience of redemption and grace. The doctrine of the Trinity affirms that, beneath the surface of the complexities of the history of salvation and our experience of God, lies one God and one God only. To put it simply, Christian theologians use the term “essential Trinity” when considering who God is outside history and the term “economic Trinity” when considering what God does in history.
This distinction stems from one of the most sophisticated reflections on these themes: Karl Rahner's treatise The Trinity (1970). For Rahner, the “economic” and “essential” (or “immanent”) Trinities do not constitute two different Godheads; rather, they are two different manners of approaching the same Godhead. The “essential” or “immanent” Trinity can be regarded as an attempt to formulate the Godhead outside the limiting conditions of time and space; the “economic Trinity” is the manner in which the Trinity is made known within the “economy of salvation” – that is to say, in the historical process itself. Rahner lays down the following axiom (pp. 315–16): “The economic Trinity is the immanent Trinity, and vice versa.” In other words:
It will be clear that this approach (which summarized a broad consensus within Christian theology) ties up some loose ends left by the notion of “appropriation” and allows a firm link to be established between God's self-disclosure in history and God's eternal being.