1.8 Faith and Philosophy

1.8 Faith and Philosophy

Case Studies

Case Study 1.1 The Bible and Tradition

The interpretation of the Bible has been of central importance throughout Christian history. There have always been those who believed that an issue of Christian doctrine could be settled simply by an appeal to the Bible. However, the great theological debates of the patristic period showed that this approach was more complex than some had realized. Arianism and Pelagianism – both of which would be condemned as heretical, although for very different reasons – appealed to an impressive array of biblical texts in support of their teachings. Their opponents, however, argued that their interpretation of these texts was incorrect. It was not enough simply to quote the Bible; it was necessary to interpret it in an orthodox manner. But who decides what is an orthodox interpretation and what is not? What resources can be appealed to in an attempt to establish the correct interpretation of a biblical passage?

Such debates have taken place throughout the history of Christian thought, but were of particular importance at the time of the Reformation. However, the patristic period saw an especially important answer to such questions being formulated. For many patristic writers, an appeal to tradition was of major importance in challenging unorthodox interpretations of Scripture or teachings. In what follows, we shall explore the contributions of three writers to this debate: Irenaeus (second century), Tertullian (third century), and Vincent of Lérins (fifth century). We begin,however, by noting the way in which the idea of “tradition” is embedded in the New Testament itself.

In its earliest period, Christianity was spread through the oral transmission of a more or less fixed body of teaching. The term “tradition” derives from the Latin word traditio, which literally means “handing down” or “handing over.” The study of early Christianity indicates that the basic elements of the Christian faith were “handed over” from one teacher to another. Paul, writing to the church at Corinth, speaks of “passing on” certain key themes to his audience (1 Corinthians 15:1–4), a clear reference to the verbal transmission of central elements of the Christian message, especially the death and resurrection of Christ.

It is also known that the gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke are based on collections of material that were transmitted orally, before they were finally committed to writing in what are now known as the “synoptic gospels.” Thus, the opening of Luke’s gospel makes reference to using reports “just as they were handed over to us by those who were eyewitnesses and ministers of the word from the beginning” (Luke 1:1–2). The general consensus within New Testament scholarship is that four sources can be discerned for the synoptic gospels:

The most widely accepted explanation of the way in which the three synoptic gospels were compiled was developed in detail in its current form at the University of Oxford in the opening decade of the twentieth century. Its most celebrated statements can be found in B. H. Streeter’s Four Gospels (1924) and W. Sanday’s Studies in the Synoptic Problem (1911). Streeter’s work represents a collection of papers reflecting the work of the Oxford gospel seminar, which met nine times a year over a period of 15 years. Although this theory is sometimes known as “the Oxford hypothesis,” it is more commonly referred to as “the two-source theory.” Its basic features can be set out as follows.

Mark was the first gospel to be written down. It was available to both Matthew and Luke, who used it as a source, altering the style of the language as appropriate, but retaining Mark’s ordering of the material. Matthew was written after Mark, but before Luke. Both Matthew and Luke had access to the source known as Q. In addition, Matthew had access to another source known as M and Luke had access to a different source known as L. Although this theory acknowledges four sources (Mark, Q, M, and L), it is known as the “two-source” theory on account of the importance of Mark and Q in relation to its approach.

This theory has found much support in modern New Testament scholarship. However, it is by no means the only theory to command support. For example, some scholars deny the existence of Q and argue that Luke simply used Matthew as a source. J. J. Griesbach developed an influential hypothesis, according to which Matthew was written first, followed by Luke (who used Matthew). Finally, Mark was written, making use of both Matthew and Luke. It must also be stressed that the “synoptic problem” concerns our understanding of the way in which the oral traditions concerning Jesus were passed down to us. It does not call their historical accuracy or theological reliability into question, but allows a deeper understanding of the formative period of the gospel traditions, in which the words and deeds of Jesus were passed down and handed over during the period c.30–60.

Our concern in this case study, however, relates to a slightly different issue concerning the idea of “tradition,” which became of major importance during the second century. A movement known as “Gnosticism” emerged as a major threat to the Christian church during this period, partly on account of the fact that its teachings were at least superficially similar to those of Christianity itself. Many Gnostic writers argued that salvation was achieved through access to a secret teaching, which alone ensured that believers would be saved. The “secret knowledge” in question, for some Gnostic writers, was almost like a form of “cosmic password.” When someone died, their spirit was liberated from its physical prison and it was free to begin its long and complex journey to its final and glorious destination. To get there, it needed to get past a series of potential obstacles, for which the “secret knowledge” was required.

Some Gnostic writers argued that this secret oral teaching had been passed down from the apostles and that it was to be found in a “veiled” form in the Bible. Only those who knew how to read the Bible in a certain way could gain access to this knowledge, which was not publicly available. Only those who were initiated into the mysteries of Gnosticism could therefore hope to benefit from the salvation that the New Testament offered.

It was clearly of major importance for the Christian church to rebut this teaching. It implied that, while the church had access to the Bible, it did not have access to the special way of reading and interpreting the Bible, which was required if its true meaning was to be understood. Perhaps more importantly, the salvation that the New Testament promised was only available to those who had access to the secret traditions of Gnosticism. In response to the threat from Gnosticism, a “traditional” method of understanding certain passages of Scripture began to develop. Second-century patristic theologians such as Irenaeus of Lyons began to develop the idea of an authorized way of interpreting certain texts of Scripture, which he argued went back to the time of the apostles themselves. Scripture could not be allowed to be interpreted in any arbitrary or random way: it had to be interpreted within the context of the historical continuity of the Christian church. The parameters of its interpretation were historically fixed and given. “Tradition” here means simply “a traditional way of interpreting Scripture within the community of faith.” This is what is known as a single-source theory of tradition.

Irenaeus of Lyons (c.130–c.200). Probably a native of Asia Minor, who was elected bishop of the southern French city of Lyons around 178. He is chiefly noted for his major writing adversus haereses (“Against the heresies”), which defended the Christian faith against Gnostic misrepresentations and criticisms.

To understand Irenaeus at this point, we shall examine a passage from his major work Against Heresies, in which he engages with the Gnostic threat through an appeal to tradition. Irenaeus here argues that the living Christian community possessed a tradition of interpreting Scripture that was denied to heretics. By their historical succession from the apostles, the bishops ensure that their congregations remain faithful to their teachings and interpretations.

Everyone who wishes to perceive the truth should consider the apostolic tradition, which has been made known in every church in the entire world. We are able to number those who are bishops appointed by the apostles, and their successors in the churches to the present day, who taught and knew nothing of such things as these people imagine. For if the apostles had known secret mysteries which they taught privately and secretly to the perfect, they would have passed them down to those to whom they entrusted the churches. … Therefore, as there are so many demonstrations of this fact, there is no need to look anywhere else for the truth which we can easily obtain from the church. The apostles have, as it were, deposited this truth in all its fullness in this depository, so that whoever wants to may draw from this water of life. This is the gate of life; all others are thieves and robbers.

The Gnostics had argued that they had access to a secret oral tradition, which allowed them to discern the true meaning of passages in the Bible. Irenaeus contrasts this with the publicly accessible Christian tradition, which is “made known in every church in the entire world.” Irenaeus argues that the teachings of the apostles, which secure salvation for those who accept them, are made known through the public teaching of the church. The apostolic teaching “in all its fullness” has been “deposited” – that is, made available and accessible – through the church.

Note how Irenaeus points out a problem with the Gnostic position. If the Gnostics are dependent on a “secret tradition,” deriving from the apostles, how can they be sure that it has been passed down correctly? To whom was it entrusted? And who did these people pass it on to subsequently? Irenaeus stresses that, in the case of the Christian church, the immediate and subsequent successors to the apostles are known and can be named. Irenaeus sees the bishops as visible embodiments of the institutional and doctrinal continuity between the apostles and the contemporary church. The apostles chose to entrust their teaching to named successors within the church.

Irenaeus ends by using a text from the Gospel of John to make his point. “Jesus said again, ‘I tell you the truth, I am the gate for the sheep. All who ever came before me were thieves and robbers’” (John 10:7–8). What is the point that Irenaeus is making here? How does this imagery help him to clinch his point?

Tertullian (c.160–c.225). A major figure in early Latin theology, who produced a series of significant controversial and apologetic writings. He is particularly noted for his ability to coin new Latin terms to translate the emerging theological vocabulary of the Greek-speaking eastern church.

A similar point is made by the Roman theologian Tertullian, in an early third-century analysis of the sources of theology dedicated to demonstrating the weaknesses of the heretical positions. Tertullian here lays considerable emphasis upon the role of tradition and apostolic succession in the defining of Christian theology. Orthodoxy depends upon remaining historically continuous with and theologically dependent upon the apostles. The heretics, in contrast, cannot demonstrate any such continuity.

If the Lord Jesus Christ sent out the apostles to preach, no preachers other than those who are appointed by Christ are to be received, since “no one knows the Father except the Son and those to whom the Son has revealed him,” and the Son appears to have revealed him to no one except the apostles who he sent to preach what he had revealed to them. What they preached – that is, what Christ revealed to them – ought, by this ruling, to be established only by those churches that those apostles founded by their preaching and, as they say, by the living voice, and subsequently through their letters. If this is true, all doctrine that is in agreement with those apostolic churches, the sources and originals of the faith, must be accounted as the truth, since it indubitably preserves what the churches received from the apostles, the apostles from Christ, and Christ from God.

Tertullian’s argument lays considerable emphasis on the importance of historical continuity. Note how he stresses the importance of the link between apostles and bishops, and especially the way in which he demands that those who claim to represent “apostolic” teaching must be able to verify their historical links with the apostles.

The debate over authentic Christian teaching continued well into the fifth century. One major concern focused on the idea of doctrinal innovation. What was the church to make of teachings that claimed to be based on Scripture, but seemed to represent new teachings? The controversies within the early church often seemed to end up introducing new teachings, rather than simply defending older teachings.

Vincent of Lérins (died before 450). A French theologian who settled on the island of Lérins. He is particularly noted for his emphasis on the role of tradition in guarding against innovations in the doctrine of the church and is credited with the formulation of the so-called “Vincentian canon.”

A major contribution to this question was made in 434 by Vincent of Lérins, based in the south of France, and sometimes known by the pseudonym “Peregrinus.” Writing in the aftermath of the Pelagian controversy, Vincent of Lérins expressed his belief that the controversies of that time had given rise to theological innovations, such as new ways of interpreting certain biblical passages. It is clear that he regarded Augustine’s doctrine of double predestination (which arose as a response to Pelagius’ views on grace) as a case in point, but how could such doctrinal innovations be identified? In response to this question, he argues for a triple criterion by which authentic Christian teaching may be established: ecumenicity (being believed everywhere), antiquity (being believed always), and consent (being believed by all people). This triple criterion is often described as the “Vincentian canon,” the word “canon” here having the sense of “rule” or “norm” (see p. 29).

Holy Scripture, on account of its depth, is not accepted in a universal sense. The same statements are interpreted in one way by one person, in another by someone else, with the result that there seem to be as many opinions as there are people. … Therefore, on account of the number and variety of errors, there is a need for someone to lay down a rule for the interpretation of the prophets and the apostles in such a way that is directed by the rule of the Catholic church. Now in the Catholic church itself the greatest care is taken that we hold that which has been believed everywhere, always, and by all people(quod ubique, quod semper, quod ab omnibus creditum est).

The problem that Vincent hopes to resolve is this: how are authentically Christian teachings to be distinguished from those of heretics? An initial answer to this question might seem to be that these teachings can be identified on account of their faithfulness to Scripture. However, Vincent makes the point that Scripture is interpreted in different ways by different people. A simple appeal to the Bible is therefore not good enough; something additional is needed, to allow the church to determine which of the possible interpretations of a biblical passage is to be preferred. For this reason, Vincent argues for the need for a “rule for the interpretation of the prophets and the apostles.” He finds this “rule” in what has since come to be known as the consensus fidelium – “the consensus of the faithful” – which has, according to Vincent, three basic elements. A belief or way of interpreting Scripture must have been accepted “everywhere, always, and by everyone.” In other words, it must not be limited to a certain geographical region, a specific period of time, or a small (and potentially unrepresentative) group of people.

Vincent’s definition – often referred to as the “Vincentian Canon” – proved highly influential and is often reflected in later writings dealing with this theme. By the end of the patristic period, the idea of interpreting the Bible within the living tradition of the Christian church was seen as an essential antidote to heresy and had become part of the accepted way of doing theology.

Case Study 1.2 The Arian Controversy: The Divinity of Christ

The patristic period saw considerable attention being paid to the doctrine of the person of Christ. The debate was conducted primarily within the eastern church; interestingly, Augustine of Hippo never wrote anything of consequence on Christology. The period proved to be definitive, laying down guidelines for the discussion of the person of Christ that remained normative until the dawn of the Enlightenment debates on the relation of faith and history, to be considered in a later case study (see Case Study 4.1).

The task confronting the patristic writers was basically the development of a unified Christological scheme, which would bring together and integrate the various Christological hints and statements, images and models, found within the New Testament – some of which have been considered briefly above. That task proved to be complex. The first period of the development of Christology centered on the question of the divinity of Christ and may be regarded as focusing on the question of whether Jesus Christ may legitimately be described as “God.” That Jesus Christ was human appeared to be something of a truism to most early patristic writers. It was self-evidently true and did not require justification. What required explanation about Christ concerned the manner in which he differed from, rather than approximated to, other human beings.

Two early viewpoints were quickly rejected as heretical. Ebionitism, a primarily Jewish sect that flourished in the early first centuries of the Christian era, regarded Jesus as an ordinary human being, the human son of Mary and Joseph. This reduced Christology was regarded as totally inadequate by its opponents and was soon discarded. More significant was the diametrically opposed view, which came to be known as Docetism, from the Greek verb dokein (to seem or appear). This approach – which scholars suggest is probably best regarded as a tendency within theology rather than a definite theological position – argued that Christ was totally divine and that he merely appeared to be human. The sufferings of Christ are thus apparent rather than real. Docetism held a particular attraction for the Gnostic writers of the second century, during which period it reached its zenith. By this time, however, other viewpoints were in the process of emerging, which would eventually eclipse this tendency.

Justin Martyr represents one such viewpoint. Justin Martyr, amongst the most important of the second-century Apologists, was especially concerned to demonstrate that the Christian faith represented the fulfilment of the insights of both classical Greek philosophy and Judaism. Adolf von Harnack summarized the manner in which Justin achieved this objective: he argued that “Christ is the Logos and Nomos” (Nomos is the Greek term for “Law,” here referring to the Torah). Of particular interest is the Logos-Christology that Justin develops, in which he exploits the apologetic potential of the idea of the “Logos,” current in both Stoicism and the Middle Platonism of the period. The Logos (a Greek term that is usually translated as “word” – that is, as it is found at John 1:14) is to be thought of as the ultimate source of all human knowledge. The one and the same Logos is known by both Christian believers and pagan philosophers; the latter, however, only have partial access to it, whereas Christians have full access to it, on account of its manifestation in Christ. Justin allows that pre-Christian secular philosophers, such as Heraclitus or Socrates, thus had partial access to the truth, on account of the manner in which the Logos is present in the world.

Justin Martyr (c.100–c.165). One of the most noted of the Christian apologists of the second century, with a concern to demonstrate the moral and intellectual credibility of Christianity in a pagan world. His “First Apology” stresses the manner in which Christianity brings to fulfillment the insights of classical philosophy.

An idea of especial importance in this context is that of the logos spermatikos, which appears to derive from Middle Platonism. The divine Logos sowed seeds throughout human history; it is therefore to be expected that this “seed-bearing Logos” will be known, even if only in part, by non-Christians. Justin is therefore able to argue that Christianity builds upon and fulfills the hints and anticipations of God’s revelation, which is to be had through pagan philosophy. The Logos was known temporarily through the theophanies (that is, appearances or manifestations of God) in the Old Testament; Christ brings the Logos to its fullest revelation. The world of Greek philosophy is thus set firmly in the context of Christianity: it is a prelude to the coming of Christ, who brings to fulfillment what it had hitherto known only in part.

It is in the writings of Origen that the Logos-Christology appears to find its fullest development. In the incarnation, the human soul of Christ is united with the Logos. On account of the closeness of this union, Christ’s human soul comes to share in the properties of the Logos. Nevertheless, Origen insists that, although both the Logos and Father are co-eternal, the Logos is subordinate to the Father. Although both the Logos and Father are co-eternal, the Logos is subordinate to the Father.

Origen (c.185–c.254). A leading representative of the Alexandrian school of theology, especially noted for his allegorical exposition of Scripture and his use of Platonic ideas in theology, particularly Christology. The originals of many of his works, which were written in Greek, have been lost, with the result that some are known only in Latin translations of questionable reliability.

We noted above that Justin Martyr argued that the Logos was accessible to all, even if only in a fragmentary manner. Its full disclosure only came in Christ. Related ideas can be found in other writers to adopt the Logos-Christology, including Origen. Origen adopts an illuminationist approach to revelation, in which God’s act of revelation is compared to being enlightened by the “rays of God,” which are caused by “the light which is the divine Logos.” For Origen, both truth and salvation are to be had outside the Christian faith.

What has been said thus far is intended to be an introduction to one of the most important landmark theological debates of the patristic period – the Arian controversy of the fourth century. The Arian controversy remains a landmark in the development of classical Christology and deserves a fuller discussion. It must be noted that certain aspects of the history of the controversy remain obscure, and are likely to remain so, despite the best efforts of historians to clarify them. What concerns us here are the theological aspects of the debate, which are comparatively well understood. However, it must be stressed that we know Arius’ views mainly in the form in which they have been mediated to us by his opponents, which raises questions about the potential bias of their presentations. What follows is an attempt to present Arius’ distinctive Christological ideas as fairly as possible, on the basis of the relatively few reliable sources now available to us.

Arius emphasizes the self-subsistence of God. God is the one and only source of all created things; nothing exists that does not ultimately derive from God. This view of God, which many commentators have suggested is due more to Hellenistic philosophy than to Christian theology, clearly raises the question of the relation of the Father to the Son. In his Against the Arians, Arius’ critic Athanasius represents him as making the following statements on this point:

God was not always a father. There was a time when God was all alone, and was not yet a father; only later did he become a father. The Son did not always exist. Everything created is out of nothing … so the Logos of God came into existence out of nothing. There was a time when he was not. Before he was brought into being, he did not exist. He also had a beginning to his created existence.

Arius (c.250–c.336). The originator of Arianism, a form of Christology that refused to concede the full divinity of Christ. Little is known of his life and little has survived of his writings. With the exception of a letter to Eusebius of Nicomedia, his views are known mainly through the writings of his opponents.

These statements are of considerable importance and bring us to the heart of Arianism. The following points are of especial significance.

Arius’ position can therefore be summarized as follows:

Athanasius had little time for Arius’ subtle distinctions. For Athanasius, Arius’ doctrine of the creaturehood of the Son had two decisive consequences, each of which showed up serious problems within Arius’s Christology.

First, Athanasius makes the point that it is only God who can save. God, and God alone, can break the power of sin and bring us to eternal life. An essential feature of being a creature is that one requires to be redeemed. No creature can save another creature. Only the creator can redeem the creation. Having emphasized that it is God alone who can save, Athanasius then makes the logical move, which the Arians found difficult to counter. The New Testament and the Christian liturgical tradition alike regard Jesus Christ as Saviour. Yet, as Athanasius emphasized, only God can save. Arius and his followers accepted that Christ was savior, but denied he was God. For Athanasius, this meant it was an incoherent position. If Christ was not divine, he could not save us.

Athanasius (c.296–373). One of the most significant defenders of orthodox Christology during the period of the Arian controversy. Elected as bishop of Alexandria in 328, he was deposed on account of his opposition to Arianism. Although he was widely supported in the west, his views were only finally recognized at the Council of Constantinople (381) after his death.

The only possible solution, Athanasius argues, is to accept that Jesus is God incarnate. The logic of his argument at times goes something like this:

At times, a slightly different style of argument can be discerned, resting upon the statements of Scripture and the Christian liturgical tradition.

Salvation, for Athanasius, involves divine intervention. Athanasius thus draws out the meaning of John 1:14 by arguing that the “word became flesh”: in other words, God entered into our human situation, in order to change it.

The second point that Athanasius makes is that Christians worship and pray to Jesus Christ. This represents an excellent case study of the importance of Christian practices of worship and prayer for Christian theology. By the fourth century, prayer to and adoration of Christ were standard features of the way in which public worship took place. These were not innovations, but pervasive practices within the early Christian churches that can be traced back to the apostles. The Roman imperial administrator Pliny the Younger reported this practice in the early second century, when he spoke of Christians “singing a hymn to Christ as to a god.” Athanasius points out that Arius’s insistence that Christ is a creature means that the apostolic practice of worshipping Christ can only amount to idolatry. If Christ is a creature, then Christians are guilty of worshiping a creature instead of God – in other words, they had lapsed into idolatry. Christians, Athanasius stresses, are totally forbidden to worship anyone or anything except God himself. Athanasius thus argued that Arius seemed to be guilty of making nonsense of the way in which Christians prayed and worshiped. Athanasius argued that Christians were right to worship and adore Jesus Christ because, by doing so, they were recognizing him for what he was – God incarnate.

The Arian controversy had to be settled somehow, if peace was to be established within the church. Debate came to center upon two terms as possible descriptions of the relation of the Father to the Son. The Greek technical term homoiousios, meaning “of like substance” or “of like being,” was seen by many as representing a judicious compromise, allowing the proximity between Father and Son to be asserted without requiring any further speculation on the precise nature of their relation. However, the rival term homoousios, “of the same substance” or “of the same being,” eventually gained the upper hand. Though differing by only one letter from the alternative term, it embodied a very different understanding of the relationship between Father and Son. The fury of the debate prompted the British historian Edward Gibbon to comment in his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire that never had there been so much energy spent over a single vowel. The Nicene Creed – or, more accurately, the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed – of 381 declared that Christ was “of the same substance” with the Father. This affirmation has since widely become regarded as a benchmark of Christological orthodoxy within all the mainstream Christian churches, whether Protestant, Catholic, or Orthodox.

The present case study has explored a controversy that arose concerning the issue of Christology. The following case study explores a debate which arose specifically within the Alexandrian Christological school, centering on the teachings of Apollinaris of Laodicea.

Case Study 1.3 The Alexandrian Christological School: The Apollinarian Controversy

In an earlier case study (Case Study 1.2), we considered Athanasius’ response to Arius’s views on the identity of Christ. In doing so, we began to touch on some of the features of the Alexandrian school of Christology. It is therefore appropriate to explore these in more detail and discuss one debate that illustrated the tensions within the school. In a later case study (Case Study 1.4), we shall explore the views of the rival Antiochene school.

The outlook of the Alexandrian school, of which Athanasius is a leading representative, is strongly soteriological in character. Jesus Christ is the redeemer of humanity, where “redemption” means “being taken up into the life of God” or “being made divine,” a notion traditionally expressed in terms of “deification.” Christology gives expression to what this soteriological insight implies. We could summarize the trajectory of Alexandrian Christology along the following lines: if human nature is to be deified, it must be united with the divine nature. God must become united with human nature in such a manner that the latter is enabled to share in the life of God. This, the Alexandrians argued, was precisely what happened in and through the incarnation of the Son of God in Jesus Christ. God became human, in order that humanity might become divine. Salvation depends on the divine status of Christ as savior.

Alexandrian writers thus placed considerable emphasis upon the idea of the Logos assuming human nature. The term “assuming” is important; a distinction is drawn between the Logos “dwelling within humanity” (as in the case of the Old Testament prophets) and the Logos taking human nature upon itself (as in the incarnation of the Son of God). Particular emphasis came to be placed upon John 1:14 (“the word became flesh”), which came to embody the fundamental insights of the school and the liturgical celebration of Christmas. To celebrate the birth of Christ was to celebrate the coming of the Logos to the world and assuming human nature in order to redeem it.

This clearly raised the question of the relation of the divinity and humanity of Christ. Cyril of Alexandria is one of many writers within the school to emphasize the reality of their union in the incarnation. The Logos existed “without flesh” before its union with human nature; after that union, there is only one nature, in that the Logos united human nature to itself. This emphasis upon the one nature of Christ distinguishes the Alexandrian from the Antiochene school, which was more receptive to the idea of two natures within Christ. Cyril, writing in the fifth century, states this point as follows:

We do not affirm that the nature of the Logos underwent a change and became flesh, or that it was transformed into a whole or perfect human consisting of flesh and body; rather, we say that the Logos … personally united itself to human nature with a living soul, became a human being, and was called the Son of Man, but not of mere will or favour.

Cyril of Alexandria (died 444). A significant writer, who was appointed patriarch of Alexandria in 412. He became involved in the controversy over the Christological views of Nestorius and produced major statements and defenses of the orthodox position on the two natures of Christ.

This raised the question of what kind of human nature had been assumed. We may return to the fourth century to explore this point further. Apollinaris of Laodicea had anxieties about the increasingly widespread belief that the Logos assumed human nature in its entirety. It seemed to him that this implied that the Logos was contaminated by the weaknesses of human nature. How could the Son of God be allowed to be tainted by purely human directive principles? The sinlessness of Christ would be compromised, in Apollinaris’ view, if he were to possess a purely human mind; after all, the human mind was the source of sin and rebellion against God. Only if the human mind were to be replaced by a purely divine motivating and directing force could the sinlessness of Christ be maintained. For this reason, Apollinaris argued that, in Christ, a purely human mind and soul were replaced by a divine mind and soul: “the divine energy fulfills the role of the animating soul and of the human mind” in Christ. The human nature of Christ is thus incomplete.

This can be seen clearly from a letter written by Apollinaris to the bishops at Diocaesarea, which sets out the leading features of his Christology. The most important is the unequivocal assertion that the Word did not assume a “changeable” human mind in the incarnation, which would have led to the Word being trapped in human sin. Rather, it assumed “an immutable and heavenly divine mind.” As a result, Christ cannot be said to be totally human.

We confess that the Word of God has not descended upon a holy man, which was what happened in the case of the prophets. Rather, the Word himself has become flesh without having assumed a human mind – that is, a changeable mind, which is enslaved to filthy thoughts – but which exists as an immutable and heavenly divine mind.

Apollinaris of Laodicea (c.310–c.390). A vigorous defender of orthodoxy against the Arian heresy, who was appointed bishop of Laodicea at some point around 360. He is chiefly remembered for his Christological views, which were regarded as an overreaction to Arianism and widely criticized at the Council of Constantinople (381).

This idea appalled many of Apollinaris’ colleagues. The Apollinarian view of Christ may have had its attractions for some; others, however, were shocked by its soteriological implications. It was pointed out above (p. 47) that soteriological considerations are of central importance to the Alexandrian approach. How could human nature be redeemed, it was asked, if only part of human nature had been assumed by the Logos? Perhaps the most famous statement of this position is set out by Gregory of Nazianzus in his Letter 101, in which he stressed the redemptive importance of the assumption of human nature in its totality at the incarnation.

Gregory of Nazianzus (329–389), also known as “Gregory Nazianzen.” He is particularly remembered for his “Five Theological Orations,” written around 380, and a compilation of extracts from the writings of Origen, which he entitled the Philokalia.

In this letter, written in Greek at some point in 380 or 381, Gregory mounts a frontal assault on the central thesis of Apollinarianism: that Christ was not fully human, in that he possessed “an immutable and heavenly divine mind,” rather than a human mind. For Gregory, this amounts to a denial of the possibility of redemption. Only what is assumed by the Word in the incarnation can be redeemed. If Christ did not possess a human mind, humanity is not redeemed.

We do not separate the humanity from the divinity; in fact, we assert the dogma of the unity and identity of the Person, who previously was not just human but God, the only Son before all ages, who in these last days has assumed human nature also for our salvation. … If anyone has put their trust in him as a human being lacking a human mind, they are themselves mindless and not worthy of salvation. For what has not been assumed has not been healed; it is what is united to his divinity that is saved. … Let them not grudge us our total salvation, or endue the Saviour with only the bones and nerves and mere appearance of humanity.

Gregory here stresses that Jesus Christ is both perfect God and a perfect human person. Even though human nature has fallen, through the impact of sin, it remains capable of being redeemed. And if the whole of human nature is to be redeemed, it follows that the whole of that human nature must be assumed. Gregory thus affirms the use of the term “Theotokos” to refer to Mary. For Gregory, the use of this title (which can be translated literally as “bearer of God,” but is often translated in a more popular form as “Mother of God”) is a necessary consequence of the incarnation. To deny this title is to deny the reality of the incarnation – a point that is of especial importance in relation to the controversy that broke out within the Antiochene school over the teaching of Nestorius on this matter, which we shall consider in a later case study.

The central theme of the passage can be summed up in the assertion: “what has not been assumed has not been healed.” For Gregory, only those aspects of human nature that have been united to the divinity in the incarnation are saved. If we are to be saved in the totality of our human nature, that totality must be brought into contact with the divinity. If Christ is only partly or apparently human, then salvation is not possible.

In the present case study, we have explored a major controversy within one of the two dominant patristic schools of Christology. In the following case study, we shall examine a highly significant debate that broke out within the Antiochene school.

Case Study 1.4 The Antiochene Christological School: The Nestorian Controversy

In an earlier case study (Case Study 1.3), we noted the development of the Alexandrian school of Christology and traced the trajectory of a major controversy within it. In the present case study, we shall repeat this exercise, focusing on the rival school of Antioch.

The school of Christology that arose in ancient Syria (modern-day Turkey) differed considerably from its Egyptian rival at Alexandria. One of the most significant points of difference concerns the context in which Christological speculation was set. The Alexandrian writers were motivated primarily by soteriological considerations. Concerned that deficient understandings of the person of Christ were linked with inadequate conceptions of salvation, they used ideas derived from secular Greek philosophy to ensure a picture of Christ that was consistent with the full redemption of humanity. The idea of the “Logos” was of particular importance here, especially when linked with the notion of incarnation.

The Antiochene writers differed at this point. Their concerns were moral, rather than purely soteriological, and they drew much less significantly on the ideas of Greek philosophy. The basic trajectory of much Antiochene thinking on the identity of Christ can be traced along the following lines. On account of their disobedience, human beings exist in a state of corruption, from which they are unable to extricate themselves. If redemption is to take place, it must be on the basis of a new obedience on the part of humanity. Because humanity is unable to break free from the bonds of sin, God is obliged to intervene. This leads to the coming of the redeemer as one who unites humanity and divinity, and thus to the re-establishment of an obedient people of God.

The two natures of Christ are vigorously defended. Christ is at one and the same time both God and a human being. Against the Alexandrian criticism that this was to deny the unity of Christ, the Antiochenes responded that they upheld that unity, while simultaneously recognizing that the one redeemer possessed both a perfect human and perfect divine nature. There is a “perfect conjunction” between the human and divine natures in Christ. The complete unity of Christ is thus not inconsistent with his possessing two natures, divine and human. Theodore of Mopsuestia stressed this, in asserting that the glory of Jesus Christ “comes from God the Logos, who assumed him and united him to himself. … And because of this exact conjunction which this human being has with God the Son, the whole creation honors and worships him.”

So how did the Antiochene theologians envisage the mode of union of divine and human natures in Christ? We have already seen the “assumption” model, which had gained the ascendency at Alexandria, by which the Logos assumed human flesh. What model was employed at Antioch? The answer could be summarized as follows:

Alexandria:

Logos assumes a general human nature.

Antioch:

Logos assumes a specific human being.

Theodore of Mopsuestia often implies that the Logos did not assume “human nature” in general, but a specific human being. Instead of assuming a general or abstract human nature, Theodore appears to suggest that the Logos assumed a specific concrete human individual. This seems to be the case in his work On the Incarnation: “In coming to indwell, the Logos united the assumed (human being) as a whole to itself, and made him to share with it in all the dignity which the one who indwells, being the Son of God by nature, possesses.”

So how are the human and divine natures related? Antiochene writers were convinced that the Alexandrian position led to the “mingling” or “confusion” of the divine and human natures of Christ. Instead, they devised a manner of conceptualizing the relationship between the two natures that maintained their distinct identities. This “union according to good pleasure” involves the human and divine natures of Christ being understood to be rather like watertight compartments within Christ. They never interact or mingle with one another. They remain distinct, being held together by the good pleasure of God. The “hypostatic union” – that is, the union of the divine and human natures in Christ – rests in the will of God.

Nestorius (died c.451). A major representative of the Antiochene school of theology, who became patriarch of Constantinople in 428. His vigorous emphasis upon the humanity of Christ seemed to his critics to amount to a denial of his divinity. Nestorius’ failure to endorse the term Theotokos led to him being openly charged with heresy. Although far more orthodox than his opponents allowed, the extent of Nestorius’ orthodoxy remains unclear and disputed.

Theodore of Mopsuestia (c.350–428). A leading representative of the Antiochene school, noted especially for his biblical exegesis. He became bishop of Mopsuestia in 392. His views on Christology were criticized at the time by Alexandrian writers and were subsequently condemned at the Councils of Ephesus (431) and Constantinople (553).

This might seem to suggest that Theodore of Mopsuestia regards the union of the divine and human natures as being a purely moral union, like that of a husband and wife. It also leads to a suspicion that the Logos merely puts on human nature as one would put on a coat: the action involved is temporary and reversible, and involves no fundamental change to anyone involved. However, the Antiochene writers do not seem to have intended these conclusions to be drawn. Perhaps the most reliable way of approaching their position is to suggest that their desire to avoid confusing the divine and human natures within Christ led them to stress their distinctiveness – yet, in so doing, to inadvertently weaken their link in the hypostatic union.

This became a matter of controversy on account of the way in which Nestorius chose to express his Christological views, which seemed to his critics to amount to a doctrine of “two sons” – that is, that Jesus Christ was not a single person, but two, one human and one divine. Yet this is explicitly excluded by the leading writers of the school, such as Nestorius. Christ is, according to Nestorius, “the common name of the two natures.”

Christ is indivisible in that he is Christ, but he is twofold in that he is both God and a human being. He is one in his sonship, but is twofold in that which takes and that which is taken. … For we do not acknowledge two Christs or two sons or “only-begottens” or Lords; not one son and another son, not a first “only-begotten” and a new “only-begotten,” not a first and second Christ, but one and the same.

Nestorius’ views created something of a scandal, as contemporary reports indicate. What follows is an extract from a history of the church compiled around this time by Socrates, also known as “Scholasticus.” While there is probably a degree of bias in the reporting of Nestorius’ actions and words, what is found in this passage corresponds well with what is known of the situation at this time. Notice how the controversy focuses on whether Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ, may properly be referred to as Theotokos (“God-bearer”). Nestorius is here depicted as confused about whether to use the term or not, hesitant as to what its use affirms, yet fearful as to what its denial might imply.

[Nestorius] adopted a controversial attitude, and totally rejected the term Theotokos. The controversy on the matter was taken one way by some and another way by others, with the result that the ensuing discussion divided the church, and began to look like people fighting in the dark, with everyone coming out with the most confused and contradictory assertions. Nestorius acquired the popular reputation of asserting that the Lord was nothing more than a human being, and attempting to impose the teaching of Paul of Samosata and Photinus on the church. This led to such a great outcry that it was thought necessary to convene a general council to rule on the matter in dispute.

To understand the point at issue here, we need to explore an aspect of Christology known as the doctrine of the “communication of attributes,” a notion often discussed in terms of the Latin phrase communicatio idiomatum. The issue involved can be explored as follows. By the end of the fourth century, the following propositions had gained widespread acceptance within the church:

If both these statements are simultaneously true, it was argued, then what was true of the humanity of Jesus must also be true of his divinity – and vice versa. An example might be the following:

Jesus Christ is God;

Mary gave birth to Jesus;

Therefore Mary is the Mother of God.

This kind of argument became increasingly commonplace within the late fourth-century church; indeed, it often served as a means of testing the orthodoxy of a theologian. A failure to agree that Mary was the “Mother of God” became seen as tantamount to a refusal to accept the divinity of Christ. This can be seen, for example, in Gregory of Nyssa’s response to Apollinaris, noted in Case Study 1.3.

How far can this principle be pressed? For example, consider the following line of argument:

Jesus suffered on the cross;

Jesus is God;

Therefore God suffered on the cross.

The first two statements are orthodox, and commanded widespread assent within the church, but the conclusion drawn from them was widely regarded as unacceptable. It was axiomatic to most patristic writers that God could not suffer. The patristic period witnessed theologians agonizing over the limits that could be set to this approach. Thus Gregory of Nazianzus insisted that God must be considered to suffer; otherwise the reality of the incarnation of the Son of God was called into question. However, it was the Nestorian controversy that highlighted the importance of the issues.

By the time of Nestorius, the title Theotokos had become widely accepted within both popular piety and academic theology. Nestorius was, however, alarmed at some of its implications. It seemed to deny the humanity of Christ. Why not call Mary anthropotokos (“bearer of humanity”) or even Christotokos (“bearer of the Christ”)? His suggestions were met with outrage and indignation, on account of the enormous theological investment that had come to be associated with the term theotokos. Nestorius may be regarded as making an entirely legitimate point; however, the manner in which he made it caused considerable offence.

The controversy was unquestionably heightened by a simmering political controversy over the status of the patriarchate of Constantinople. Those hostile to its growing status within the Christian world (especially those linked with the rival city of Alexandria) seized on Nestorius’ comments and exploited their potentially controversial nature to challenge the status of the patriarchate. This kind of hostility can be seen in the response of Cyril of Alexandria to Nestorius, to which we now turn.

In an important section of his Letter 17, written around 430, Cyril condemns 12 propositions associated with the Antiochene school of Christology. Although Cyril regards these views as heretical, there are points at which it seems that his primary concern is to establish the supremacy of the Alexandrian over the Antiochene position. The first three statements are particularly significant.

If any one does not acknowledge that Emmanuel is truly God and that the holy Virgin is, in consequence, “Theotokos,” for she gave birth in the flesh to the Word of God who has become flesh, let them be condemned.

If any one does not acknowledge that the Word of God the Father was substantially united with flesh, and with his own flesh is one Christ, that is, one and the same God and human being together, let them be condemned.

If any one divides the persons in the one Christ after their union, joining them together in a mere conjunction in accordance with their rank, or a conjunction effected by authority or power, instead of a combination according to a union of natures, let them be condemned.

The following points are of especial interest.

Cyril of Alexandria (died 444). A significant writer, who was appointed patriarch of Alexandria in 412. He became involved in the controversy over the Christological views of Nestorius, and produced major statements and defenses of the orthodox position on the two natures of Christ.

It will be clear that Christology was an issue of major importance during the patristic period. As a result of the debates of the period, the contours of the Christian consensus on the matter began to emerge and advance the agenda of theological debate. It is widely agreed that, once the Christological issue had been settled, the next issue to be debated was the distinctive Christian doctrine of God. This naturally brings us to the doctrine of the Trinity, which is the subject of the following case study.

Case Study 1.5 The Trinity: Early Developments and Controversies

The development of the doctrine of the Trinity is best seen as organically related to the evolution of Christology. It became increasingly clear that there was a consensus to the effect that Jesus was “of the same substance (Greek: homoousios)” as God, rather than just “of similar substance (Greek: homoiousios).” However, if Jesus was God, in any meaningful sense of the word, what did this imply about God? If Jesus was God, were there now two Gods? Or was a radical reconsideration of the nature of God appropriate? Historically, it is possible to argue that the doctrine of the Trinity is closely linked with the development of the doctrine of the divinity of Christ. The more emphatic the church became that Christ was God, the more it came under pressure to clarify how Christ related to God.

The starting point for Christian reflections on the Trinity is the New Testament witness to the presence and activity of God in Christ and through the Spirit. For Irenaeus, the whole process of salvation, from its beginning to its end, bore witness to the action of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Irenaeus made use of a term that featured prominently in future discussions of the Trinity: “the economy of salvation.” That word “economy” needs clarification. The Greek word oikonomia basically means “the way in which one’s affairs are ordered” (the relation to the modern sense of the word will thus be clear). For Irenaeus, the term “economy of salvation” means “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. In the form favoured by Marcion, this idea took 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 the 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 his creation.

In his Demonstration of the Preaching of the Apostles, 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 … and the Word of God, the Son of God, our Lord Jesus Christ, who … in the fullness of time, to gather all things to himself, became a human among humans, to … destroy death, bring life, and achieve fellowship between God and humanity. … And the Holy Spirit … was poured out in a new way on our humanity to make us new throughout the world in the sight of God.

This passage sets out a clear statement of 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. 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.

Tertullian gave the theology of the Trinity its distinctive vocabulary; he also shaped its distinctive form. God is one; nevertheless, God cannot be regarded as something or someone who is totally isolated from the created order. The economy of salvation demonstrates that God is active in his 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, different yet not separate or independent of each other. 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 relation of the Father and Son gave every indication of having been settled. 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 relation 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, 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 co-equality 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.

Basil of Caesarea (c.330–379). Also known as “Basil the Great,” this fourth-century writer was based in the region of Cappadocia, in modern Turkey. He is particularly remembered for his writings on the Trinity, especially the distinctive role of the Holy Spirit. He was elected bishop of Caesarea in 370.

In general, eastern theology tended to emphasize the distinct individuality of the three persons or hypostases and safeguard their unity by stressing the fact that both the Son and the Spirit derived from the Father. The relation between the persons or hypostases is ontological, grounded in what those persons are. Thus the relation 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. We shall return to these points presently, in discussing the filioque controversy.

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 relation 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 in this case study.

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 (Greek: perichoresis)” and “appropriation.” Although these ideas find their full development at a later stage in the development of the doctrine, they are unquestionably hinted at in both Irenaeus and Tertullian, and find more substantial expression in the writings of Gregory of Nyssa. We may usefully consider both these ideas at this stage.

Gregory of Nyssa (c.330–c.395). One of the Cappadocian fathers, noted especially for his vigorous defense of the doctrine of the Trinity and the incarnation during the fourth century.

The Greek term perichoresis – translated into Latin as circumincessio or English as “mutual interpenetration” – 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.

The idea of “appropriation” is related to perichoresis and follows on from it. The modalist heresy (to be discussed presently) 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. 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 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 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. It is, however, appropriate to speak of redemption as being the distinctive work of the Son.

Augustine of Hippo (354–430). Widely regarded as the most influential Latin patristic writer, Augustine was converted to Christianity at the northern Italian city of Milan in the summer of 386. He returned to North Africa, and was made bishop of Hippo in 395. He was involved in two major controversies – the Donatist controversy, focusing on the church and sacraments, and the Pelagian controversy, focusing on grace and sin. He also made substantial contributions to the development of the doctrine of the Trinity and the Christian understanding of history.

Taken together, the concepts 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. 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.

Modalism

The term “modalism” was introduced by the German historian of dogma, Adolf von Harnack, to describe the common element of a group of Trinitarian heresies, associated with Noetus and Praxeas in the late second century and Sabellius in the third. Each of these writers was concerned to safeguard the unity of the godhead, fearing a lapse into some form of tritheism as a result of the doctrine of the Trinity. (As will become clear, this fear was amply justified.) This vigorous defense of the absolute unity of God (often referred to as “monarchianism,” from the Greek term meaning “a single principle of authority”) led these writers to insist that the one and only God revealed himself in different ways at different times. The divinity of Christ and the Holy Spirit is to be explained in terms of three different ways or modes of divine revelation (hence the term “modalism”). The following Trinitarian sequence is thus proposed:

There is thus no difference, save that of appearance and chronological location, between the three entities in question.

The Cappadocian Approach to the Trinity

The Cappadocian fathers played a pivotal role in establishing the full divinity of the Holy Spirit, a decision that was formally endorsed by the Council of Constantinople in 381. Once this decisive theological step had been taken, the way was open to a full statement of the doctrine of the Trinity. With the recognition of the identity of substance of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the door was opened to exploring their mutual relationship within the Trinity. Once more, the Cappadocians played a decisive role in this major theological development.

The Cappadocian approach to the Trinity is best understood as a defense of the divine unity, coupled with a recognition that the one Godhead exists in three different “modes of being.” The formula that expresses this approach best is “one substance (ousia) in three persons (hypostaseis).” The one indivisible Godhead is common to all three persons of the Trinity. This one Godhead exists simultaneously in three different “modes of being” – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

One of the most distinctive features of this approach to the Trinity is the priority assigned to the Father. Although the Cappadocian writers stress that they do not accept that either the Son or Spirit is subordinate to the Father, they nevertheless explicitly state that the Father is to be regarded as the source or fountainhead of the Trinity. The being of the Father is imparted to both the Son and the Spirit, although in different ways: the Son is “begotten” of the Father and the Spirit “proceeds” from the Father. Gregory of Nyssa thus writes of “the one person of the Father, from whom the Son is begotten and the Spirit proceeds.”

So how can the one substance be present in three persons? The Cappadocians answered this question by appealing to the relation between a universal and its particulars – for example, humanity and individual human beings. Thus Basil of Caesarea argues that the one substance within the Trinity can be conceived as analogous to a universal and the three persons to particulars. A common human nature, shared by all people, does not mean that all human beings are identical; it means that they retain their individuality, even though they share this common nature. Gregory of Nyssa states this as follows:

Peter, James and John are called three humans, even though they share a single common humanity. … So how do we compromise our belief, by saying on the one hand that the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit have a single godhead, while on the other hand denying that we are talking about three gods?

Thus each of the three persons within the Trinity has a distinctive characteristic. According to Basil of Caesarea, the distinctives of each of the persons are as follows: the Father is distinguished by fatherhood, the Son by sonship, and the Spirit by the ability to sanctify. For Gregory of Nazianzus, the Father is distinguished by “being ingenerate” (agennesis, a difficult word that conveys the idea of “not being begotten” or “not deriving from any other source”), the Son by “being generate” (gennesis, which could also be translated as “being begotten” or “deriving one’s origins from someone else”), and the Spirit by “being sent” or “proceeding.” The difficulty with this analogy for modern readers is that it seems to hint at tritheism. While Gregory’s Platonism allows him to think of “Peter, James, and John” as different instances of the same human nature, the more natural way of interpreting the illustration today is in terms of three distinct and independent individuals.

Gregory of Nazianzus (329–89), also known as “Gregory Nazianzen.” He is particularly remembered for his “Five Theological Orations,” written around 380, and a compilation of extracts from the writings of Origen, which he entitled the Philokalia.

Augustine’s Model of the Trinity

Augustine takes up many elements of the emerging consensus on the Trinity. This can be seen in his vigorous rejection of any form of subordinationism (that is, treating the Son and Spirit as inferior to the Father within the Godhead). Augustine insists that the action of the entire Trinity is to be discerned behind the actions of each of its persons. Thus humanity is not merely created in the image of God; it is created in the image of the Trinity. An important distinction is drawn between the eternal Godhead of the Son and the Spirit, and their place in the economy of salvation. Although the Son and Spirit may appear to be posterior to the Father, this judgment only applies to their role within the process of salvation. Although the Son and Spirit may appear to be subordinate to the Father in history, in eternity all are co-equal. This is an important anticipation of the later distinction between the essential Trinity, grounded in God’s eternal nature, and the economic Trinity, grounded in God’s self-revelation within history.

Perhaps the most distinctive element of Augustine’s approach to the Trinity concerns his understanding of the person and place of the Holy Spirit; we shall consider specific aspects of this in a later section, as part of our discussion of the filioque controversy. However, Augustine’s conception of the Spirit as the love that unites the Father and Son together demands attention at this early stage.

Having identified the Son with “wisdom,” Augustine proceeds to identify the Spirit with “love.” He concedes that he had no explicit biblical grounds for this identification; nevertheless, he regards it as a reasonable inference from the biblical material. The Spirit “makes us dwell in God, and God in us.” This explicit identification of the Spirit as the basis of union between God and believers is important, as it points to Augustine’s idea of the Spirit as the giver of community. The Spirit is the gift of God that binds us to him. There is, Augustine argues, therefore a corresponding relation within the Trinity itself. God already exists in the kind of relation to which he wishes to bring us, and just as the Spirit is the bond of union between God and the believer, so the Spirit exercises a comparable role within the Trinity, binding the persons together. “The Holy Spirit … makes us dwell in God, and God in us. But that is the effect of love. So the Holy Spirit is God who is love.”

This argument is supplemented by a general analysis of the importance of love within the Christian life. Augustine, basing himself loosely on 1 Corinthians 13:13 (“These three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love”), argues along the following lines:

Augustine brings these lines of argument together in the following passage:

Love is of God, and its effect in us is that we dwell in God and he in us. This we know, because he has given us his Spirit. Now the Spirit is God who is love. If, among God’s gifts, there is none greater than love and if there is no greater gift than the Holy Spirit, we naturally conclude that the one who is said to be both God and of God is love.

This style of analysis has been criticized for its obvious weaknesses, not least in leading to a curiously depersonalized notion of the Spirit. The Spirit appears as a sort of glue, binding Father and Son together and binding both to believers. The idea of “being bound to God” is a central feature of Augustine’s spirituality and it is perhaps inevitable that this concern will appear prominently in his discussion of the Trinity.

One of the most distinctive features of Augustine’s approach to the Trinity is his development of “psychological analogies.” The reasoning that lies behind the appeal to the human mind in this respect can be summarized as follows. It is not unreasonable to expect that, in creating the world, God has left a characteristic imprint upon that creation. But where is that imprint (vestigium) to be found? It is reasonable to expect that God would plant this distinctive imprint upon the height of his creation. Now the Genesis creation accounts allow us to conclude that humanity is the height of God’s creation. Therefore, Augustine argues, we should look to humanity in our search for the image of God.

However, Augustine then takes a step that many observers feel to have been unfortunate. On the basis of his neo-Platonic worldview, Augustine argues that the human mind is to be regarded as the apex of humanity. It is therefore to the individual human mind that the theologian should turn when looking for “traces of the Trinity” in creation. The radical individualism of this approach, coupled with its obvious intellectualism, means that he chooses to find the Trinity in the inner mental world of individuals, rather than – for example – in personal relationships (an approach favored by medieval writers, such as Richard of St. Victor). Furthermore, a first reading of On the Trinity suggests that Augustine seems to regard the inner workings of the human mind as telling us as much about God as the economy of salvation. Although Augustine stresses the limited value of such analogies, he himself appears to make more use of them than this critical appraisal would warrant.

Augustine discerns a triadic structure to human thought and argues that this structure of thought is grounded in the being of God. He himself argues that the most important such triad is that of mind, knowledge, and love, although the related triad of memory, understanding, and will is also given considerable prominence. The human mind is “an image” – inadequate, to be sure, but still an image – of God. So just as there are three such faculties in the human mind, which are not ultimately totally separate and independent entities, so there can be three “persons” in God.

There are some obvious weaknesses here. As has often been pointed out, the human mind cannot be reduced to three entities in quite this neat and simplistic manner. In the end, however, it must be pointed out that Augustine’s appeal to such “psychological analogies” is actually illustrative, rather than constitutive. They are intended to be visual aids (although visual aids that are grounded in the doctrine of creation) to insights that may be obtained from Scripture and reflection on the economy of salvation. Augustine’s doctrine of the Trinity is not ultimately grounded in his analysis of the human mind, but in his reading of Scripture, especially of the Fourth Gospel.

The Filioque Controversy

One of the most significant events in the early history of the church was agreement throughout the Roman Empire, both east and west, on the Nicene Creed. The Nicene Creed was intended to bring doctrinal stability to the church in a period of considerable importance in its history. Part of that agreed text referred to the Holy Spirit “proceeding from the Father.” By the ninth century, however, the western church routinely altered this phrase, speaking of the Holy Spirit “proceeding from the Father and the Son.” The Latin term filioque (meaning “and from the Son”) has since come to refer to this addition, now normative within the western churches, and the theology that it expresses. This idea of a “double procession” of the Holy Spirit was a source of intense irritation to Greek writers: not only did it raise serious theological difficulties for them but it also involved tampering with the supposedly inviolable text of the creeds. Many scholars see this bad feeling as contributing to the split between the eastern and western churches, which took place around 1054. Although this development (and the resulting controversy) took place after 451, the resulting debate was the inevitable outcome of the ideas documented in this case study, making it entirely proper to discuss this debate at this point.

The filioque debate is of importance, both as a theological issue in itself and also as a matter of some importance in the contemporary relations between the eastern and western churches. We therefore propose to explore the issues in some detail. The basic issue at stake is whether the Spirit may be said to proceed from the Father alone, or from the Father and the Son. The former is associated with the eastern church, and is given its most weighty exposition in the writings of the Cappadocian fathers; the latter is associated with the western church, and is developed with particular clarity in Augustine’s treatise On the Trinity.

The Greek patristic writers insisted that there was only one source of being within the Trinity. The Father alone was the sole and supreme cause of all things, including the Son and the Spirit within the Trinity. The Son and the Spirit derive from the Father, but in different manners. In searching for suitable terms to express this relationship, theologians eventually fixed on two quite distinct images: the Son is begotten of the Father, while the Spirit proceeds from the Father. These two terms are intended to express the idea that both Son and Spirit derive from the Father, but are derived in different ways. The vocabulary is clumsy, reflecting the fact that the Greek words involved are difficult to translate into modern English.

To assist in understanding this complex process, the Greek fathers used two images. The Father pronounces his word; at the same time as he utters this word, he breathes out in order to make this word capable of being heard and received. The imagery used here, which is strongly grounded in the biblical tradition, is that of the Son as the Word of God and the Spirit as the breath of God. An obvious question arises here: why should the Cappadocian fathers, and other Greek writers, spend so much time and effort on distinguishing Son and Spirit in this way? The answer is important. A failure to distinguish the ways in which Son and Spirit derive from the one and the same Father would lead to God having two sons, which would have raised insurmountable problems.

Within this context, it is unthinkable that the Holy Spirit should proceed from the Father and the Son. Why? Because it would totally compromise the principle of the Father as the sole origin and source of all divinity. It would amount to affirming that there were two sources of divinity within the one Godhead, with all the internal contradictions and tensions that this would generate. If the Son were to share in the exclusive ability of the Father to be the source of all divinity, this ability would no longer be exclusive. For this reason, the Greek church regarded the western idea of a “double procession” of the Spirit with something approaching stark disbelief. The Greek tradition, however, was not entirely unanimous on this point. Cyril of Alexandria had no hesitation in speaking of the Spirit as “belonging to the Son,” and related ideas were not slow to develop within the western church.

This understatement of the procession of the Spirit from Father and Son was developed and given its classic statement by Augustine. Possibly building upon the position hinted at by Hilary, Augustine argued that the Spirit had to be thought of as proceeding from the Son. One of his main proof texts was John 20:22, in which the risen Christ is reported as having breathed upon his disciples, and said: “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Augustine explains this as follows:

Nor can we say that the Holy Spirit does not also proceed from the Son. After all, the Spirit is said to be the Spirit of both the Father and the Son [John 20:22 is then cited]. … The Holy Spirit proceeds not only from the Father, but also from the Son.

In making this statement, Augustine thought that he was summarizing a general consensus within both the eastern and western churches. Unfortunately, his knowledge of Greek does not appear to have been good enough to allow him to appreciate that the Greek-speaking Cappadocian writers adopted a rather different position. Nevertheless, there are points at which Augustine is obviously concerned to defend the distinctive role of the Father within the Godhead:

God the Father alone is the one from whom the Word is born, and from whom the Spirit principally proceeds. Now I have added the word “principally,” because we find that the Holy Spirit also proceeds from the Son. Nevertheless, the Father gave the Spirit to the Son. It was not as if the Son already existed and possessed the Spirit. Whatever the Father gave to the only-begotten Word, he gave by begetting him. Therefore he begot him in such a way that the common gift should be the Spirit of both.

So what did Augustine think he was doing, in understanding the role of the Spirit in this way? The answer lies in his distinctive understanding of the Spirit as the “bond of love” between Father and Son. Augustine developed the idea of relation within the Godhead, arguing that the persons of the Trinity are defined by their relations to one another. The Spirit is thus to be seen as the relation of love and fellowship between the Father and Son, a relation that Augustine believed to be foundational to the Fourth Gospel’s presentation of the unity of will and purpose of Father and Son.

We can summarize the root differences between the two approaches as follows:

Case Study 1.6 The Church: The Donatist Controversy

As we noted in our introductory historical overview of the patristic period, under the Roman Emperor Diocletian (284–313) the Christian church was subject to various degrees of persecution. The origins of the persecution date from 303; it finally ended with the victory of Constantine and the issuing of the Edict of Milan in 313. Under an edict of February 303, Christian books were ordered to be burned and churches demolished. Those Christian leaders who handed over their books to be burned came to be known as traditores – “those who handed over [their books].” The modern English word “traitor” derives from the same root. Once such traditor or “traitor” was Felix of Aptunga, who later consecrated Caecilian as bishop of Carthage in 311.

Many local Christians were outraged that such a person should have been allowed to be involved in this consecration and declared that they could not accept the authority of Caecilian as a result. The hierarchy of the catholic church was tainted as a result of this development. The church ought to be pure and should not be permitted to include such people. By the time Augustine returned to Africa in 388, a breakaway faction had established itself as the leading Christian body in the region, with especially strong support from the local African population. Sociological issues clouded theological debate; the Donatists tended to draw their support from the indigenous population, whereas the Catholics drew theirs from Roman colonists.

The theological issues involved are of considerable importance, and relate directly to a serious tension within the theology of a leading figure of the African church in the third century – Cyprian of Carthage. In his The Unity of the Catholic Church (251), Cyprian defended two major related beliefs.

Cyprian of Carthage (died 258). A Roman rhetorician of considerable skill who was converted to Christianity around 246 and elected bishop of the North African city of Carthage in 248. He was martyred in that city in 258. His writings focus particularly on the unity of the church and the role of its bishops in maintaining orthodoxy and order.

Cyprian’s arguments against schism are set out with particular clarity and are worth noting in a little detail, based on the following passage from The Unity of the Catholic Church:

Anyone who cuts themselves off from the Church and is joined to an adulteress is separated from the promises of the Church, and anyone who leaves the Church of Christ behind cannot benefit from the rewards of Christ. Such people are strangers, outcasts, and enemies. You cannot have God as father unless you have the Church as mother. … This sacrament of unity, this inseparable bond of peace, is shown in the gospel when the robe of the Lord Jesus Christ was neither divided at all or torn, but they cast lots for the clothing of Christ … so the clothing was received whole and the robe was taken unspoilt and undivided. … That garment signifies the unity which comes “from the part above,” that is, from heaven and from the Father, a unity which could not be torn at all by those who received and possessed it, but it was taken undivided in its unbreakable entirety. Anyone who rends and divides the Church of Christ cannot possess the clothing of Christ.

Note how Cyprian argues that there is only one church. Anyone who chooses to leave the church in schism therefore moves outside the boundaries of the church and ceases to have any connection with it. It is impossible to benefit from Christ’s salvation without being a member of the church. This is summed up in the famous slogan: “You cannot have God as father unless you have the Church as mother.” At this point, Cyprian uses a particularly striking image to stress the indivisibility of the church. The church, he declares, is like the seamless robe in which Christ was clothed as he walked to his crucifixion. Cyprian here alludes to the incident in the gospels, in which those who crucified Jesus threw lots for his robe, in that they did not wish to tear it (see John 19:23–24). Cyprian argues that the church is analogous to that robe: it cannot be torn or divided.

It will be clear, then, that Cyprian rigorously excludes schism. But what happens if a bishop lapses under persecution and subsequently repents? Cyprian’s theory is open to two lines of interpretation at this point:

The Donatists adopted the first such position, the Catholics (as their opponents came to be known) the second.

As a result, the Donatists believed that the entire sacramental system of the Catholic church had become corrupted. It was therefore necessary to replace traditores with people who had remained firm in their faith under persecution. It was also necessary to rebaptize and reordain all those who had been baptized and ordained by traditores. Inevitably, this resulted in the formation of a breakaway faction. By the time of Augustine, the breakaway faction was larger than the church that it had originally broken away from.

Yet Cyprian had totally forbidden schism of any kind. One of the greatest paradoxes of the Donatist schism is that the schism resulted from principles that were due to Cyprian – yet contradicted those very same principles. As a result, both the Donatists and Catholics appealed to Cyprian as an authority – but to very different aspects of his teaching. The Donatists stressed the outrageous character of apostasy; the Catholics equally emphasized the impossibility of schism. A stalemate resulted. That is, until Augustine of Hippo arrived, and became bishop of Hippo in the region. Augustine was able to resolve the tensions within the legacy of Cyprian and put forward an “Augustinian” view of the church, which has remained enormously influential ever since. In what follows, we shall outline the main features of this distinctive approach.

Augustine of Hippo (354–430). Widely regarded as the most influential Latin patristic writer, Augustine was converted to Christianity at the northern Italian city of Milan in the summer of 386. He returned to North Africa and was made bishop of Hippo in 395. He was involved in two major controversies – the Donatist controversy, focusing on the church and sacraments, and the Pelagian controversy, focusing on grace and sin. He also made substantial contributions to the development of the doctrine of the Trinity and the Christian understanding of history.

First, Augustine emphasizes the sinfulness of Christians. The church is not meant to be a society of saints, but a “mixed body” of saints and sinners. Augustine finds this image in two biblical parables: the parable of the net that catches many fishes and the parable of the wheat and the tares (note that “tares” is the traditional older English word for “weeds”; we shall use the two terms interchangeably in the following discussion). It is this latter parable (Matthew 13:24–31) that is of especial importance and requires further discussion.

The parable tells of a farmer who sowed seed and discovered that the resulting crop included both wheat and tares – grain and weeds. What could be done about it? To attempt to separate the wheat and the weeds while both were still growing would be to court disaster, probably involving damaging the wheat while trying to get rid of the weeds. However, at the harvest, all the plants – wheat and tares – are cut down and sorted without any danger of damaging the wheat. The separation of the good and the evil thus takes place at the end of time, not in history.

For Augustine, this parable refers to the church in the world. It must expect to find itself including both saints and sinners, but to attempt a separation in this world is premature and improper. That separation will take place in God’s own time, at the end of history. No human can make that judgment or separation in God’s place. So in what sense is the church holy? For Augustine, the holiness in question is not that of its members, but of Christ. The church cannot be a congregation of saints in this world, in that its members are contaminated with original sin. However, the church is sanctified and made holy by Christ – a holiness that will be perfected and finally realized at the last judgment. In addition to this theological analysis, Augustine makes the practical observation that the Donatists failed to live up to their own high standards of morality. The Donatists, Augustine suggests, were just as capable as Catholics of getting drunk or beating people.

Second, Augustine argues that schism and traditio (the handing over of Christian books or any form of lapse from faith) are indeed both sinful – but that, for Cyprian, schism is by far the more serious sin. The Donatists are thus guilty of serious misrepresentation of the teaching of the great North African martyr bishop.

Augustine thus argues that Donatism is fatally flawed. The church is, and is meant to be, a mixed body. Sin is an inevitable aspect of the life of the church in the present age and is neither the occasion nor the justification for schism.

Yet the Donatist controversy concerned more than a theoretical understanding of the nature of the church. It affected aspects of everyday Christian ministry, on account of the Donatist insistence that only certain untainted persons could administer the sacraments properly. The Donatists refused to recognize that a traditor could administer the sacraments properly. Accordingly, they argued that baptisms, ordinations, and eucharists administered by such ministers were invalid.

This attitude rested in part upon the authority of Cyprian of Carthage. Cyprian had argued that no true sacraments exist outside the church. Heretical baptism was thus not valid, as heretics did not accept the faith of the church and were thus outside its bounds. Logically unassailable though Cyprian’s views may have been, they failed to allow for the situation that arose during the Donatist controversy – that is, ministers who are of orthodox faith, but whose personal conduct is held to be unworthy of their calling. Were doctrinally orthodox yet morally inferior ministers entitled to administer the sacraments? And were such sacraments valid or not?

Pressing Cyprian’s views beyond their apparent intended limits, the Donatists argued that ecclesiastical actions could be regarded as invalid on account of subjective imperfections on the part of the person administering them. The Donatists thus held that those who were baptized or ordained by Catholic priests or bishops who had not joined the Donatist movement required to be rebaptized and reordained at the hands of Donatist ministers. The sacraments derive their validity from the personal qualities of the person who administers them.

Responding to this approach, Augustine argued that Donatism laid excessive emphasis upon the qualities of the human agent and gave insufficient weight to the grace of Jesus Christ. It is, he argued, impossible for fallen human beings to make distinctions concerning who is pure and impure, worthy or unworthy. This view, which is totally consistent with his understanding of the church as a “mixed body” of saints and sinners, holds that the efficacy of a sacrament rests, not upon the merits of the individual administering it, but upon the merits of the one who instituted them in the first place – Jesus Christ. The validity of sacraments is independent of the merits of those who administer them.

Having said this, Augustine qualifies it in an important context. A distinction must be drawn, he argues, between “baptism” and “the right to baptize.” Although baptism is valid, even when administered by those who are heretics or schismatics, this does not mean that the right to baptize is indiscriminately distributed among all peoples. The right to confer baptism exists only within the church, and supremely on the part of those ministers that it has chosen and authorized to administer the sacraments. The authority to administer the sacraments of Christ was committed by him to the apostles, and through them and their successors, the bishops, to the ministers of the Catholic church.

The theological issue at stake has come to be represented by two Latin slogans, each reflecting a different understanding of the grounds of the efficacy of the sacraments.

The Donatist position is consistent with an ex opere operantis, and Augustine’s with an ex opere operato, understanding of sacramental causality. The latter view became normative within the western church and was maintained by the mainstream reformers during the sixteenth century. The former was upheld by more radical sections of the Reformation and continues to be significant within some sections of Protestantism, especially those stressing the importance of holiness or charismatic gifts.

Augustine sets out his position in the following passage, taken from his treatise “On Baptism.” As we noted earlier, Augustine’s view of the church accepts that congregations and priests will include sinners as well as saints. So does this invalidate the sacraments? Against the Donatist view, which declared that only the righteous can administer and profitably receive the sacraments (an ex opere operantis view of sacramental efficacy), Augustine argues that the efficacy of the sacraments rests on Christ himself, not the merits of either the administrator or recipient (which, as noted above, is an ex opere operato view of sacramental efficacy).

In the matter of baptism, we should consider not the identity of the one who gives it, but what it is that he gives; not who he is that receives, but what it is that he receives. … When baptism is administered by the words of the gospel, however great the evil of either minister or recipient may be, the sacrament itself is holy on account of the one whose sacrament it is. In the case of people who receive baptism from an evil person, if they do not receive the perverseness of the minister but the holiness of the mystery, being united to the church in good faith and hope and charity, they will receive the forgiveness of their sins.

Augustine here draws a fundamental distinction between the one who gives the gift and the gift that is given. The personal qualities of the “giver” (in this case, the minister of the sacrament) have no bearing on the quality of what is given (that is, the sacrament itself). Sacraments thus derive their efficacy from “the one whose sacrament it is.” In other words, whatever a sacrament does results from the holiness of God, not from the holiness (or lack of it) on the part of the minister.

This can be contrasted with the views of Petilian, a noted Donatist writer who was active at the beginning of the fifth century. Petilian, the Donatist bishop of Cirta (a city in North Africa), circulated a letter to his priests warning against the moral impurity and doctrinal errors of the Catholic church. Augustine’s reply, dated 401, led Petilian to write against Augustine in more detail. In this letter, dating from 402, from which Augustine quotes extracts, Petilian sets out fully the Donatist insistence that the validity of the sacraments is totally dependent upon the moral worthiness of those who administer them. Petilian’s words are included within citation marks within Augustine’s text.

”What we look for is the conscience,” [Petilian] says, “of the one who gives [the sacraments], giving in holiness, to cleanse the conscience of the one who receives. For anyone who knowingly receives ‘faith’ from the faithless does not receive faith, but guilt.” And he will then go on to say: “So how do you test this? For everything consists of an origin,” he says, “and a root; if it does not possess something as its head, it is nothing. Nor can anything truly receive a second birth, unless it is born again from good seed.”

Note that Petilian argues that the holiness or guilt of the minister affects the person who receives the sacraments from that minister. It is therefore essential that ministers should be holy and unblemished if their ministries are not to be compromised through the contaminating effect of sin.

The Donatist controversy was of major importance to the development of the western church during the fourth century. A second controversy to break out in this region of the church – also centering on Augustine of Hippo – concerned the whole issue of the interaction of divine grace and human freedom. It is to the Pelagian controversy that we now turn.

Case Study 1.7 Grace: The Pelagian Controversy

The Pelagian controversy, which erupted in the early fifth century, brought a cluster of questions concerning human nature, sin, and grace into sharp focus. Up to this point, there had been relatively little controversy within the church over human nature. The Pelagian controversy changed that and ensured that the issues associated with human nature were placed firmly on the agenda of the western church. The controversy centered upon two individuals: Augustine of Hippo, based in North Africa, and Pelagius, based in Rome. The controversy is complex, at both the historical and theological levels, in that “Pelagianism” seems to incorporate ideas associated with Pelagius himself, Caelestius, Rufinus of Syria, and also the later writer Julian of Eclanum.

Given the impact of this controversy on western Christian theology, we will consider the basic themes that were debated under four headings: (1) the understanding of the “freedom of the will”; (2) the understanding of sin; (3) the understanding of grace; (4) the understanding of the grounds of justification.

The “Freedom of the Will”

For Augustine, the total sovereignty of God and genuine human responsibility and freedom must be upheld at one and the same time, if justice is to be done to the richness and complexity of the biblical statements on the matter. To simplify the matter, by denying either the sovereignty of God or human freedom, is to seriously compromise the Christian understanding of the way in which God justifies man. In Augustine’s own lifetime, he was obliged to deal with two heresies that simplified and compromised the gospel in this way. Manichaeanism was a form of fatalism (to which Augustine himself was initially attracted) that upheld the total sovereignty of God but denied human freedom, while Pelagianism upheld the total freedom of the human will while denying the sovereignty of God. Before developing these points, it is necessary to make some observations concerning the term “free will.”

Augustine of Hippo (354–430). Widely regarded as the most influential Latin patristic writer, Augustine was converted to Christianity at the northern Italian city of Milan in the summer of 386. He returned to North Africa, and was made bishop of Hippo in 395. He was involved in two major controversies – the Donatist controversy, focusing on the church and sacraments, and the Pelagian controversy, focusing on grace and sin. He also made substantial contributions to the development of the doctrine of the Trinity and the Christian understanding of history.

The term “free will” (Latin: liberum arbitrium) is not itself biblical, but derives from Greek philosophical movements, especially Stoicism. It was introduced into western Christianity by the second century theologian Tertullian. Augustine retained the term, but attempted to restore a more Pauline meaning to it by emphasizing the limitations placed upon the human free will by sin. Augustine’s basic ideas can be summarized as follows. First, natural human freedom is affirmed: we do not do things out of any necessity, but as a matter of freedom. Second, Augustine argues that human free will has been weakened and incapacitated – but not eliminated or destroyed – through sin. In order for that free will to be restored and healed, it requires the operation of divine grace. Free will really does exist; it is, however, distorted by sin.

In order to explain this point, Augustine deploys a significant analogy. Consider a pair of scales with two balance pans. One balance pan represents good and the other evil. If the pans are properly balanced, the arguments in favor of doing good or doing evil could be weighed, and a proper conclusion drawn. The parallel with the human free will is obvious: we weigh up the arguments in favor of doing good and evil, and act accordingly. However, what, asks Augustine, if the balance pans are loaded? What happens if someone puts several heavy weights in the balance pan on the side of evil? The scales will still work, but they are seriously biased toward making an evil decision. Augustine argues that this is exactly what has happened to humanity through sin. The human free will is biased toward evil. It really exists and really can make decisions – just as the loaded scales still work. But instead of giving a balanced judgment, a serious bias exists toward evil. Using this and related analogies Augustine argues that the human free will really exists in sinners, but that it is compromised by sin.

For Pelagius and his followers (such as Julian of Eclanum), however, humanity possessed total freedom of the will and was totally responsible for its own sins. Human nature was essentially free and well created, and was not compromised or incapacitated by some mysterious weakness. According to Pelagius, any imperfection in man would reflect negatively upon the goodness of God. For God to intervene in any direct way to influence human decisions was equivalent to compromising human integrity. Going back to the analogy of the scales, the Pelagians argued that the human free will was like a pair of balance pans in perfect equilibrium and not subject to any bias whatsoever. There was no need for divine grace in the sense understood by Augustine (although Pelagius did have a quite distinct concept of grace, as we shall see later).

Pelagius. A British theologian who was active at Rome in the final decade of the fourth and the first decade of the fifth centuries. No reliable information exists concerning the date of his birth or death. Pelagius was a moral reformer, whose theology of grace and sin brought him into sharp conflict with Augustine, leading to the Pelagian controversy. Pelagius’ ideas are known mostly through the writings of his opponents, especially Augustine.

In 413, Pelagius wrote a lengthy letter to Demetrias, who had recently decided to turn her back on wealth in order to become a nun. In this letter, Pelagius spelled out with remorseless logic the consequences of his views on human free will. God has made humanity and knows precisely what it is capable of doing. Hence all the commands given to us are capable of being obeyed and are meant to be obeyed. It is no excuse to argue that human frailty prevents these commands from being fulfilled. God has made human nature and only demands of it what it can endure. Pelagius thus makes the uncompromising assertion that since perfection is possible for humanity, it is obligatory.

[Instead of regarding God’s commands as a privilege] … we cry out at God and say, “This is too hard! This is too difficult! We cannot do it! We are only human, and hindered by the weakness of the flesh!” What blind madness! What blatant presumption! By doing this, we accuse the God of knowledge of a twofold ignorance – ignorance of God’s own creation and of God’s own commands. It would be as if, forgetting the weakness of humanity – his own creation – God had laid upon us commands which we were unable to bear. And at the same time – may God forgive us! – we ascribe to the righteous One unrighteousness, and cruelty to the Holy One; first, by complaining that God has commanded the impossible, second, by imagining that some will be condemned by God for what they could not help; so that – the blasphemy of it! – God is thought of as seeking our punishment rather than our salvation. … No one knows the extent of our strength better than the God who gave us that strength. … God has not willed to command anything impossible, for God is righteous; and will not condemn anyone for what they could not help, for God is holy.

Note especially the argument that God knows our weakness and therefore asks nothing of us that we cannot achieve. A demand on the part of God therefore corresponds to a human ability to fulfill that demand.

The Nature of Sin

For Augustine, humanity is universally affected by sin as a consequence of the Fall. The human mind has become darkened and weakened by sin. Sin makes it impossible for the sinner to think clearly and especially to understand higher spiritual truths and ideas. Similarly, Augustine argues that the human will has been weakened (but not eliminated) by sin. For Augustine, the simple fact that we are sinners means that we are in the position of being seriously ill and unable to diagnose our own illness adequately, let alone cure it. It is through the grace of God alone that our illness is diagnosed (sin) and a cure made available (grace).

The essential point that Augustine makes is that we have no control over our sinfulness. It is something that contaminates our lives from birth and dominates our lives thereafter. It is a state over which we have no decisive control. We could say that Augustine understands humanity to be born with a sinful disposition as part of human nature, with an inherent bias toward acts of sinning. In other words, sin causes sins: the state of sinfulness causes individual acts of sin. Augustine develops this point with reference to three important analogies: original sin as a “disease,” as a “power,” and as “guilt.”

For Pelagius, however, sin is to be understood in a very different light. The idea of a human disposition toward sin has no place in Pelagius’ thought. For Pelagius, the human power of self-improvement could not be thought of as being compromised. It was always possible for humans to discharge their obligations toward God and their neighbors. Failure to do so could not be excused on any grounds. Sin was to be understood as an act deliberately committed against God. Pelagianism thus seems to be a rigid form of legalism or moral authoritarianism – an insistence that humanity is under obligation to be sinless and an absolute rejection of any excuse for failure. Humanity is born sinless and only sins through deliberate actions. Pelagius insisted that many Old Testament figures actually remained sinless. Only those who were morally upright could be allowed to enter the church – whereas Augustine, with his concept of fallen human nature, was happy to regard the church as a hospital where fallen humanity could recover and grow gradually in holiness through grace.

The Nature of Grace

One of Augustine’s favorite biblical texts is John 15:5, “apart from me you can do nothing.” For Augustine, we are totally dependent upon God for our salvation, from the beginning to the end of our lives. Augustine draws a careful distinction between the natural human faculties – given to humanity as its natural endowment – and additional and special gifts of grace. God does not leave us where we are naturally, incapacitated by sin and unable to redeem ourselves, but gives us grace in order that we may be healed, forgiven, and restored. Augustine’s view of human nature is that it is frail, weak, and lost, and needs divine assistance and care if it is to be restored and renewed. Grace, according to Augustine, is God’s generous and quite unmerited attention to humanity, by which this process of healing may begin. Human nature requires transformation through the grace of God, so generously given.

Pelagius uses the term “grace” in a very different way. First, grace is to be understood as the natural human faculties. For Pelagius, these are not corrupted or incapacitated or compromised in any way. They have been given to humanity by God and they are meant to be used. When Pelagius asserts that humanity can, through grace, choose to be sinless, what he means is that the natural human faculties of reason and will should enable humanity to choose to avoid sin. As Augustine was quick to point out, this does not seem to be what the New Testament understands by the term.

Second, Pelagius understands grace to be external enlightenment provided for humanity by God. Pelagius gives several examples of such enlightenment – for example, the Ten Commandments and the moral example of Jesus Christ. Grace informs us what our moral duties are (otherwise, we would not know what they were); it does not, however, assist us to perform them. We are enabled to avoid sin through the teaching and example of Christ. Augustine argued that this was “to locate the grace of God in the law and in teaching.” The New Testament, according to Augustine, envisaged grace as divine assistance to humanity, rather than just moral guidance. For Pelagius, grace was something external and passive, something outside us. Augustine understood grace as the real and redeeming presence of God in Christ within us, transforming us – something that was internal and active.

The Basis of Salvation

For Augustine, humanity is justified as an act of grace: even human good works are the result of God working within fallen human nature. Everything leading up to salvation is the free and unmerited gift of God, given out of love for sinners. Through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God is enabled to deal with fallen humanity in this remarkable and generous manner, giving us that which we do not deserve (salvation) and withholding from us that which we do deserve (condemnation).

Augustine’s exposition of the Parable of the laborers in the vineyard (Matthew 20:1–10) is of considerable importance in this respect. As we shall see, Pelagius argued that God rewarded each individual strictly on the basis of merit. Augustine, however, points out that this parable indicates that the basis of the reward given to the individual is the promise made to that individual. Augustine emphasizes that the laborers did not work for equal periods in the vineyard, yet the same wage (a denarius) was given to all. The owner of the vineyard had promised to pay each individual a denarius, providing he worked from the time when he was called to sundown – even though this meant that some worked all day and others only for an hour.

Augustine thus draws the theologically important conclusion that the basis of our justification is the divine promise of grace made to us. God is faithful to that promise and thus justifies sinners. Just as the laborers who began work in the vineyard so late in the day had no claim to a full day’s wages, except through the generous promise of the owner, so sinners have no claim to justification and eternal life, except through the gracious promises of God, received through faith.

For Pelagius, however, humanity is justified on the basis of its merits: human good works are the result of the exercise of the totally autonomous human free will, in fulfillment of an obligation laid down by God. A failure to meet this obligation opens the individual to the threat of eternal punishment. Jesus Christ is involved in salvation only to the extent that he reveals, by his actions and teaching, exactly what God requires of the individual. If Pelagius can speak of “salvation in Christ,” it is only in the sense of “salvation through imitating the example of Christ.”

It will thus be clear that Pelagianism and Augustinianism represent two radically different outlooks, with very divergent understandings of the manner in which God and humanity relate to one another. Augustinianism would eventually gain the upper hand within the western theological tradition; nevertheless, Pelagianism continues to exercise influence over many Christian writers down the ages, not least those who felt that an emphasis upon the doctrine of grace could too easily lead to a devaluation of human freedom and moral responsibility.

The general lines of Augustine’s position can be studied from the following extract from his treatise “On Nature and Grace,” originally written in 415. Augustine here identifies the consequences of the Fall for human nature. Originally created without any fault, human nature is now contaminated by sin and can only be redeemed through grace.

Human nature was certainly originally created blameless and without any fault; but the human nature by which each one of us is now born of Adam requires a physician, because it is not healthy. All the good things, which it has by its conception, life, senses, and mind, it has from God, its creator and maker. But the weakness which darkens and disables these good natural qualities, as a result of which that nature needs enlightenment and healing, did not come from the blameless maker but from original sin, which was committed by free will (liberum arbitrium). … But God, who is rich in mercy, on account of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead through our sins, raised us up to life with Christ, by whose grace we are saved. But this grace of Christ, without which neither infants nor grown persons can be saved, is not bestowed as a reward for merits, but is given freely (gratis), which is why it is called grace(gratia).

In the first part of the passage, Augustine uses primarily medical imagery to describe the impact of sin on human nature – as seen in his use of the terms “physician,” “healthy,” “healing.” Note especially the emphasis on the original integrity of creation (line 1). Augustine’s concern here is to defend God against any charge that God is somehow responsible for sin or evil within the world. The present imperfection of the world does not result from God’s creation, but from original sin and the abuse of human free will. Augustine then establishes a connection between the Latin words gratis (“freely” or “without cost”) and gratia (“grace”). He then uses this point to reinforce his argument that salvation cannot be considered to be a reward, somehow earned through human merit, status, or achievement; rather, it is a gift.

Case Study 1.8 Faith and Philosophy

Christianity had its origins in Palestine. However, it soon began to expand along the borders of the Mediterranean Sea. Christian expansion into regions such as Egypt, Asia Minor, and Greece raised important issues for Christian writers. One of the most significant concerned the relationship of Christianity and classical philosophy. Much of the civilized world in this region spoke Greek and had at least some degree of familiarity with the ideas of classical Greek philosophy, whether this took the form of classical Platonism, Middle Platonism, or occasionally revived versions of classical paganism. The question therefore arose: how does the Christian gospel relate to these ways of thinking? Does it totally contradict them? Or were these classical ways of thinking in some way a form of preparation for the Christian gospel, which built on their foundations? To anticipate a question raised by Tertullian: what does Jerusalem have to do with Athens?

A description of the early confrontation between Christianity and classical paganism is found in Paul’s Areopagus address at Athens, documented in Acts 17:16–34. In this address, Paul appears to argue that the Christian gospel resonates with and builds upon central Stoic philosophical beliefs. What the Greeks held to be unknown, possibly unknowable, Paul argues to have been made known through Christ. A deity of whom Greek philosophy had some implicit or intuitive awareness is being made known to them by name and in full. The God who is known indirectly through the creation can be known directly and more fully in redemption.

Approaches along these lines can be found in the writings of patristic theologians active in cultural situations in which various forms of classic Greek philosophy were a significant presence. In what follows, we shall explore the approaches associated with Justin Martyr and Clement of Alexandria, both of whom were concerned to demonstrate that Christianity was consistent with certain forms of Platonism.

Justin Martyr (c.100–c.165). One of the most noted of the Christian apologists of the second century, with a concern to demonstrate the moral and intellectual credibility of Christianity in a pagan world. His First Apology stresses the manner in which Christianity brings to fulfillment the insights of classical philosophy, especially Middle Platonism.

In his two apologies for the Christian faith, written in Greek at Rome at some point during the period 148–161, Justin sets out a vigorous defense of Christianity, in which he seeks to relate the gospel to secular wisdom. The idea of the “Logos” is of major importance to Justin and needs to be considered. The Greek term “Logos” (best translated as “Word”) was used within Middle Platonism to refer to the mediating principle between the world of ideas and the everyday world. The term is applied to Jesus Christ in John’s gospel (see John 1:14, which declares that “the Logos became flesh, and dwelled among us”). Justin uses this statement to argue that all wisdom derives from the Logos, which is fully revealed in Jesus Christ, although it is not restricted to him.

Christ is the firstborn of God, and we have proclaimed that he is the Logos, in whom every race of people have shared. And those who live according to the Logos are Christians, even though they may have been counted as atheists – such as Socrates and Heraclitus, and others like them, among the Greeks. … Whatever either lawyers or philosophers have said well, was articulated by finding and reflecting upon some aspect of the Logos. However, since they did not know the Logos – which is Christ – in its entirety, they often contradicted themselves. … Whatever all people have said well belongs to us Christians. For we worship and love, next to God, the Logos, who comes from the unbegotten and ineffable God, since it was for our sake that he became a human being, in order that he might share in our sufferings and bring us healing. For all writers were able to see the truth darkly, on account of the implanted seed of the Logos which was grafted into them.

A central theme in Justin’s argument is the idea that God has scattered “the seeds (spermata) of his Logos” throughout the world before the coming of Christ, so that secular wisdom and truth can point, however imperfectly, to Christ. It follows that those who tried to live according to this “Logos” before the coming of Christ can be thought of as Christians, even though they would not have thought of themselves in this way. This aspect of Justin’s teaching would be repudiated by most other writers of the patristic period, who felt that he had gone too far in his attempts to relate faith and philosophy.

Note especially the following points:

Clement of Alexandria (c.150–c.215). A leading Alexandrian writer, with a particular concern to explore the relation between Christian thought and Greek philosophy.

A related approach is adopted a little later by Clement of Alexandria, who aims to bring out the way in which classical philosophy can be thought of as preparing the way for the gospel. Clement argues that God gave philosophy to the Greeks as a way of preparing them for the coming of Christ, in more or less exactly the same way as he gave the Jews the law of Moses. While not allowing that philosophy has the status of revelation, Clement goes beyond Justin Martyr’s suggestion that the mere seeds of the Logos are to be found in Greek philosophy.

Until the coming of the Lord, philosophy was necessary to the Greeks for righteousness. And now it assists those who come to faith by way of demonstration, as a kind of preparatory training for true religion. For “you will not stumble” (Proverbs 3:23) if you attribute all good things to providence, whether it belongs to the Greeks or to us. For God is the source of all good things, some directly (as with the Old and the New Testaments), and some indirectly (as with philosophy). But it might be that philosophy was given to the Greeks immediately and directly, until such time as the Lord should also call the Greeks. For philosophy acted as a “schoolmaster” to bring the Greeks to Christ, just as the law brought the Hebrews. Thus philosophy was by way of a preparation, which prepared the way for its perfection in Christ.

Note especially the following points:

Tertullian (c.160–c.225). A major figure in early Latin theology, who produced a series of significant controversial and apologetic writings. He is particularly noted for his ability to coin new Latin terms to translate the emerging theological vocabulary of the Greek-speaking Eastern church.

Yet not all early Christian writers shared such a positive attitude to classical philosophy. The third century Roman writer Tertullian is an example of a patristic writer who had serious misgivings concerning the place of philosophy within Christian thought, arguing that it could be profoundly misleading at points. Philosophy, he argued, was pagan in its outlook and its use in theology could only lead to heresy within the church. In his “On the Rule of the Heretics,” written in Latin in the first years of the third century, Tertullian sets up a celebrated contrast between Athens and Jerusalem, symbolizing the tension between pagan philosophy and the revelation of the Christian faith. Note that reference to the “Academy” is not a general reference to the academic world, but specifically to the Platonic Academy at Athens. For Tertullian, the pagan ideas of “the Academy” have no place within Christianity.

Philosophy provides the material of worldly wisdom, in boldly asserting itself to be the interpreter of the divine nature and dispensation. The heresies themselves receive their weapons from philosophy. It was from this source that Valentinus, who was a disciple of Plato, got his ideas about the “aeons” and the “trinity of humanity.” … What is there in common between Athens and Jerusalem and between the Academy and the church? Our system of beliefs comes from the Porch of Solomon, who himself taught that it was necessary to seek God in the simplicity of the heart.

Tertullian argues that, as a matter of historical fact, heresies seem to derive many of their leading ideas from secular Greek philosophy. This, in his view, is enough to raise very serious questions concerning the use of such philosophies in theology. So why should Christianity pay any attention to philosophy, when it is so clearly biased toward secular ideas? What has Athens to do with Jerusalem? What has the Platonic Academy got to do with the Christian church?

Tertullian’s points could, of course, be met by arguing for the need to critically appropriate the ideas of philosophy. It could be argued that Justin and Clement were perhaps unduly optimistic in their attitude toward secular philosophy, while Tertullian was too negative. Not every idea found in Greek philosophy was right, just as not every idea was wrong. It is this kind of approach that we find in the early writings of Augustine, to which we now turn.

Augustine of Hippo (354–430). Widely regarded as the most influential Latin patristic writer, Augustine was converted to Christianity at the northern Italian city of Milan in the summer of 386. He returned to North Africa and was made bishop of Hippo in 395. He was involved in two major controversies – the Donatist controversy, focusing on the church and sacraments, and the Pelagian controversy, focusing on grace and sin. He also made substantial contributions to the development of the doctrine of the Trinity and the Christian understanding of history.

In his work “On Christian doctrine,” originally written in Latin around 397, Augustine deals at some length with the relation between Christianity and pagan philosophy. Using the exodus from Egypt as a model, Augustine argues that there is no reason why Christians should not extract all that is good in philosophy and put it to the service of preaching the gospel. The analogy that he uses to justify this approach is found in the Book of Exodus in the Old Testament, which tells of the circumstances under which Israel left Egypt – an event that is universally known as “the Exodus.” Israel was oppressed while in Egypt; on escaping, the people left behind those burdens, yet carried off the treasures of their former oppressors. Therefore, Augustine argues, just as Israel left behind the burdens of Egypt, while carrying off its treasures, so theology can discard what is useless in philosophy and exploit what is good and useful.

If those who are called philosophers, particularly the Platonists, have said anything which is true and consistent with our faith, we must not reject it, but claim it for our own use…. Pagan learning is not entirely made up of false teachings and superstitions. It contains also some excellent teachings, well suited to be used by truth, and excellent moral values. Indeed, some truths are even found among them which relate to the worship of the one God. Now these are, so to speak, their gold and their silver, which they did not invent themselves, but which they dug out of the mines of the providence of God. … The Christian, therefore, can separate these truths from their unfortunate associations, take them away, and put them to their proper use for the proclamation of the gospel.

Augustine’s argument proved to be both influential and productive. In effect, he advocates a method of “critical appropriation” of the ideas and methods of secular philosophy. Where they are right and helpful, they can be adopted; where they are wrong or destructive, they are to be ignored. Christians can filter out what is good and true from secular philosophy and put it to the service of the Christian gospel.

It is widely agreed that the movement within Christianity that explored the relation between Christian faith and philosophy to greatest effect was “scholasticism,” a movement that flowered during the Middle Ages, and enjoyed a resurgence within Protestantism in the period following the deaths of Martin Luther and John Calvin. We shall explore this rich intellectual tradition in Case Study 2.1. Before that, however, we turn to the general exploration of this major period in the history of Christian thought.

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