Chapter 1 The Locus Classicus of Divine Simplicity
CHAPTER 1
The Locus Classicus of Divine Simplicity
What does it mean for God to be simple? And why must God be simple? The reasoning underlying the patristic affirmation of divine simplicity is a puzzling one. G. C. Stead laments that while lengthy treatments have been written on the use of ἁπλοῦς—the Greek term for simplicity—to denote a moral virtue, little is found that explains the difficult and complex doctrine of divine simplicity.1 According to Stead, divine simplicity was an idea adopted by early Christians from Greek philosophy in a vague fashion. A set of interrelated terms (ἁπλοῦς, ἀμερής, ἀξύνθετον) were used to express the idea of divine simplicity without sufficient clarity as to the distinctive meaning of each term.2 This is problematic, Stead contends, because the terms commonly associated with divine simplicity were used in different philosophical contexts in antiquity.3 The interconnection between the terms commonly entangled with divine simplicity by early Christian authors—unity (unicus), priority (primus), immutability (immutabilitas), constancy (constans), goodness (bonus), and truth (verus)—calls for a systematic study in its own right given the complexity of the matter. The lack of systematic clarity on this issue in early Christian thought thus led Stead to conclude that the patristic understanding of divine simplicity remains “largely intuitive.”
METAPHYSICAL AND ETHICAL SIMPLICITY
The difficulty with divine simplicity goes further still. In antiquity, the term “simple” possessed many senses.4 It is therefore unclear which meaning is of prime importance when it comes to God’s simplicity. As Stead has already alluded to, there are broadly two distinctive senses of simplicity. First, “simple” can be understood in an ethical sense. One who is simple is one who is morally pure. The ethical sense is concerned with the constancy of a virtuous agent who, in contrast with the evil-doer, is always perfectly self-consistent and hence trustworthy. Second, “simple” can be understood in a metaphysical sense. Something is metaphysically simple if it is ontologically basic. Consequently, a simple reality possesses a sense of constancy that exempts it from suffering any change. One way to gain clarity about divine simplicity is to judge, with Stead, that the simplicity of God, compared to moral simplicity, belongs to “another realm of discourse.”5 On this assumption, God’s simplicity is primarily concerned with the metaphysical sense and not the ethical sense. Hence, while the ethical sense of simplicity is relatively clear, the lack of metaphysical precision surrounding the idea of divine simplicity in early Christian thought warrants Stead’s judgment that the doctrine remained vague in the patristic period. But in reality, it is far from clear that divine simplicity was merely a metaphysical idea for the ancients, as we shall see.
While the doctrine of divine simplicity cannot be reduced to a matter of how words are applied to God, Stead’s classical studies highlight genuine difficulties with approaching the meaning of the doctrine in antiquity. Further clarity, then, is therefore necessary for making sense of divine simplicity when it first emerged in early Christian thought. In particular, two issues are pertinent for this task. First, how did various ideas (unity, immutability, indivisibility, etc.) become connected to divine simplicity? Is it correct to follow Stead’s judgment that the interconnection between these ideas lacked clarity in antiquity? Second, is there a sharp disjunction between metaphysical and ethical simplicity in the case of the divine? Is it right to consider, with Stead, that divine simplicity belongs to a different domain of discourse than ethical simplicity? The aim of this chapter is to establish a baseline meaning of divine simplicity that will serve as the foundation for the rest of the study. Here I offer a fresh attempt to clarify these issues through examining a hitherto underused resource in the study of divine simplicity in antiquity, that is, Plato’s Republic 380d–383c. My central thesis is that Rep. 380d–383c should be regarded as the locus classicus of the idea of divine simplicity in antiquity. In other words, I shall argue that this text supplies a starting point in light of which one can make sense of subsequent developments on the theme of divine simplicity. The two parts of this chapter will consider both the context and the content of this passage in order to substantiate this claim. From this consideration, clarity will emerge regarding the two fundamental issues highlighted by Stead concerning the meaning of divine simplicity in antiquity.
THE LOCUS CLASSICUS: PLATO’S REPUBLIC, BOOK 2
The Wider Context of Rep. 380d–383c
Rep. 380d–383c, to my knowledge, is the earliest direct discussion of divine simplicity in Greek philosophy.6 Plato’s discussion on this theme is situated within the central topic of Book 2, namely, the education of the guardians of the state. In Rep. 377e, Socrates begins an argument about the role of traditional fables about the gods in the state’s educational program for the guardians. According to Socrates, not all traditional stories told about the gods, such as those found in Hesiod or Homer, are appropriate for the guardians to receive in their youth.7 Any traditional poet who “images badly in his speech the true nature of gods and heroes” (εἰκάζῃ τις κακῶς τῷ λόγῳ περὶ θεῶν τε καὶ ἡρώων οἷοί εἰσιν) is to be blamed. By presenting tales about some deity suffering at the hand of his son or gods warring with other gods, traditional fables could lead to a malformed understanding of justice and injustice in the guardians. In light of this, Socrates suggests that there is a need in the ideal state to lay down the “patterns for theological speech” (οἱ τύποι περὶ θεολογίας) according to which poets must compose their myths about the gods. For Socrates, the principle of composition is that a god must always be described as he is.8 Rep. 379b–383c, then, sets out two laws (νόμοι) that unpack this principle in detail.
The first law of theological speech aims to safeguard divine goodness. The premise of this law is that a god is good (ἀγαθός) and must be spoken of as such.9 Consequently, a god is not to be portrayed as “the cause of all things.” Since goodness cannot lead to anything harmful, a good god cannot be the cause (αἴτιον) of evil. One must conclude that a god should be regarded not as the cause of all things (πάντων αἴτιος) but as the cause of only good things (τἀγαθά). This law has practical implication for assessing theological literature. When one encounters poets who wish to associate evil deeds with the gods in their stories, Socrates suggests two possible responses. Either one forbids them to say that the evil deeds are the work of the gods or to devise some interpretation of the events according to which the gods’ actions were righteous and good and the people suffering apparent evil deeds at the hands of the gods were in fact “benefited by their chastisement.”10 The first law of theological speech, then, would require poets to present the gods as good, identifying the divine as the cause of only good things.
Starting from Rep. 380d, Socrates then turns to propose a second law that aims to safeguard the simplicity of the gods. He asks:
Do you think that god is a wizard and capable of manifesting himself by design, now in one aspect, now in another, at one time himself changing and altering his shape into many forms and at another deceiving us and causing us to believe such things about him; or that he is simple [ἁπλοῦν] and less likely than anything else to depart from his own form?11
In this passage, Socrates offers two contrasting pictures of a god. On the first account, the god is depicted as capable of appearing in multiple forms (πολλὰς μορφάς). This picture portrays a god who is changeable from one form to another, like a sorcerer who changes himself to deceive others. Socrates probably had in mind stories such as those about Thetis transforming herself in the Odyssey or Hera disguised as a priestess in Aeschylus’s stories.12 In contrast, on Socrates’ preferred account, a god should be portrayed as simple (ἁπλοῦν) and “least of all likely to step out of his own form (τῆς ἑαυτοῦ ἰδέας).”13 It is, then, in the context of putting forth an alternative theology to the one found in traditional Greek mythologies, that divine simplicity acquires its role alongside divine goodness as one of two laws that regulate the pattern for theological speech in the ideal state.14
The wider context, therefore, suggests that the primary role assigned to divine simplicity in Rep. 380d–383c is that of a normative “pattern for theological speech.” This observation lends considerable weight to my earlier suggestion that Rep. 380d–383c should be treated as a paradigmatic background to the doctrine of divine simplicity in antiquity. For it is precisely as a “pattern for theological speech” that we find the language of divine simplicity employed in early Christian thought, a point firmly established by recent scholarship.15 According to Lewis Ayres, divine simplicity is best understood as a strategy or principle commonly used by patristic authors to shape “the basic contours . . . of appropriate patterns of theological speech.”16 Divine simplicity, for the early Christians, concerns the “grammar” for talking about God as “a set of rules or principles intrinsic to theological discourse, whether or not they are formally articulated.”17 Patristic writers constantly draw on divine simplicity as a rule to eliminate theologically untenable positions on a range of topics.18 Even though they might be “loose and inconsistent” in terms of their definitions of simplicity, nevertheless there are consistent patterns of how they use the doctrine to shape theological discourse about God.19 Andrew Radde-Gallwitz extends Ayres’s analysis further by suggesting that divine simplicity is employed by patristic writers as a grammatical rule similar to logical rules such as the law of noncontradiction.20 Just as human discourse is governed by the rule of noncontradiction such that we may not attribute two contradictory claims or statements to a subject, so theological discourse about God is governed by grammatical rules such as divine simplicity in addition to the usual logical rules.21 Thus, divine simplicity is not merely a first-order claim about the absence of parts or composition in God but also provides a “second-order rule for speaking about God.”22 The conclusions reached by recent scholarship, however, follow naturally if Plato’s discussion in The Republic is taken as the locus classicus of divine simplicity in antiquity. The first law of theological speech, that God can be assigned only as the source of goodness, is undoubtedly a central pillar that regulates early Christian theological discourse. One should then expect the second law to be assimilated by Christian authors as well. Moreover, it is not difficult to imagine that divine simplicity, set out in the context of a philosophical critique of traditional myths, passes through to later well-educated writers (including early Christians) through their Graeco-Roman education.23 In light of the wider context of Rep. 380d–383c, there are then good reasons for regarding this text as a foundational background for the intelligibility of divine simplicity in antiquity.
Analysis of Rep. 380d–383c
Rep. 380d reveals three contrasting accounts of deities at the heart of Socrates’ understanding of divine simplicity. First, he contrasts a god who possesses multiple forms with a god who is single in form. Second, he contrasts a god who can change into multiple forms with a god who is incapable of such changes. Third, he contrasts a god who deceives with a god who is truthful. In this text, then, Socrates interweaves three themes with divine simplicity that expand the meaning of the doctrine: unity, immutability, and truthfulness. Conversely, with reference to these themes, the opposite of simplicity can also be defined through multiplicity, mutability, and deceitfulness. As Socrates’ argument for divine simplicity unfolds, these themes are interconnected closely so as to form a constellation of ideas.
The case Socrates offers for divine simplicity rests on a two-part argument: if a god is truly capable of appearing in multiple forms, as suggested by some of the fables of the poets, then either (a) a god is able to do so through some form of change, or (b) a god is doing so only deceptively while remaining single in form by nature. In Rep. 380e–381e, Socrates refutes the possibility of a, and in Rep. 381e–383a, he refutes the possibility of b. In both cases, he seeks to show that both possibilities will lead to absurdities, leading him to conclude that it is not right to depict a god as appearing in multiple nonconsistent appearances that will lead to deception about the divine. In the first part of the argument, Socrates refutes the possibility of change in a god by considering the nature of a perfect being. He argues that a god cannot appear in multiple forms, taking different forms at different times, because a god cannot change. If a god changes from one form to another, then either he is changed by another or he changes himself. The first option is rejected with the following argument:
1. The best things are least liable to be altered or changed (ἀλλοιοῦταί τε καὶ κινεῖται) by another (380e).
2. A god (and divinity in general) is in the best condition in every way (ὁ θεός γε καὶ τὰ τοῦ θεοῦ πάντῃ ἄριστα ἔχει) (381b).
3. A god is not liable to be altered or changed by another.
Socrates’ argument relies on the idea that what is most perfect admits the least change by external causes. The standard of perfection invoked here is one of permanence: what is perfect should also be permanent, because if something lacks permanence, then its state is hardly in the best condition since it is subjected to corruption. Having rejected the possibility of a god’s being changed by another, he turns to reject the second option, namely, that a god would change himself:
4. If a god changes himself, then either he becomes (a) better and more beautiful or (b) worse and uglier (381b).
5. Premise 4a is absurd since a god is perfect and lacking in nothing (381c).
6. Premise 4b is absurd since no one would deliberately make themself worse (381c).
7. A god would not wish to change himself.
This second argument further clarifies what it means for a god to be perfect, as asserted previously in the second premise of the first argument. According to Socrates, if a god is perfect, then it is inconceivable that he could change himself for the better since it is impossible for a god to be better than he is. Furthermore, if a god is perfect, then it seems obviously absurd that such a perfect being would make himself worse than he is, that is, less perfect. It follows, then, that a perfect god also would not change himself. With the two sets of considerations taken together, the conclusion of Socrates’ argument is that a god cannot be changed by another, nor would he change himself, since both conclusions are absurd when applied to a god, the most perfect being.
It is worth noting that Socrates’ argument clarifies the precise sense of immutability underlying a god’s simplicity that is entailed by the god’s perfection. The key observation is that the second step above (premises 4–7) defends only the claim that a god would not change himself. It does not seek to establish the claim that a god could not change himself. This is because premise 6 does not state that a god could not deliberately make himself worse but rather relies on the intuition, without further elaboration, that no one would wish to deliberately make themself worse.24 Hence it is crucial to note this distinction and observe that given Socrates’ commitment to premise 6, his doctrine of divine immutability entails two rather precise claims: (a) a god cannot be changed by another, and (b) a god would not change himself. Due to divine immutability in this sense, it is impossible for a god to appear in multiple forms, now appearing in one form, then later in another.25
Having established divine immutability, Socrates then turns to the second part of his argument for divine simplicity. Given that a god is immutable, is it possible that he could still appear in multiple forms but through an act of deception? In other words, could a god deceptively appear in multiple forms even though in reality he is single in form? Socrates refutes this possibility with the following argument:
1. If a god deceives us regarding his form, then he is willing to be false.
2. True falsehood—possessing falsehood in one’s soul—is abhorred by all gods and humans (382a–c).
3. Falsehood merely in words could in no way be useful to a god (382c–d).
4. The divine is in every way free from falsehoods.
This argument ultimately rests on the implicit assumption that divine perfection also consists of ethical immutability. This is the idea that if a god is morally perfect, he would not choose to deceive anyone regarding his true nature. A god is immutable, then, also in the sense that he will not present himself in a form that deviates from what is consistent with his nature. From this assumption, Socrates argues that both true falsehood (ἀληθῶς ψεῦδος) and falsehood in words (τὸ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ψεῦδος) cannot be found in a god. First, a god, being a perfectly moral being, despises true falsehood. The idea of true falsehood refers to the case in which there is true ignorance in the soul of either the deceiver or the deceived.26 While Socrates does not spell this out explicitly, the thought seems to be that a god cannot act (e.g., appear in multiple forms) to produce true ignorance in the deceived since he is a perfectly moral being who despises any falsehood. The further thought that a god could deceive others because of ignorance about his own nature is obviously absurd. It is then absurd to hold that a god would deceive either due to true falsehood in someone or due to true falsehood in himself. Second, it is also not possible that a god would choose to deceive anyone for a cause serviceable to him. While in the case of human beings there are instances in which it might be serviceable to deceive another, it would be absurd to imagine that any of these instances would ever occur in the case of gods. As Socrates explains:
But what of the falsehood in words, when and for whom is it serviceable so as not to merit abhorrence? Will it not be against enemies? And when any of those whom we call friends owing to madness or folly attempt to do some wrong, does it not then become useful to avert the evil—as a medicine? And also in the fables of which we were just now speaking owing to our ignorance of the truth about antiquity, we liken the false to the true as far as we may and so make it edifying. . . . Tell me, then, on which of these grounds falsehood would be serviceable to god. Would he because of his ignorance of antiquity make false likenesses of it? . . . Would it be through fear of his enemies that he would lie? Would it be because of the folly or madness of his friends? . . . Then there is no motive for god to deceive.27
In other words, the grounds for regarding falsehoods as useful in the case of human beings, when applied to a god, would lead to absurd conclusions. Based on the impossibility of attributing true falsehood or falsehood in words to a god, Socrates concludes that it is absurd to believe that a god can appear in multiple forms through deception.
Drawing together the two parts of the argument, Socrates summarizes the second law concerning divine simplicity as a pattern for theological speech: “God is altogether simple and true in deed and word, and neither changes himself nor deceives others by vision or words or the sending of signs in waking or in dreams.”28 This sentence aptly captures how the core meaning of divine simplicity is to be understood in relation to the two conclusions established by the two parts of Socrates’ argument: immutability and truthfulness. Or, to put it in more striking terms, to say that a god is simple is to say that he is immutable in the metaphysical sense (he cannot be changed by another, nor would he change himself) and in the ethical sense (he does not deceive by appearing in ways inconsistent with his nature).
Plato’s Republic and the Intelligibility of Divine Simplicity
Rep. 380d–383c clarifies two fundamental questions concerning the meaning of divine simplicity in antiquity I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter. First, this text shines a great light on the assumption commonly made by ancient writers that a god’s simplicity is intrinsically connected to his unity, immutability, constancy, goodness, and truthfulness. It does so by unveiling the supposed link between the different ideas. Divine simplicity is linked to divine unity because God’s self-consistency implies that he would not appear in multiple forms in a deceptive manner. The first part of Socrates’ argument shows how divine simplicity is grounded in divine immutability. The second part of Socrates’ argument highlights that divine simplicity is also grounded in a god’s constancy, which underlies his truthfulness. Moreover, in The Republic a god’s simplicity is set out alongside his goodness as one of the two indispensable laws that regulate the pattern for theological speech in the ideal state. Rep. 380d–383c, therefore, addresses Stead’s puzzlement by putting forth a framework that accounts for why it was intelligible and considered coherent in antiquity to set out the idea of divine simplicity through this specific constellation of ideas.
Second, in this passage the core meaning of divine simplicity surfaces. Divine simplicity, it turns out, is deeply grounded in a god’s perfect self-consistency and truthfulness. This meaning is set out apart from any considerations of the commonly supposed metaphysical qualifications for a god’s simplicity, namely, noncomposition and partlessness. Contrary to Stead’s judgment, then, divine simplicity did not originate in antiquity as an idea that belongs to “another realm of discourse” from that of ethical simplicity. If anything, ethical simplicity seems to be the more primary sense attributed to a god in Rep. 380d–383c.29 In this passage, a god’s simplicity is largely understood in terms of perfect self-consistency. The term ἁπλοῦς is applied to a god on this basis. But of course, divine self-consistency, what I have called a god’s ethical immutability, is understood in relation to the constellation of ideas I mentioned above. A god is self-consistent in that he is one without appearing in multiple forms. A god is so because he is immutable in that he could not be changed and would not change himself. A god is also one and immutable because he is truthful and hence free from deceit. A god who is simple is first and foremost a god who is true in word and deed. It is then apparent that self-consistency, expanded in relation to this constellation of ideas, is what is denoted by the term ἁπλοῦς in this passage. Rep. 380d–383c thus challenges the assumption that divine simplicity is primarily a metaphysical idea belonging to another realm of discourse than that of ethical simplicity. Rather, it seems that divine simplicity originated as a synthesis of metaphysical and ethical considerations.
This chapter has put forward the case that Rep. 380d–383c should be regarded as the locus classicus of divine simplicity in antiquity. If this is correct, then we find in The Republic a basic framework that foregrounds the intelligibility of the doctrine for the ancients, accounting for both divine simplicity’s role as a second-order rule of speech in theological discourse and its basic meaning. Admittedly, though, the notion of ethical simplicity that emerged from this passage is surprising in the light of what philosophers and theologians commonly understand to be the doctrine of divine simplicity. It is not yet clear, in particular, how Plato’s discussion in The Republic can account for the metaphysical dimensions (a god’s partlessness, noncomposition, incorporeality, etc.) commonly recognized as the primary content of the doctrine. Rep. 380d–383c, then, cannot be the full story.
One further problem, moreover, needs highlighting. As Gerhard van Riel has argued, it is questionable whether Plato’s gods can be identified as metaphysical first principles.30 On this issue, Plato scholars are divided in their opinions. Some hold that this identification is indeed latent in Plato’s works.31 Others hold that evidence does not point toward this identification.32 If van Riel is correct, that Plato’s gods are souls that are dissoluble, composite beings subjected to fate imposed by the metaphysical order at large, then Plato’s theology is a long way from putting forward a metaphysical first principle of all things, a notion that was central for the early Christians. Is the doctrine of divine simplicity found in The Republic at all relevant to understanding the Christian God who is the supreme metaphysical principle of all things?
While it is hardly likely that the “divine” in Rep. 380d–383c is already identified as a metaphysical first principle by Plato, this possibility is latent in his discussion of forms in the same work. In Rep. 475e–480a, in the context of describing the nature of the true philosophers, Plato sets out an important discussion on the nature of forms. In order to clarify the nature of the true philosophers, this passage put forward a fundamental distinction. Readers are invited to reflect on the nature of forms. For instance, we consider the fair and honorable (καλός) as the opposite of the base and ugly (αἰσχρός). As opposites, then, the fair and the ugly are two, and consequently, each is one. This conclusion can be generalized, Socrates observes, to all the forms that have an opposite. The good (ἀγαθός) is opposite to the bad (κακός), thus forming a pair in which each is one. Similarly, the just (δίκαιος) is opposed the unjust (ἄδικος), hence forming another pair in which each is one. The conclusion is that “in itself each [form] is one,” but that “by virtue of their communion with actions and bodies and with one another they present themselves everywhere, each as a multiplicity of aspects.”33 Each form, then, is fundamentally one. But each appears in multiple forms as a result of its appearance in the form of actions, bodies, and combinations with other forms. With this distinction in mind, the “lovers of spectacles and the arts” and “men of action,” who are attached to the sense-perceptible appearances of things, cannot be true philosophers as they are unable to understand the true nature of the forms in themselves. The true philosophers, on the contrary, possess true knowledge of the beautiful and the good because they contemplate the beautiful and the good in and by themselves. But what essentially distinguishes the forms from particulars? According to Socrates, the form of Beauty, in contrast to many beautiful things, is “always remaining the same and unchanged” (ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὡσαύτως ὄντα).34 This implies the impossibility for the form of Beauty to appear in its contrary state, that is, to be ugly. Particular beautiful things, however, will always be capable of appearing in the contrary state. For instance, a beautiful flower will become ugly when it wilts. A just person might appear unjust due to circumstances or a change of character. In other words, as Constance Meinwald put it succinctly, “changing the context will typically reveal beautiful things to be ugly in some way, at some time, in some respect, etc.”35 Particular things, then, are subjected to the possibility of changing from their current state to their contrary state, whereas a form, “always remaining the same and unchanged,” will never be found in its contrary state.
This passage uncovers a close connection between the essential character of the forms and the description of divine simplicity already latent in The Republic. For the language of god’s simplicity in Rep. 380d–383c amounts to the claim that the divine is “always remaining the same”—one, immutable, free from contraries—which is also the language used by Plato for the forms.36 This connection opens up the possibility, in the context of later Platonism, to identify the simple divinity as the source of all there is in The Republic, that is, the form of the Good.37 This connection provides a path to make sense of later developments of divine simplicity in ancient philosophy in which metaphysical qualifications of the doctrine will be emphasized. As will become clear in the next chapter, later writers in the Middle Platonic period seized upon this possible connection and hence the possibility of identifying the simple divinity as this highest form, the supreme first principle of all things (“God” with a capital G). This development in the Middle Platonic period turned out to be crucial in shaping the metaphysical aspects of divine simplicity integral to the ante-Nicene Christian understanding. And so it is to Middle Platonic sources that we must now turn in search of the missing metaphysics.