St. John of Damascus and "Filioque"

St. John Damascene is frequently brought up in the filioque debate. Edward Siecienski recounts in his excellent book that Damascene's statement that only the Father is Cause of the Holy Spirit was the primary stumbling block for the Greek delegation at the Council of Florence.

Damascene's views on the procession of the Holy Spirit are subtle, but it is clear from a number of places in On the Orthodox Faith that he understands the Holy Spirit to proceed from the Father through the Son. Indeed, he says this explicitly. Of course, some people might interpret this procession through the Son as a merely "temporal" procession.

However, what is less often noted is Damascene's teaching in his somewhat less accessible work, On Heresies. If I recall correctly, it received no mention in Siecienski's book, but it is important for making clear that Damascene's procession through the Son is not merely in the temporal sphere. At the end of the work, he gives a creedal statement explicating the main dogmas of the orthodox faith. Here is the relevant passage:

Think of the Father as a spring of life begetting the Son like a river and the Holy Ghost like a sea, for the spring and the river and the sea are all one nature. Think of the Father as a root, and of the Son as a branch, and of the Spirit as a fruit, for the substance in these three is one. The Father is a sun with the Son as rays and the Holy Ghost as heat. (St. John of Damascus, On Heresies, 103)

While this makes it clear how the procession is certainly through the Son, clearly, the river plays a role in the production of the sea, the branch plays a role in the production of the fruit, and the rays play a role in the production of the heat. In other words, the Son plays an intrinsic causal role in the production of the Spirit. On the other hand, from this analogy one can easily discern a sense in which only the Father is the cause of the Spirit.

This is the same as what Latin theology says, and in fact these analogies are almost identical to those given by the Latin writer Tertullian, who says explicitly that the Holy Spirit proceeds through the Son and is clearly referring to the eternal relations in the Trinity. (See Against Praxeas Chs. 4 and especially 8 for the analogies.) Indeed, I wouldn't be surprised at all if Damascene's original source for these images ultimately traces back to Tertullian.

The issue is that the Greek Fathers mean by "proceed" and "cause" to also include the fact that the Father is the Source of the entire Trinity, including of the procession which happens through the Son. Whereas the Latins have a more minimal conception when using the word "proceeds," and are merely signifying that both Father and Son play some sort of causal role in the production, even though the Son's role is secondary. The Latins, after all, affirm that the Spirit proceeds "principally from the Father," as St. Augustine says. For more on this, see here. That is how St. Maximus was able to defend the Latin filioque as orthodox.

The problem is that Easterners who agree with the commonly held monopatrist view of Photius cannot accommodate Augustine or the other Western Fathers and saints, since this theory holds that the only procession through the Son is in the temporal sphere, while in the Trinity itself the Son and Spirit are like two completely separate branches from the Father, without any ontological relation to each other. There's no way to accommodate that within the Western Fathers, who already teach the filioque early on. But clearly the catholic Church cannot anathematize half of the Church Fathers. Western theology, on the other the hand, can easily accommodate the teaching of the Eastern Fathers that the Spirit proceeds through the Son, and that the Father is the source of the entire Trinity. As a number of Orthodox scholars have recognized, properly interpreted, there is not a contradiction between the Western and Eastern Fathers' views on the Holy Spirit's procession.

Contradiction Between Luke and Matthew on Judas' Field? Part II

In the previous post, I began discussing the apparent contradiction between Luke and Matthew on who purchased Judas' Field of Blood. I made some important preliminary points about parentheses and quotation practices in Luke, and I said I will try to show how the two passages are consistent by modifying the placement of parentheses. I will then argue for a slightly different translation of verse 18.

So, where should we place the parentheses? I'll just give you my answer. But it is a worthwhile exercise for the reader to consider what happens if we consider different placements of parentheses. (Or even whether we should have any!) There are actually many options here, several of them are interesting, and different placements might help explain the consistency of Luke's passage with Matthew's in different ways. But here is how I would do it, and I will explain why:

15 In those days Peter stood up among the believers (together the crowd numbered about one hundred twenty persons) and said, 16 “Friends, the scripture had to be fulfilled, which the Holy Spirit through David foretold concerning Judas, who became a guide for those who arrested Jesus— 17 for he was numbered among us and was allotted his share in this ministry. 18 Now this man acquired a field with the reward of his wickedness; and falling headlong, he burst open in the middle and all his bowels gushed out." 19 (This became known to all the residents of Jerusalem, so that the field was called in their language Hakeldama, that is, Field of Blood.) 20 “For it is written in the book of Psalms, ‘Let his homestead become desolate, and let there be no one to live in it’; and ‘Let another take his position of overseer.’

Not a huge change in placement, but a rather significant change in meaning. It changes the relevant passage about the Field of Blood (verse 18) from being merely Luke's narration to part of Peter's discourse.

Why is that important? In particular, how does this mere matter of placement make verse 18 any less in tension with Matthew 27:7? After all, just because Peter said it, that doesn't make the statement say anything different, right?

Well, no, actually, because as any linguist worth his salt will tell you, the meaning of an utterance is extremely sensitive to the context of utterance in which it occurs, i.e. to the discourse in which it is uttered. For example, the utterance "John is not a bad worker" can convey something completely different depending on whether it is uttered (a) by John's friend, in response to someone unfairly maligning John as a bad worker, or (b) by John's unimpressed supervisor, in response to the question "Isn't John such an amazing worker??"

So what does it do to the meaning of verse 18 when it is moved into Peter's speech? Well, it turns the statement from a mere reporting of a fact by the narrator, Luke, into a partly rhetorical and oratorical device, in an impassioned and prophetic speech given from the mouth of St. Peter, Prince of the Apostles, as he leads them with the first guidance they have received in an address since the Ascension.

Contradiction Between Luke and Matthew on Judas' Field? Part I

One difficulty in the New Testament is the apparent contradiction between Ss. Matthew and Luke in the recounting of Judas' death and the purchasing of a field.

There are two main problems: (1) How did Judas die? (2) Who bought the Field of Blood?*

In Acts, Luke describes Judas' death while recounting a speech of St. Peter's. Luke seems to say that Judas died by falling and bursting open (presumably from a height?). He also seems to claim that Judas purchased the Field of Blood himself.

Acts 1:15-20 (NRSV)

15 In those days Peter stood up among the believers (together the crowd numbered about one hundred twenty persons) and said, 16 “Friends, the scripture had to be fulfilled, which the Holy Spirit through David foretold concerning Judas, who became a guide for those who arrested Jesus— 17 for he was numbered among us and was allotted his share in this ministry.” 18 (Now this man acquired a field with the reward of his wickedness; and falling headlong, he burst open in the middle and all his bowels gushed out. 19 This became known to all the residents of Jerusalem, so that the field was called in their language Hakeldama, that is, Field of Blood.) 20 “For it is written in the book of Psalms, ‘Let his homestead become desolate, and let there be no one to live in it’; and ‘Let another take his position of overseer.’

Compare with Matthew, who says that Judas died by hanging himself. He also seems to say that it was the chief priests who purchased the field:

Matthew 27:1-10 (NRSV)

1 When morning came, all the chief priests and the elders of the people conferred together against Jesus in order to bring about his death. 2 They bound him, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate the governor. 

3 When Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and the elders. 4 He said, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.” But they said, “What is that to us? See to it yourself.” 5 Throwing down the pieces of silver in the temple, he departed; and he went and hanged himself. 6 But the chief priests, taking the pieces of silver, said, “It is not lawful to put them into the treasury, since they are blood money.” 7 After conferring together, they used them to buy the potter’s field as a place to bury foreigners. 8 For this reason that field has been called the Field of Blood to this day. 9 Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah, “And they took the thirty pieces of silver, the price of the one on whom a price had been set, on whom some of the people of Israel had set a price, 10 and they gave them for the potter’s field, as the Lord commanded me.”

In short, we have the following apparent contradictions regarding Judas' death:

Luke: Judas died by falling (from a height?) and bursting open. 

Matthew: Judas died by hanging himself.

Also, regarding the field:

Luke: Judas bought the field. 

Matthew: The chief priests bought the field.

As with most alleged contradictions in the NT, one can easily come up with some way of reconciling these passages. After all, they do not form a logically inconsistent set.

For example, you might claim that Judas hanged himself over a cliff, the rope broke, and he fell down and burst open. You might also hypothesize that Judas later arranged the purchase of the field at the behest of the priests. Thus, if one had particularly strong reasons for believing in biblical inerrancy beforehand, one might opt for a harmonization like this, even if it is not plausible in itself. (Incidentally, one good reason for believing in biblical inerrancy is that it is the constant teaching of the Catholic Church, including of Vatican II, as I explain here.) It would be better, though, if we could find a plausible way of explaining these apparently divergent accounts.

Literary Forms and Catholic Teaching on Inerrancy

Magisterial documents clearly show that biblical inerrancy is the teaching of the Catholic Church, including of Vatican II. Nevertheless, many have been confused by a common mistranslation of Vatican II's document Dei Verbum:

Since therefore all that the inspired authors or sacred writers affirm should be regarded as affirmed by the Holy Spirit, we must acknowledge that the books of Scripture firmly, faithfully, and without error teach that truth which God, for the sake of our salvation, wished to see confided to the Sacred Scriptures. (Emphasis added)

In fact, Dei Verbum says this:

Cum ergo omne id, quod auctores inspirati seu hagiographi asserunt, retineri debeat assertum a Spiritu Sancto, inde Scripturae libri veritatem, quam Deus nostrae salutis causa Litteris sacris consignari voluit, firmiter, fideliter et sine errore docere profitendi sunt.

In truth, the document just claims that "the books of Scripture teach truth." No demonstrative "that" can be found. There is no "eam" or "illam." Hence, no phrase "that truth" which might limit the truth of the Scriptures' statements to only the (presumably smaller) number of statements which are there "for the sake of our salvation." So there's no reason at all to think that Vatican II justifies abandoning previous unambiguous papal statements on inerrancy, statements which only have ever been affirmed and then reaffirmed.

Furthermore, it is clear that Vatican II's teaching on inspiration positively entails inerrancy given the first half of this passage, which identifies "all that the sacred authors assert" as also being "asserted by the Holy Spirit." Since the Holy Spirit by His very essence cannot be in error, it is analytically true (by definition) that His assertions are true. Hence, "all that the sacred authors assert" is true.

We can formalize this argument:

1. The set of statements that are asserted by the sacred author in Scripture = the set of statements asserted by the Holy Spirit in Scripture. [Statement actually made by Dei Verbum. Also see end-note.*]
2. If A asserts p, and A is not in error, then p is true. [Analytic truth; by definition]
3. The Holy Spirit cannot be in error. [De fide; also known by reason]
4. So, all the statements that are asserted by the sacred author in Scripture are true. [By 1-3]

1 - 3 logically entail 4, which is what inerrancy is. I see no way out of this.

Of course, all this still leaves open the question of what the sacred authors assert. Here, the Church has plainly noted the value of historical-critical studies of the Bible, and obviously does not insist on a literalistic interpretation of all of Scripture. Furthermore, the Church has clearly exhorted interpreters to be attentive to the authors' uses of "literary forms" or "genres" - phrases that rather inadequately express the full range of interpretive tools available to orthodox biblical exegetes.

In actuality, it might be better to speak of sacred authors' uses of "literary devices," and of "literary customs" that were taken for granted among the authors and their peers (although even here, this is still probably inadequate to cover all that is meant by "literary forms"). See, for example, Pius XII's Divino Afflante Spiritu, secs. 33 ff. - a text that absolutely must be read by Catholic interpreters to understand the nuances of the Catholic position on inerrancy.

So, for instance, at least to the best of my understanding I cannot see a problem with views like Michael Licona's, which claim that Gospel authors rearranged materials in a partly non-chronological way in accordance with literary customs of their time, and were therefore neither trying to mislead the audience nor trying to convey an exact chronology of events. At least, that is, I cannot see a problem from the perspective of Catholic dogmatic teaching on inerrancy. (This isn't necessarily to say I agree with Licona's view, of course.)

Link: Pope Francis: Marriage is Indissoluble

Pope Francis states, in very clear terms, the traditional Catholic teaching on the indissolubility of marriage, here.

Suarez's Modal Distinction and the Eucharist

Sorry for the lack of posts and for being bad about approving comments. I've been very busy this quarter as I'm taking three math classes, and this consumes most of my time. Here is an explanation (albeit somewhat oversimplified) of Suarez's idea of the 'modal distinction'. Suarez is an excellent, extremely clear late medieval philosopher. I wish more of his works were in English and I hope he will be canonized some day. The reference for Suarez's theory of distinctions is his Metaphysical Disputation VII.

Suarez makes three types of metaphysical distinctions. There are two which most philosophers of his era admit to exist: the real distinction and the distinction of reason. A real distinction holds between A and B just in case A can exist without B and B can exist without A. A prime example of a real distinction is between two substances, like me and my chair. A distinction of reason on the other hand holds between A and B just in case A and B are really the same and thus mutually inseparable, yet we conceive A and B using distinct and incomplete concepts. So, one of the primary examples Suarez appeals to is the divine attributes. Given the theory of divine simplicity (the idea that God has no proper parts at all) it seems to follow that God's justice is really the same as God's mercy. They are both mutually inseparable in the sense that neither can exist without the other. However, we use different and necessarily incomplete concepts to think about each of them. This explains why it is not obviously true that God's mercy is identical to God's justice, even though both phrases and their corresponding concepts refer to the same being.

Aside from these two Suarez admits a third distinction, called a modal distinction. The motivation for this distinction comes in large part from problems about the relationship between an accident and its inherence in a substance. The problem is raised by Bl. John Duns Scotus, taking as his starting point the case of the Eucharist (though his argument doesn't really depend on this example in particular).  We know in the case of the Eucharist that the accidents of the bread such as the quantity remain even though the substance of the bread does not. Hence, the accidents no longer inhere in the substance. So suppose that the quantity of the bread were not really distinct from its relation of inhering in the substance of the bread. Then since the quantity of the bread exists after transubstantiation, so would its inhering in the substance of the bread. But clearly the quantity's inhering in the bread cannot exist unless it inheres in the bread! This is a contradiction, since in the case of the Eucharist the accidents no longer inhere in the bread. Hence, it seems to follow there is a real distinction between a quantity and its relation of inhering (similar arguments can be run for other relations of union or composition).

But this leads to problems of its own. Let I be the relation of inhering between an accident a and substance b. Suppose I is really distinct from a as Scotus's argument appears to show. Then since I is an accident of a (it's a feature of a connecting it to b), it follows there must be some relation I* between I and a in virtue of which I inheres in a. But then there must be some relation I** between I* and I in virtue of which I* inheres in I, and so on. This creates an infinite regress, which is problematic to say the least. So it seems whichever way we go we have an issue. If the relation of inhering is really distinct from the accident, we have an infinite regress. If it is not really distinct from the accident, we have a contradiction.

While nominalists like Ockham have their own solution to this quandary, Suarez is a metaphysical realist, and thus unlike the nominalists he thinks as a matter of semantic principle that there must correspond to the term 'inheres' some extramental being. It is with this concern in mind that Suarez develops his notion of a modal distinction. A modal distinction is a distinction which obtains between a being and its mode. Suarez is using the word 'being' here in a strong sense, to denote a real, particular individual, in scholastic terminology a 'res' (though this need not be a substance). A mode on the other hand is just a way in which a being or 'res' can exist. So Suarez wants to say that instead of letting an accident's inhering be a really distinct relation, we let it simply be a mode or way of being of the accident. Suarez considers this modal distinction to be a distinction intermediate between a real distinction and a distinction of reason, because the accident can exist separately from its mode (at least by the power of God), but the mode cannot exist separately from the accident. Since this is the only intermediate distinction Suarez admits, he takes A and B to be modally distinct just in case A can exist without B but B cannot exist without A, or vice versa (but not both).

Clearly then Scotus's problem was with his first argument; Scotus assumed that if the quantity of the bread and its inhering are not really distinct then it follows they are both mutually inseparable. Suarez on the other hand allows that it is possible for a being to be separable from its mode even though they are not really distinct; after all, a being's mode is not in itself a 'being' in the strong sense, so it is not some separate 'being', and thus it is not really distinct. With his modal distinction laid out Suarez has the tools to give a very nice solution to the problem of the Eucharist. The accidents of the bread and wine can continue to exist even without the substance because it is not part of their essence that they inhere in something; inhering is only one of their modes. While it is obviously not a natural occurrence that an accident exist without its mode of inhering, it is not metaphysically impossible, and thus God can bring it about by his power.

While Suarez's account seems secure there is one objection. Someone like St. Thomas Aquinas might object that the essence of an accident includes mention of the substance of which it is a part. However, at least in the case of the Eucharist, even Aquinas makes exceptions, and thus this account must obviously be modified. And Suarez can easily modify it by saying that accidents are beings whose definition include that it is metaphysically possible that they inhere in a subject. Substances by contrast are beings for which it is metaphysically impossible that they possess the mode of inhering. So it seems Suarez's modal distinction provides a coherent solution to all the puzzles set out above.

Thomistic vs. Molinist Predestination Part III

In the last post I discussed whether a Thomist could preserve both the efficacy of God's will and the libertarian freedom of our actions, and it seems to me that he can. Hence, the Molinist objection that God's causing a free action is impossible doesn't work, so we are left with the Thomist view which better preserves God's sovereignty.

The problem then, as brought up in the original post, is in how we can reconcile God's ability to cause anyone to freely choose him with the fact that God doesn't do so. For the teaching of Scripture is that God wills that all men be saved. Now, Aquinas distinguishes between God's antecedently willing that all be saved and his consequently willing that only some be saved, which I explained in the original post. The problem with Thomas' example is that God's will, unlike that of the judge example he uses, is intrinsically efficacious, even in the case of free action.

We can state the problem equivalently as follows. God wills that all men be saved, as we know from Scripture and the teaching of the Church. Since God's will is efficacious, it follows that all men are in fact saved. But it is false that all men are saved. So it seems we have a straight contradiction. Hence, we must understand the 'antecedent' will as willing in some other sense--according to Aquinas this would be a willingness rather than a simple willing--since it is clearly God's consequent will which is actually satisfied (some people are not saved and are damned). The problem is that I have difficulty understanding how God could have a "willingness" distinct from a simple willing if he is absolutely and most simple. Let me explain:

God should be construed as lacking any potentiality to be fulfilled. Now, the way I understand this consequent will, being a willingness, is as a sort of "background desire" to have everyone be saved. But a desire is something that can be fulfilled. So God has a potentiality to be fulfilled, which is false. Hence there is no such willingness.

Maybe the problem here is that we should reject this understanding of "willingness." I may simply be misunderstanding Thomas' notion here. This interpretation may be somewhat uncharitable anyway, since Aquinas explicitly argues that the order between antecedent and consequent is in God's effects and not in his absolutely simple will itself. So my question then is how this can be. One way I'm thinking of construing this willingness is as follows: God absolutely wills the existence of human beings; the natural end of each human being is union with God; so in some sense God wills their salvation just by willing their existence. So God wills their salvation in one respect, though by not willing their predestination does not will it in another respect. Hence, no contradiction. Another way might be to say that God gives men sufficient grace to choose him; (sufficient grace on the Thomistic view is grace which gives one the ability to choose God, but which does not entail one actually does); hence God wills that all men have the means to salvation; so in some sense God wills that all are saved. I am not so sure about either of these options, either as to whether they are what Thomas intended or whether they work.

The key then is to find some notion of 'antecedent will', distinct from God's simple and absolute willing. And this is where I'm stuck at. It appears that the Molinist view doesn't work since Thomism can preserve freedom and perfect sovereignty (not even mentioning the other problems with Molinism); the Thomist view seems inadequate insofar as it is not clear what God's antecedent will is, this being a willing apart from God's efficacious, absolute, and simple will. Is there some third way that I'm missing? I don't think Congruism can help here, since there is still the question of why God doesn't elect all people he creates, and from my reading Scotus's doctrine here is not much different from Thomas' or Augustine's. Maybe this is a good theological reason to accept a weaker version of God's sovereignty in favor of Molinism? Any thoughts?

Thomistic vs. Molinist Predestination Part I

This post comes out of a very large and high-quality discussion on predestination on Facebook. If you don't have Facebook you should really get it, if only because (among other things) we have a thriving Thomism group on there. I will be posting in three parts.

So, I'm kind of agnostic between Thomistic and Molinist views of predestination at the moment (though sympathetic to the Thomistic view). I'm worried about the Thomistic view since if God's will is efficacious then he should be able to bring about the salvation of all, and so the only explanation for why not all are saved is that God does not will it, which is contrary to Scripture. Aquinas replies by distinguishing between God's consequent and antecedent will. So God in general ('antecedently') wills that all men be saved, but taking all things into consideration ('consequently') wills that only some are saved; just as a judge wills that all men should live but taking into consideration particular cases wills that some should die. However, the difference between the two cases is that God's will can never be thwarted or perverted.

The problem with the Molinist view in my book is that I don't think it fits well with God's providence/omnipotence. The Molinist will reply that there's no problem, since it's not contrary to God's omnipotence if God can't bring about something that's impossible, and God's causing someone to freely choose him is impossible, since a free action can't be determined. But here I see no reason why God cannot bring about either of two contraries of a person's choice (i.e. either action A or not-A) and the action still be free--for God and creatures are working on different causal plains so to speak; God creates 'ex nihilo' by giving the whole of existence to particular states of affairs, whereas creatures cause in the sense of interacting with each other. It is only causing in the latter sense of interacting with by coercing or forcing that is incompatible with free will, and this is not the sense in which God is a cause.

To elaborate on the Thomistic point about how God can cause free actions we must distinguish different senses of the word 'cause.' First there is the sense of 'cause' in terms of interacting. Let's call this 'cause1'. So, for instance, this is what it means when I push you and 'cause' you to fall down, or when neurons cause arms to move, or if Cartesianism is true what happens when the soul causes the body to move. God does not cause in this sense; God does not cause1.

There is another sense of cause which means to create ex nihilo at evey moment, to 'sustain' or give being to things (although I have some reservations about the word 'sustain' since I think it can be misleading, since God isn't in time). We can call this cause2. God causes in this sense by being the cause of all being other than himself. He gives existence or 'esse' to everything. This is a very central doctrine to Thomism. God is the only person who causes in this sense; God is the only person who can cause2. God can cause2 anything that is possible. And on libertarian free will either of two contraries--i.e. either of action A or ~A--is possible, so God can cause2 either. Though I would agree he can't cause1 them, since that would entail determinism.

Now, maybe one can argue that even in the sense of cause2, this counts as a form of determinism which limits moral responsibility, and hence we should revert to the Molinist response. In Part II I'll respond to this point.