The Suffering of the Impassible God (Arianism Opposed)

Introduction

Chapter 1
Chapter 2

Chapter 3
Chapter 4 

Continuing the summary of Gavrilyuk’s book:

In reaction against Patripassionism, with its failure to distinguish the Father and the Son, some turned to ditheism or tritheism and others demoted Christ from full deity. It was this last proposal that gained the most traction at the popular level.

Anti-Nicene literature is full of arguments against Sabellianism, a clear sign that their theology developed in response to modalistic extremes. Dionysius of Alexandria (d. c.264), for example, sought to correct certain Sabellian bishops by emphasizing the differences between the Father and the Son.  He wrote to them that ‘the Son of God is a creature and made’ and compared the Father and Son to a boat and its maker.

Another evidence of this resistance to Sabellianism can be seen in the local editions of the ancient Roman creed. In Aquilea and Milan (for part of the 4^th century) the words ‘invisible and impassible’ were added to the first article (referring only to the Father). Rufinus of Aquilea wrote (early 5^th century) that this language was added to counter the Patripassian heresy ‘which said that the Father himself was born of the Virgin and became visible, or affirmed that he suffered in the flesh.’

Ambrose of Milan, while recognizing that these creedal additions did effectively refute Sabellianism, contended that in his day they should be rejected because they lent credence to the Arians’ views. They used these additions to commend their contention that, unlike the Father, Christ was passible and mutable from the beginning. Again, the rejection of the extreme of Sabellianism led to the opposite extreme of subordinationism.

Five Interpretations of Arianism

There are at least five distinct interpretations of Arian theology:

1)      Following the later Platonic model of reality, Arian subordinationism emphasized the transcendence of the Father. He possessed all the apophatic attributes, unlike the generated God. The Son, being passible mutable, was able to communicate and interact with the creation. Suggested influences include: ‘Aristotle, Plato (and Platonists like Atticus and Albinus), Philo, origen, Lucian, Paul of Samosata, and the exegetes of the “schools” in Alexandria and Antioch’[1]

2)      The Arians were Judaizers, not Hellenizers. They sought to preserve Jewish monotheism. Christ was still somehow recognized as divine, or, as they often said, the ‘uniquely-generated God’ (monoghnej qeoj).

3)      Arius was a careful Bible student and took the statements about the Son’s inferiority to the Father seriously (John 14:28; Mark 13:32; John 6:38, etc.). Arius did not do much allegorizing. He tended to take the text rather literally, siding with the simpliciores rather than the Alexandrians who came before him. Maurice Wiles comes close to this interpretation.

4)      Arians believed that the Father freely chose to generate the Son. The Father foresaw the (Stoic) moral progress of the Son and adopted him – leaving an example for us all. Robert Gregg and Dennis Groh introduced this hypothesis. They claimed that Arians ‘emphatically’ denied that Christ was God.

5)      Arians insisted that Christ was in some way divine. That’s why they denied that the Logos had a human soul. The affirmation of the divinity of the one who suffered and died was of central importance for Arian soteriology. Hanson-Wiles interpretation.

Considering these diverse proposals about the overarching concern of Arian theology, Gavrilyuk contends that there is no single governing principle – the quest is in vain. He contends that the first three theories offer useful insights, the fourth has too many faults to be of much use, and the fifth theory needs drastic revision. [He goes into greater detail about the basis for these judgments here and later in the chapter. I’ll not be covering that material.]

Gavrilyuk stops here to point out that the diverse influences and interests of Arian theology is a good example of what is wrong with The Theory of Theology’s Fall Into Hellenistic Philosophy. The Theory utterly fails to explain Arianism. No philosophically neutral reading of Scripture is possible, contrary to the implications of the Theory. There’s more to the question of the nature and extent of divine involvement than a mere dichotomy of either Bible or philosophy.

Does Generation Entail pathos?

The generation of the Son, viewed primarily as a cosmological rather than soteriological matter, was a central concern of Arian theology. They sought to articulate the precise boundaries of analogical statements about the Son’s generation. So did their opponents.

Arian theologians tended to take the analogies more literally than orthodox theologians. The Arians accused the orthodox of sucking all meaning out of the terms. The orthodox accused the Arians of excessive anthropomorphism.

One of the primary issues of debate was the question of pathos. Did the generation of the Son involve pathos? Defining this term, pathos, is no simple matter. Jean Danielou suggests that ‘Pathos, as used by all fourth century theologians is an almost untranslatable word; it means anything that necessitates change or becoming or human experience.’

Arians insisted that the Son was necessarily involved in pathos since he was generated. And if generated he must have had a beginning. If not, what meaning remains to the analogy of generation? The Fathers insisted that the primary commonality between the generation of the Son and human birth is that humans beget humans. Likewise, God begets God.

Nevertheless, several Arian bishops refused to sign at the council of Nicaea because the term homoousios seemed to them to imply that the Son is the result of either ‘division, derivation, or germination.’ All of these analogies unacceptably entailed pathos.

Even those bishops who rejected homoousios upheld the impassible generation of the Son. The [semi-Arian] ‘dated creed’ of 359 declares that that the Son was ‘like to the Father who begot him,’ and affirmed that ‘the uniquely-generated Son of God…was begotten impassibly from God.’ This creed anathematized anyone who claimed that ‘the Father begot the Son unwillingly, i.e., being compelled by the necessity of his nature.’

The Arians offered Nicene theologians two options: either the Father was compelled to generate the Son (denying his sovereignty) or he begot him as a matter of will (which entailed that the Son came from the Father’s will instead of his essence). Athanasius responded by insisting that an act of essence is higher and did not minimize the freedom or power of God. He emphasized that the generation of the Son is a mystery beyond our understanding.

Gregory of Nyssa made the excellent contribution that even Christ’s earthly birth was without pathos. He was not the product of sexual union, but rather of the Holy Spirit. He further introduced the analogy of the new birth in water baptism. This birth frees us from passion. It is an impassible birth (John 1:13). If Christians can be willingly born-again impassibly then so can the Son.

Orthodox Responses

According to Gregory of Nyssa, the thing of primary importance for the Arians was that the High God be protected from the shame of the cross. They contended that his inferior (passible) nature allowed the Son to suffer on the cross. To say that the Father suffered was blasphemous to the Arians.

The orthodox, on the other hand, affirmed a sort of impassibility that still allowed the fully divine Son to suffer.

It is true that for the pro-Nicenes the Logos did not become an exact copy of his passible human nature. At the same time, as one of Athanasius’ supporters point out, when the flesh suffered, the Logos was not outside of it (evktos), which is why the suffering is said to be his’. As we will see in the next chapter, Cyril of Alexandria made the concept of appropriation (ivdiopoih.sij) of the flesh by the Logos central to his defence of the unity of Christ’s person in the economy of salvation. In the incarnation God put human nature to God-befitting use, sanctified it, and made it life-giving.

The orthodox held that the Logos was somehow the subject of the human experiences of Christ. He suffered impassibly. Athanasius declares that the Logos ‘permitted his body to weep and hunger,’ and ‘let his own body suffer’.

Closing Comments (Chapter 5)

I think I have a better grasp of Arianism after reading this chapter. It seems less ridiculous now.

Apparently, the intuition that God cannot suffer or change was truly widespread by this time. Would Arian theology have become the force it was had it not been for the popularity of this conception of impassibility?

Are we really expected to believe that impassibility came from somewhere other than Hellenistic thought? One thing I don’t think I’ve seen yet is any suggestion of an alternative source for it other than the LXX, which allegedly downplayed anthropomorphism/pathism in the OT in Alexandria without any influence from Hellenistic philosophy. I’m not persuaded.

It is noteworthy that orthodox theologians allowed that the fully divine Son did indeed suffer impassibly.  

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[1] Robert Gregg, Early Arianism

The Suffering of the Impassible God (Patripassian Controversy)

Introduction

Chapter 1
Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Last chapter dealt with Docetism, which denied the full humanity of Christ in order to affirm his full (impassible) divinity. Now Gavrilyuk turns to another Christological controversy – Patripassianism. This controversy dealt with Christ’s relationship with his Father. How was the Father involved in Christ’s earthly ministry?

Noetus, Sabellius, Praxeas, and Callistus were the key figures in this controversy. Unfortunately, we do not have any of their writings. We learn of their views only through the writings of their theological opponents. This is problematic because we can’t be sure that the actual views of these men are accurately presented by those who disagreed.

The Patripassians were Modalists. Weinandy points out that the issue was not so much about impassibility as it was about the Trinity. The Modalists believed that the one God manifested himself sometimes as Father and sometimes as Son. This belief entailed that the Father suffered on the cross.

Harnack contended that no one actually believed that God suffered, it was only attributed by theological opponents. Gavrilyuk believes Harnack went too far in saying this. Surely someone said it, or else, ‘we’d have to imagine that all third- and fourth-century anti-Patripassian theologians were valiantly fighting with windmills.’ There is evidence to believe that Noetus, at least, taught that the Father suffered. Noetus’ view, as reported by Hippolytus, was a simple one: ‘If I acknowledge Christ to be God; He is the Father himself, if He is indeed God; and Christ suffered, being Himself God; and consequently the Father suffered, for He was the Father Himself.’

Hippolytus didn’t refute the claim that God suffered. He acknowledged that ‘the impassible Word of God underwent suffering through the flesh.’ What he did have a problem with was Noetus’ teaching that the Father became the Son. He refuted Noetus by pointing to some of the passages that show that Christ spoke to the Father, not himself. He also appealed to the rules of faith, ‘which spoke of the Father and the Son as coexisting entities, not as successive temporal modes of God.’

We do not know about what Noetus thought of the relationship between the humanity of Christ and the suffering of the Father. Also, Hippolytus’ presentations of Noetus’ though does not clarify how it can be said that the Father suffered if he was in the mode of Son during his suffering.

At the time when they wrote against Praxeas and Callistus, Tertullian and Hippolytus were both on the outs with the church and had other, unrelated, disputes with their Patripassian adversaries. This being the case, it’s reasonable to question just how charitable (and accurate) their interpretations are. [1] To add to the difficulty, Callistus excommunicated Sabellius (whose name later became synonymous with Modalism).

Hippolytus admits that Callistus was careful not to say that the Father suffered. Callistus rather said that ‘ton patera sumpeponqenai tw/ uivw.’ To Hippolytus this was nothing more than a word game. Likewise, Tertullian had to admit of Praxeas that he did not teach that the Father suffered on the cross, the Father only ‘compassibilis est.’ Tertullian thought this a feeble attempt to avoid the charge of Patripassianism. To him, being compassible could mean nothing other than ‘to suffer with another.’

It seems that neither Callistus nor Praxeas believed that Father and Son were successive roles. Instead they proposed something along the lines that ‘the Father’ corresponded with the spirit while ‘the Son’ pertained to the flesh. They likely used sumpascein in the Stoic sense (a term for the interaction of the body and soul). An example of this usage from Cleanthes: ‘the soul interacts (sumpascein) with the body when it is sick and being cut, and the body with the soul; thus when the soul feels shame and fear the body turns red and pale respectively.’ 

So, when the human body (the Son) suffered on the cross the spirit (the Father) was not totally unaffected. But neither did the Father suffer exactly as did the flesh. Gavrilyuk points out that if this interpretation of Callistus and Praxeas is correct then they were indeed onto something (in spite of their Trinitarian error). They pointed out that God ‘participated in death without dying and in suffering without being conquered by suffering.’

In summary, Noetus was truly a Patripassian. He taught that the Father and the Son were one and the same and suffered on the cross. Callistus and Praxeas contended that the Father only suffered through the Son (the flesh). Tertullian and Hippolytus emphasized that the Father and the Son were distinct, that the Father was not crucified.

Chapter 5

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[1] Praxeas and Callistus were both likely in good graces with the church. Callistus was bishop of Rome at the time.

The Suffering of the Impassible God (Docetism Resisted)

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The Suffering of the Impassible God

This chapter is so full of fascinating and important stuff that it’s been hard to choose what to leave out. At times I’ve wanted to quote pages on end. I continue to try to fairly represent Gavrilyuk’s work and leave off commentary until the end of the post.

“Docetism Resisted: Christ’s Suffering is Real”

Gavrilyuk now turns to Christological debates in the early church. Current scholarship tends to divide the Fathers into two camps – the impassibilists (the majority view) and the passibilists (the minority view). Sometimes the evidence for placing individuals in these camps is slim.

In previous chapters Gavriyuk has sought to demonstrate that this either/or approach to (im)passibility is inadequate. This proof-texting approach to the Fathers has failed to take into account the broader context of patristic belief and practice. “Instead of merely assembling theopaschite statements as presumably conveying a biblical idea of divine involvement, we will do better if we consider both impassibility and passibility as corollary terms necessary for an adequate account of the incarnation.” 

A Tension Introduced

From the beginning, Christians lived and died declaring faith in the crucified one. The NT includes (creedal) hymns devoted to the crucified Jesus. They tend to include three emphases – 1) pre-existence, 2) earthly ministry (including suffering and crucifixion), and 3) exaltation. Philippians 2 is a key example.

Many proto-creedal statements (such as those found in the writings of Justin Martyr) followed the same pattern for the second article – pre-existence, earthly ministry, and exaltation. Somehow, the one who is attributed ‘divine status’ is also said to suffer. Gavrilyuk contends that this creates a ‘tension [that] is stark and obvious.’ Origen put the tension this way: ‘he who was in the form of God saw fit to be in the form of a servant; while he who is immortal dies, and the impassible suffers, and the invisible is seen.’

Theology of Martyrdom

Early martyrs sought to ‘follow the footprints of the Lord’s passion’.[1] Ignatius of Antioch wrote to the church of Rome (on his way to execution): ‘Allow me to be the imitator of the sufferings of my God (πάθους του θεου μου).’ But Ignatius did not expect to suffer perpetually. He anticipated his following of Christ in suffering to lead to glorious freedom from suffering. In his letter to the Ephesians Ignatius declared that Christ was ‘first subject to suffering and then beyond it.’ Justin Martyr echoes this understanding in his writings – the destiny of those who imitate Christ is one of freedom from suffering (εν απαθεια). They will be raised ‘incorruptible, impassible, and immortal.’

Various New Testament writers insisted that Christ suffered but once (Rom 6:9-10; 1 Pet 3:18; Heb 7:27; 9:12, 26-28; 10:10). Likewise, many pre-creedal statements and ‘all later synodal creeds’ proclaim that Christ suffered sub Pontio Pilato. Jesus suffered at a specific point in time and space. 

Then again, the NT writers also speak of participation in Christ’s sufferings. For this communion to be possible it seems there must be some way that Christ continues to suffer. We cannot suffer with him if he is no longer in any way open to suffering. When Paul encountered the risen Christ he was told that he was persecuting Jesus (Act 9:4). And Paul later professed to bear the marks of Jesus in his body (Gal 6:17).

This idea of participatory suffering is found in the early Christian account of martyrdom, Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis. Felicitas, a young woman, is one of five martyrs in the story. Prior to their execution she prematurely gives birth. When a guard sees her going through the pain of birth he comments that she will not be able to handle the suffering she will endure from the wild animals in the amphitheater. She responds, ‘I suffer now myself that which is natural. But then, another will be in me who will suffer for me, because I am about to suffer for him.’

The concept of mystical union with Christ in the hour of martyrdom is found in various martyr-acts.[2] “In contrast to Whitehead’s portrait of God as ‘a fellow-sufferer who understand’, in the scene of Blandina’s death [in The Letter of the Churches of Vienne and Lyons] Christ offers more than just a helpless commiseration. His suffering gives the power to withstand torture.” In the same letter deacon Sanctus endures excruciating torture including a red-hot iron applied to ‘the most delicate parts’ of his body. He was able to bear it because it was Christ who suffered in him and did great wonders, destroying the enemy and showing as a pattern to the rest that there is nothing terrible where there is the love of the Father, nothing painful where there is the glory of Christ.’ As deacon Sanctus was tortured the second time his first wounds were miraculously healed.

The earliest extant paschal sermon, by Melito of Sardis, contends that the Logos suffers not only in martyrs but in the OT saints as well:

It is he who in many endured many things: it is he that was murdered in Abel, and bound in Isaac, and exiled in Jacob, and sold in Joseph, and exposed in Moses, and slain in the lamb, and persecuted in David, and dishonored in the prophets. It is he that was enfleshed in a virgin, that was hanged on a tree, that was buried in the earth, that was raised from the dead, that was taken up to the heights of the heavens.

Interestingly, this same Father also made use of apophatic terms such as immortality and impassibility. Melito’s participatory view of OT suffering was not widely held among the Fathers. Instead, patristic theology tended to see a mere foreshadowing in the OT which would ultimately be realized in the incarnate work of Christ.

“Pagan Reactions to Worship of the Crucified God”

Pagans scoffed at the idea of a crucified God. A graffito from the second century gives poignant expression to the sentiment. A boy is seen kneeling in front of a crucified man with a donkey’s head. Below this drawing, on the same wall, is carved: ‘Alexamenos worshipping his god.’ Somehow, the belief that Jews worshipped a donkey came to be widespread. It was even reported that the holy of holies used to have a donkey’s head hanging on the wall. The graffito managed to mock Christians and Jews at the same time.

Christians were mocked through literary satire as well. In The Passing of Peregrinus martyrs were portrayed as objects of Christian worship. Jesus was presented as just a divinized martyr. The people who followed these martyrs were naïve and gullible.

Religiously devout pagans sometimes took even more serious offense to the crucified God. To them, such wholehearted commitment to an executed criminal should itself be considered a crime. Many feared that the gods were angry at the Christian’s single-hearted adoration of Christ.

Philosophically minded pagans raised their own objections. They contended that the Christians were being inconsistent. How was the invisible, omnipotent, impassible God seen, tortured, shamed, and crucified? Another declared that if Christ were really God he should ‘have disappeared suddenly from the cross.’  

Impassibility in Docetism

Docetism, narrowly defined, contended that Christ only seemed to have a human body. A more inclusive definition allows for various ways of dividing Jesus the human and the divine Christ. These two brands of docetic Christology shared in common the belief that the divine 

Christ did not personally experience human life.

The Docetists held that certain aspects of Christ’s ministry were beneath God’s dignity. They shared this conviction with their Hellenistic neighbors, and perhaps hoped to make the Christian faith more palatable to its cultured despisers. The Docetists did not worship a shamefully crucified slave. They worshipped a mighty God. For some of these folks the cross was valuable as a sort of cosmic symbol, never mind the historical cross. While on the one hand they would indulge in the wildest speculations, on the other they went to extremes of apophatism. They would rather reject the humanity of Christ than limit their doctrine of impassibility.

Docetism Rejected

Gnostics combined opposing theologies. They humanized the erotic gendered gods of mythology even further, making them subject to fears, anxieties, and burning lusts. Yet right in the middle of such theology they also engaged in the apophatic method. Some suggest that the inconsistency is only apparent. The Father is above all while all lesser deities are quite passible. Irenaeus rejected this view as illogical. If, as the Gnostics claimed, all lesser deities emanated from the Father (like rays from the sun) then they should be like him. He contended that logic dictates that either the Father is passible along with all his s divine offspring or he and they are impassible.

The patristic response was to simple. Rather than try to minimize or remove the scandal of the cross (as the Docetists attempted) they unapologetically affirmed it. Such lowly activity as the incarnation, suffering, and crucifixion of Christ were all deemed fitting because they were for our salvation. The only actions truly unworthy of God were the deceptive actions attributed to him by the Docetists. The Fathers insisted that the Impassible indeed suffered.

Closing Thoughts (Chapter 3)

I’m fascinated by the theology of martyrdom. I don’t recall ever running into these ideas before. Melito’s statements intrigue me. Do we enter the suffering of Christ by his participation in our present sufferings? It makes me think of a verse that has long puzzled me – Col 1:24.

The mystery of God’s way is unquestionably amazing. In spite of his transcendence and power, in spite of his triune self-sufficiency, the Father sent, the divine Son condescended and suffered, and the Spirit enabled and applied the work – all to reconcile us to himself. I’m amazed at such love – whether you call it passible or impassible!

Chapter 4

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[1] Irenaeus of Lyons

[2] Martyrium Polycarpi and The Letter of the Churches of Vienne and Lyons for example. 

Suffering Impassible God (Impassibility as an Apophatic Qualifier)

Introduction

Chapter 1

Suffering Impassible God (Impassibility as an Apophatic Qualifier)

“This chapter offers a preliminary analysis of the function of the divine impassibility in select patristic sources without special reference to the Christological debates on the incarnation.” The Fathers did not emphasize impassibility. They wrote much more about God’s love, mercy, anger, and compassion than his impassibility.

Gavrilyuk contends that, contrary to the claims of the proponents of the Theory of Theology’s Fall into Hellenistic Philosophy, the Fathers did not associate apatheia with divine apathy or indifference. He presents three functions of impassibility in patristic thought:

1. Distinguishing the true God from the gods of mythology
2. Affirming God’s impassibility was not incompatible with his “emotionally coloured characteristics, e.g., love, mercy, and compassion.” And especially anger.
3. Impassibility was part of apophatic theology. It was primarily an ontological rather than a psychological term.

God is Unlike Pagan Deities

The gods of mythology were passionate and weak. Even pagan philosophers (beginning with Xenophanes in the sixth century B.C.) accused polytheists of illegitimate anthropomorphism. Christians continued the assault against pagan concepts of the divine.

For the most part, early Christian apologists simply echoed the arguments that had long been leveled against the gods of mythology. These arguments included: 1) the events of mythology were no events at all, simply fables; 2) If there were any kernel of truth in the stories at all it lay in the lives of ordinary humans who were later elevated to divine status after death; 3) Some of the gods seemed to be only the personification of certain (rather undesirable) human passions.

Christians did make at least one new contribution. They contended that the demigods were in fact evil demons – fallen angels. “Christians did not hesitate to identify all the immortal inhabitants of Olympus with these unseemly creatures, the demons.”

The gods of mythology were subject to passions. Justin points out that, in contradistinction to the Christian God, Persephone and Aphrodite were “stung to madness by love for Adonis,” others lusted for women, Thetis was worried that her son Achilles “should destroy many of the Greeks because of his concubine Briseis.” Contrasted with such gods, it is clear that the Christian God is impassible. God is not a slave to intense and irrational emotional outbursts of anger, envy, lust, greed, hatred, and vengeance.

By making clear that God is unlike the gods of pagan religions, the Fathers prepared the way for their declaration that the Christian God possessed “God-befitting emotionally couloured characteristics such as mercy, love, and compassion.” “Divine impassibility meant first of all that God is in total control of his actions and that morally objectionable emotions are alien to him.”

God’s Anger

As we have seen, around the time of Christianity’s birth educated pagans had, as a whole, come to affirm divine impassibility. The Fathers, while critical of the ignoble acts and emotions of the deities of the folk religions that surrounded them, were themselves criticized by their educated neighbors for believing in a deity who was sometimes subject to similar emotional displays. To them, the Christian understanding of impassibility was too weak.

Speaking of divine anger in the OT, Julian said:

The philosophers bid us imitate the gods so far as we can, and they teach us that this imitation consists in the contemplation of realities. And that this sort of study is remote from passion (δίχα πάθους) and is indeed based on freedom from passion (εν απάθεια κειται), is, I suppose, evident, even without my saying it. In proportion then as we, having been assigned to the contemplation of realities, attain to freedom from passion (εν απάθεια), in so far do we become like God. But what sort of imitation of God is praised among the Hebrews? Anger and wrath and fierce jealousy (οργή καί θυμός καί ζήλος άγριος).

This critique is representative of many others of the time.

Seneca, evidencing the popularity of the Stoic claim that anger is always beneath even an earthly philosopher, let alone God, claimed that “the philosophical schools were in agreement that God is free from anger.” Some Christian apologists, such as Athenagoras, Aristides, and Arnobius, accepted the dominant view of the day and insisted that God is never angry, since anger is always evil.

Marcion, who rejected the OT and its warlike God, spurred the Fathers on to develop a more nuanced account of divine anger. Most of the Fathers (Gavrilyuk emphasizes Irenaeus and Tertullian here) stubbornly held to their conviction that God’s anger is fitting – a manifestation of his justice. Irenaeus wrote:

That they [the Marcionites] might take away the vindictive and judicial power from the Father, imagining that to be unworthy of God, and thinking that they had found a god angerless (sine iracundia) and good, they taught that the one [god] is a judge and the other is a savior, ignorant of the fact that they were taking away the intelligence and justice of both deities.

In an endeavor to articulate the importance of God’s anger, Tertullian introduced a new expression – ‘judicial sentiment’ (judiciaries sensus). Tertullian contended that if God could not be angry several other characteristics would be lost as well. He could not be just, merciful, good, or intelligent if he could not be angry.

The Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions (Gavrilyuk suggests an early third century dating and Syriac origin) presents a view that, like Tertullian’s connects justice and anger:

[T]he philosophers say that god is not angry, not knowing what they say. For anger is evil whenever it disturbs the mind (mentem turbat) so that it destroys right judgment. That anger, however, which punishes the wicked does not bring on disturbance of the mind (perturbationem menti non infert), but is, I may say, one and the same affection which allots rewards to the good and punishment to the wicked. For if he should give blessings to the virtuous and to the wicked and bestow similar remuneration on the good and the evil, he would appear unjust rather than good.

This prominent strand of early Christian thinking insisted that without divine anger there can be no divine justice.

Lactantius further developed the Christian response to the philosophers’ denial of divine anger. He refuted the Epicurean’s total rejection of providence. Then he went on to contend with the Stoic belief that anger is always evil – a belief that some were quite strongly committed to. “Seneca went so far as to say that even when a horrible crime, like the killing of one’s father and the rape of one’s mother was committed before the philosopher’s very eyes, a true lover of wisdom should remain tranquil and would strive to avenge and protect his relatives without anger.” Lactantius insisted that anger was fitting when directed toward the punishment of the wicked. When crimes are committed in God’s world (which Lactantius compares to a household), it is right for God to punish those crimes. God’s anger is always just. “Justin, Theophilus, Cyprian, Commodian, and others shared the conviction that anger was a powerful tool for expressing condemnation of sin.”

But does God feel anger? Clement of Alexandrian and Origen say no. They taught that the Bible attributes anger to God so that holy fear will fall upon the simple. Of course Clement and Origen knew that such language wasn’t to be taken literally. Likewise, John Cassian denied that God himself felt anger. Rather, the wrath of God was something humans felt. Augustine too sometimes held this subjectivist view of divine anger.

Tertullian, Lactantius, Novatian, and Cyril of Alexandria weighed in on the other side of this debate. Though they were careful to nuance the assertion, they did maintain that God felt anger. God is never overpowered by anger. He is always in control of his anger. And he is always angry for the right reasons. Yet, God does indeed feel anger. Tertullian (who affirmed divine impassiblity) said that the ‘human soul has the same emotions and sensations as God,’ believing that our emotions are part of the imago Dei in human beings.

Similarly, at least in some places, Augustine contends that God does experience a variety of human emotions.

[A]lthough God cannot suffer [anything evil] (deus nihil [mali] pati posit), and patience (patienda) surely has its name from suffering (patiendo), we not only faithfully believe in a patient God (patientem Deum), but also steadfastly acknowledge Him to be such. Who can explain in words the nature and the quatity of God’s patience? We say He is impassible (nihil patientem), yet not impatient (impatientem); nay, rather, extremely patient (patientissimum). His patience is indescribable, yet it exists as does His jealousy, His wrath, and any characteristic of this kind. But, if we conceive of these qualities, as they exist in us, He has none of them. We do not experience these feelings without annoyance (sine molestia), but far be it from us to suspect an impassible God (impassiblem Dei) of suffering any annoyance. Just as He is jealous without any ill will, as He is angry without being emotionally upset, as He pities without grieving, as He is sorry without correcting any fault, so He is patient without suffering at all.

Augustine doesn’t deny divine emotions, but contends that they lack all the negative aspects of human emotions.

Impassibility as Apophatic Qualifier of Divine Emotions

Divine impassibility doesn’t tend to show up alone. Gavrilyuk contends that proponents of the Theory of Theology’s Fall into Hellenistic Philosophy have often overlooked this context. Impassibility comes up along with other declarations of what God is not. God is not visible, finite, effable, created, corruptible, mutable, or passible. Some of these apophatic statements should not be taken to their absolute logical limits. They all serve to show that God is transcendent. He is unlike his creatures.

His dissimilarity to creatures runs both ways. For instance, God is said to be invisible. This, however, may be primarily a statement about our (at least for the time being) creaturely limitations. We cannot see him in his fullness. “[T]he adjectives invisible, incomprehensible, and inexpressible qualify to see, comprehend, and describe God. These qualifiers do not function in such a way as to rule out God’s ability to disclose himself to humans. In this case, negation functions as superlative.”

So, when patristic theology insists that God is not passible it does not mean that God has no emotions whatsoever. The Fathers did not portray God as apathetic or indifferent. The term apatheia was only intended to convey that God does not experience emotions precisely as we do. Well…until we start talking about the incarnation.

Closing Thoughts (Chapter 2)

I really enjoyed this chapter. I was a bit surprised to see how much Gavrilyuk’s evidence  still seems to support the idea that Hellenistic philosophy influenced patristic theology(e.g. Athenagoras, Aristides, and Arnobius all insisted that God was never angry). I had gotten the impression that he was going to utterly demolish the Theory.

I liked the handy listing of which Fathers took a more subjectivist view of divine anger and which believed that God felt emotions in himself. At this point, Tertullian’s understanding resonates with me. I suspect that human emotions are part of the vestigial imago Dei.

It’s been interesting to see how often the philosophers suppose that God (or gods) serves as an example for humans. So, if God doesn't get angry then humans shouldn’t get angry. If we applied that sort of thinking in reverse, going from prescribed NT ethics for humans to God (who we’re surely called to imitate), would we suppose that God is emotional?

The NT commands and condemns many emotions. It also commands imitation of God. This may be a way around the objection that language about God’s emotions is only anthropopathic. Even if we grant that, if we are called to rejoice, be glad, weep, pity, and practice patience should we not suppose that God’s emotional life is somehow alike?

Speaking of patience or longsuffering, Augustine’s introduction of patience into this discussion interests me immensely. How can a being who never suffers be said to be patient?

Chapter 3

The Suffering of the Impassible God (Chapter 1)

(Introduction)

Gavrilyuk begins his attack against The Theory of Theology’s Fall into Hellenistic Philosophy by attempting to demonstrate that both Hellenistic philosophy and the Bible itself are more diverse and complex in their views on divine emotions than the Theory suggests.

Hellenistic Philosophies

There was no single Hellenistic understanding of divine emotions and involvement with the world. Cicero bore witness to this fact in 1 BC:

There is in fact no subject upon which so much difference of opinion exists [speaking of “whether the gods are entirely idle (nihil agant) and inactive (nihil moliantur)” or controlling all things], not only among the unlearned but also among educated men; and the views entertained are so various and so discrepant, that, while it is no doubt a possible alternative that none of them is true, it is certainly impossible that more than one should be so.

Sextus Empiricus confirms that such was the still case in the second century AD. To simplify things, Gavrilyuk focuses on the dominant views within three competing schools: Epicurean, Stoic, and Middle Platonic.

Epicurean

The Epicureans accepted the traditional belief that gods possessed immortal bodies and were anthropomorphic. They taught that divine happiness consisted in not being influenced by anything external. According to Epicurus, gods are ‘strangers to suffering; nothing can cause them any joy or inflict on them any suffering from outside’. The gods are not subject to experiences judged on the basis of hedonistic ethics as negative, such as anxiety, fear, grief, anger, envy, fatigue, and pain.

Yet, even the Epicureans believed that the gods have what Gavrilyuk calls “emotionally coloured features.” They believed that the gods are happy, and that human happiness largely comes through the gods. Part of what keeps the gods happy is their complete lack of involvement in human affairs. This meant that the gods were not so weak as to care (and thereby become emotionally dependent) about any creature. It also meant that humans had nothing to fear from the gods.

Common folks didn’t much care for the Epicurean view on these things. It seemed like they were rejecting religion entirely. Even the Stoics and Middle Platonists picked on the Epicureans for denying providence.

Stoic

The early Stoics did believe freedom from pathē was the ideal – for humans. The god of the Stoics, on the other hand, was not part of the discussion since it was impersonal, “identified with the fiery breath, or with the world-soul, or with the seminal reason of the world, or even with the world itself.”

Yet, not every Stoic description of god (or the gods) is impersonal. As part of their critique of popular myths, Stoics insisted that the gods did not become angry or hurt anyone. Some Stoics believed that demons helped and watched over humanity. Some were rather devout and taught that the gods heard and responded to prayer. They articulated a complex view of providence.

To conclude, the Stoics held two distinct views: (1) God is material and impersonal, and guides the world as an immanent seminal reason; (2) gods are non-anthropomorphic powers who care both for the operation of the world and for humans. The problem of divine emotions was largely irrelevant to both views.

Middle Platonic

The Middle Platonists held more consistent views. They believed that beyond the world of the seen was a higher realm, the realm of ideas.

This conception of reality involved several pairs of antithetical oppositions; sensible and intelligible, becoming and being, material and formal, corporeal and incorporeal, visible and invisible, temporal and eternal, mutable and immutable, passible and impassible. Correspondingly, the universe had the following basic structure: the highest levels were occupied by the invisible, immaterial, and intelligible things, or ideas; the lowest levels were populated by visible, material, and sensible entities; whereas the intermediary levels were assigned to the objects to which boths sets of descriptions could be applied.

The supreme and impassible God interacts with the material world only indirectly, through lower gods. Like the Stoics, Middle Platonists affirmed God’s providential care for all nations. “It is true that among educated pagans, whose philosophical views tended towards later Platonism, the divine impassibility did acquire the status of a universally shared opinion.” This was, however, a later development. Though first mentioned in Aristotle, the Fathers “show no awareness” of this obscure point.

Mystery Cults

In order to stress the diversity of Hellenistic thought, Gavrilyuk points to the gods of the mystery cults. Those gods suffered and were passionate.

The meaning of apatheia

Not only did the various philosophical schools disagree about the desirability of apatheia, whether human or divine, they also took the term to mean different things – and the disagreement continues to this day. The Fathers were also aware of this debate, and added their voices to the mix.

The term was first used as a technical term by the Stoics. The main point of contention is whether apatheia denotes literal freedom from all emotions. Critics have tended to take the term quite literally. Jerome, for instance contended that in order to be impassible one must be vel saxum, vel deum, either stone or God.

While the early Stoics did have a negative attitude toward passions, later Stoicism, while continuing to use apatheia as the term for the ideal state, granted that some feelings are profitable for the formation of character. It is noteworthy that, “Quite apart from the influence of Stoicism, the term pathē had a negative connotation for the Greek-speaking world which the term ‘emotion’ does not have today.”

In contrast to the trend since Freud to look at the expression of strong emotion as a healthy thing, Hellenists supposed that the expression of pathē was destructive to human nature and clouded moral judgment. We now perceive emotions to play an important part in moral judgment.

Anti-anthropomorphic and Anti-anthropopathic Tendencies in the Bible

Gavrilyuk begins this section by conceding that, “It must be admitted that the Bible ascribes to God a much wider range of human emotion than any philosophically minded pagan of the Hellenistic would ever find appropriate.” But Gavrilyuk contends that “the biblical authors themselves” sometimes find the descriptions of God’s emotional life to be “problematic.” Certainly, God does not experience love, hatred, anger, or jealousy quite like we do. For example, Gavrilyuk contends that, unlike us, “God does not seek gratification of his own desires in love, but pursues only the welfare of his creatures.”

Diversity Within the Canon

Scripture teaches that God repents (Gen 6:5-7; Ex 32:12-14; Deut 32:36; Jud 2:18; 1 Sam 15:11; Ps 90:13; 106:45; 135:14; Jer 42:10; Hos 11:8-9; Jon 3:9-10; 4:2). The Bible teaches that God cannot repent (Num 23:19; 1 Sam 15:29; Hos 13:14). Gavrilyuk rejects the idea that these seeming contradictions should not be harmonized. He contends that the canon demands that we seek to read the Bible in a coherent way.

Gavrilyuk sees in the OT prohibition of idolatry an implicit rejection of anthropomorphism. He criticizes passibilists for not treating this subject extensively enough when claiming that the biblical material supports their theologies.

Now we get to the heart of his argument here. The translators of the LXX downplay anthropomorphic and anthropopathic elements in the Hebrew Scriptures. Exodus 32:14 goes from ‘Yahweh repented of the evil’ to ‘the Lord was moved with compassion.’ Abraham’s prayer, ‘Oh let not the Lord be angry’ becomes ‘let it be nothing, oh Lord, if I speak’ (Gen 18:30). The Hebrew, ‘that there be no wrath upon the congregation of the children of Israel’ becomes ‘that there be no sin among the children of Israel’ in the LXX (Num 1:53). God does not ‘pass over’, as in the Hebrew, at the first Passover. Instead, what he does is ‘cover’. Such adjustments are not consistently made in the LXX. Yet, the tendency is unquestionable.

Isaiah 63:9 is commonly cited in discussions of (im)passibility. It reads thus in the KJV: ^'In all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them: in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; and he bare them, and carried them all the days of old' (Isa 63:9). The LXX on the other hand reads: ‘And he became to them deliverance out of all their affliction: not an ambassador, not a messenger, but he himself saved them, because he loved them and spared them.’ Jeremiah 31:20 is another example of the anti-anthropopathic tendencies of the LXX translators. ‘My bowels are troubled for him’ became ‘therefore I made haste to help him.’

Gavrilyuk sees all this as evidence that there was already an anti-anthropomorphic/pathic tendency within pre-Christian Judaism prior to the influence of Hellenism. He cites Fritsch’s opinion that the LXX was sufficiently different from the Hebrew Scriptures to present a different picture of God. The fact that the early church read the LXX certainly has changed the face of theology ever since.

Philo

Anthropomorphisms are a sort of necessary evil for Philo. Such descriptions are “helpful pedagogically for admonishing and educating simpler minds.” Anthropomorphisms always needed proper apophatic qualifiers.

Philo’s interpretations were shaped by the Bible he read – the LXX. So Philo did not read ‘God is not a man’ in Numbers 23:19, but rather, ‘God is not as a man.’ When he interpreted Genesis 6:6-7 he noted that there were some people (‘careless inquirers’) who got it quite wrong by supposing that the text means that God repented of creating the human race. The Hebrew text does indeed say that God ‘repented’ and was ‘grieved’ when he saw the violence of the race. The LXX, on the other hand, says, ‘God considered in his mind that he had made man upon the earth, and he thought upon it.’ To claim that God repented and grieved over creating man was completely unacceptable to Philo because it contradicted foreknowledge and presented God as changeable. In this same passage the LXX says that God was angry. Philo makes clear that this does not mean that God is subject to anger or any other passion. Such emotions are part of “human weakness.” He did, however, purport that joy, compassion, mercy and such like are characteristics of God. These God shares freely with his people.

Closing Thoughts (Chapter 1)

I appreciate the information Gavrilyuk has gathered (though sometimes I wish it was organized a bit more clearly). But I’m still not convinced of his conclusions.

He’s obviously right that there was no single Hellenistic view of divine emotions and involvement with the world. But I don’t recall anyone making such a simplistic claim. Certainly, no one is suggesting that the theologies of the Hellenistic mystery religions influenced the Fathers. Plato, on the other hand, has often been credited for having an influence on the Fathers. And Gavrilyuk grants that later Platonic impassibility became the standard view among educated Hellenic pagans.

His contention that the LXX translators were part of a larger anti-anthropomoric and anti-anthropopathic theological stream within pre-Christian Judaism may well be true. Unfortunately, he doesn’t back up his claim with evidence. Did the LXX translators get it right? What if they got it wrong and thereby misled the Fathers?

Maybe I’m being a bit nit-picky, but I was turned off by his description of our Lord’s words, “my bowels are troubled for him” as a “reference to the divine digestive system.” This strikes me as cheap and disrespectful. 

I wonder why he did not explore (im)passibility in the NT. Perhaps he’s just taking on his opponents where they have been making their attacks. Regardless, I wish he had explored the NT material in order to attempt to demonstrate continuity or discontinuity between the Hebrew Scriptures, the NT, and the Fathers on the subject at hand.




Chapter 2...

The Suffering of the Impassible God (Introduction)

The Suffering of the Impassible God: The Dialectics of Patristic Thought

The doctrine of divine (im)passibility piqued my interest the moment I first learned of it in Bible College. I even wrote a paper on the subject in Systematic Theology II (in which I argued against it). I simply could not understand how impassibility could ever have been accepted in the first place. I’m still trying to get it. That’s why I’m reading this book. It’s considered among the best books on the subject. I’m excited to finally be reading it. It’s my intention to take my time with this book, summarizing it and sharing my reflections here.

From what I can tell, this will be the best treatment of the Father's view of impassibility I’ve read so far. I believe it will fill gaps left by Weinandy’s Does God Suffer? and Hallman’s Descent of God. In the revised edition of The God Who Risks Sanders gave credit to Gavrilyuk for enlightening him on the seemingly self-contradictory patristic perspectives on (im)passibility. 

From impassibility to passibility

Gavrilyuk begins his book by acknowledging that most of today’s theologians accept the premise that God suffers. Though this view contradicts much church tradition, it has become the new orthodoxy.

According to Gavrilyuk, it has now become common to dismiss the patristic concept of apatheia without giving serious study to its function in the writings of the Fathers. The allegation that the Fathers were unduly influenced by Hellenistic philosophy has come to be taken for granted by many in contemporary theology. Gavrilyuk questions this new conventional wisdom (which he calls the “Theory of Theology’s Fall Into Hellenistic Philosophy”), refuting everyone from Adolf von Harnack and Abraham Heschel to Jurgen Moltmann and Joseph M. Hallman.

How much does God suffer?

He points out problems with unqualified Divine passibility. Unrestricted impassibility appears obviously unbiblical. But so does the other extreme. If God is utterly passible, we have problems. If that is true, then God is subject to all emotions. But certain emotions are clearly beneath the holiness of God (e.g. “greed, lust, fear, or anxiety”). It might also imply that God can be so overcome by emotion that he becomes helpless, which is obviously not true of the God of the Bible.

Gavrilyuk argues that in order for God to endure some forms of suffering he must have a body and soul or something like them. In order for God to suffer just as we do he must share a human nature. This resonates with patristic thinking.

Then there’s the question of whether, if God suffers, his suffering is voluntary or not. Few Christian theologians would want to argue that God cannot foresee and exercise sovereignty over any suffering that comes his way. There is nothing virtuous about suffering for no good reason. If God suffers he must suffer in a purposeful way (Paul Fiddes agrees).

Jesus loves me?

But what of compassion? Isn’t it the essence of compassion to ‘suffer-with’? Gavrilyuk spends some time on this point. He considers this part of the “archargument” against impassibility. If God is the loving God of providential care and compassion, how can we call him impassible?

Obviously, God acts compassionately. But Gavrilyuk argues that suffering is not a necessary part of compassion. Take the surgeon for example. His compassionate action of practicing surgery would only be weakened by entering into the suffering of his patient. Imagine a house on fire. People are suffering inside. A crowd gathers. Some members of the crowd begin to weep and howl. One even has a fit and passes out. Another sets herself ablaze in order to suffer with the people in the house. Then a man, unmoved by emotion, recognizes that the people need help, and, risking his own life, saves the people in the building from a fiery death. To Gavrilyuk, the question of who showed genuine compassion in this situation has an obvious answer – the rescuer.

This analysis of human compassion applies by way of analogy to the case of divine
compassion in the incarnation. Divine compassion presupposes both impassibility and passibility. It is the main contention of the patristic understanding of the incarnation that God, remaining fully divine, became human, accepted the limitations of human existence, subjected himself to voluntary suffering for the salvation of the world and triumphed over sin, death, and corruption in the end. God is impassible inasmuch as he is able to conquer suffering and he is passible inasmuch as he is able to suffer in and through human nature.

Closing thoughts (on the Introduction)

Though I’m not quite convinced by his arguments about compassion, I am certainly enjoying learning from this book. I was first introduced to the Theory of Theology’s Fall Into Hellenistic Philosophy while attending Bible College. There at the college library and online I found the Theory expounded by Open Theists (whose ideas captivated me at the time, and still do for that matter). It looks like this book is going to correct my thinking a bit. I’m glad for that, especially since I’ve come to respect the Fathers more since my Bible College days. It’ll be nice to be convinced that they were not self-contradicting or syncretistic when it came to the subject of divine pathos. 

If you have any thoughts on the subject please share them. I'm always eager to learn. 
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