Faith and Reason, Theology and Philosophy – what do we know and how?

Faith and ReasonFor Aquinas, philosophy considers the nature of things as they are in themselves, whereas theology considers things as they are in relation to God.

The distinction, first, involves the point of view. From the point of view of theology, there are things that can be known by reason alone, and some of those things have been revealed by God, but they might not have been. These are things revealable.

They are encompassed by theology when they are investigated and understood in their relation to God as their source and their end. In addition, theology also involves those things that can be known only by revelation. For example, that God is a Trinity. These are the revelatum.

In this way, all things can be considered within the scope of theology because they are treated sub ratione Dei, under the logic of God, within the context of God being their source and end, and of the ordering of all things within a hierarchical structure of all reality towards God. For Aquinas, theology is a science of revelation, acquired from the Word of God. This is his idea of sacra doctrina  – the sacred doctrine of God and of the beatorum.

From the point of view of philosophy, things that can be known apart from revelation can be extracted from their theological context and be viewed as they are in themselves, judged from the point of view of natural reason. In this way, not only the physical sciences, but also metaphysical knowledge, can be investigated in its own right, as well as be inserted in a theological structure without losing its strictly philosophical nature.

There is a science of reason that can be integrated with the science of revelation without compromising the structure of either (although, when integrated, the science of reason is subordinated to and ordered according to the science of revelation). Philosophy investigates creatures as they are in themselves, and theology investigates all things as they are in relation to God.

In this way, there are things that are accessible to human understanding and reason; for example, mathematics, physical sciences, metaphysical inquiry in which the existence of a simple Being whose essence is identical with its existence is the Prime Mover of all creation, etc.

These things are in principle knowable by human reason unaided by revelation, even though some of them have been revealed. They are the revealable, the revelabilia.

This human learning, then can be incorporated into theology. Some of these things have been given through revelation: for example, a metaphysician can, by reason alone, demonstrate the existence of God. But since not all men are metaphysicians – they do not have the training, the aptitude, the time, etc. – God has revealed that in order that all men might be saved.

There are also things that can be known only by revelation. This is the realm of the revelatum. Examples are the Trinity, the Incarnation, sin, etc. They are not accessible to human reason save by revelation; this is not to say they conflict with human reason, quite the contrary. But it is to say that human reason alone can neither attain, deduce, or prove those things.

AquinasTheology therefore depends solely on what is revealed by sacred scripture, and order all things – even things that are known by human reason alone, some of which have been revealed and some of which have not – sub ratione Dei.

Theology contains both what has been revealed by God and our rational understanding of that revelation. Theology receives what has been revealed and then spreads itself to consider all things under that point of view, ordered from God and to God. The things necessary for salvation are the articles of faith, which God has revealed.

Other things, which can be incorporated into theology, are not necessary for salvation, but they make the understanding of things necessary for salvation more explicit.

For Aquinas, then, sacred science can consider all things – all branches of philosophy –  from one point of view, insofar as they are revealable, and ordered according to God as their source and end. Faith and reason can be viewed as two intersecting circles, because there are things that are included in both at the same time (things knowable by reason alone which have also been revealed). The circles also have their content which do not intersect – e.g., the Trinity belongs to the realm of theology and faith and it is not attainable or proven by reason (these are things necessary for salvation), and there are also things known by reason alone that God has not revealed, even if he could have.

Reason and faith therefore are neither put in opposition, or in isolation, or in identity.Each has its proper realm according to the point of view of how they are considered.

Theology, however, is the higher science because it can encompass everything philosophy can discover, but it also includes things revealed that philosophy cannot discover. Also, when theology consider all revealable things sub ratione Dei, it does so in a way that is in accordance with human reason, because human reason, while limited and unable to attain to the revelatum, is never in conflict with it. Even when faith and reason cover the same territory, they each retain their own characteristics.

For human reason, sensible objects are always the point of departure of all of our knowledge, even as they have retained vestiges of the divine nature as their cause. Reason thus can have a preliminary role of pointing us to investigate the Ultimate Cause. It can also have a didactic purpose of explaining what has been revealed: either in the different ways of apologetics (confuting Christian or pagan error, etc.) as well as developing Christian theology in a coherent and encompassing way, approximating the knowledge of all things to the knowledge God has of himself and the knowledge that the blessed in heaven have.

Reason is used by theology to clarify the truths of faith. But the truths of faith that depend of revelation – the revelatum – cannot be attainable by reason alone or proven by reason alone. The attempt to do so is to confirm the unbeliever in his unbelief.

In this way, Aquinas is neither a rationalist nor a fideist.

He is not a rationalist because he makes very clear that things that are necessary for salvation can only be known through revelation and received by faith. He is not a fideist because he both preserves the legitimate realm of philosophy in which things can be considered as they are in themselves, as well as incorporates it into the realm of theology in which all things are considered from the point of view of revelation, while being understood in accordance with human reason.

Aquinas protects theology from rationalism and creation from contemptio mundi. In this way, grace does not destroy nature but perfects it.

Notes on Thomistic Concepts on the Structure of Reality

St. Thomas Aquinas from  by Carlo CrivelliThis is a summary of some key concepts for the understanding of the Thomistic theological constructs for the structure of reality and being.


In Aristotle, there are two senses of substance: the “first substance” is a whole, concrete entity – this horse, this man. The second sense, or “second substance” refers to quiddity – horse, man.

First substance refers to a being or an entity subsisting or existing in itself, not in another being like an accident. This is a metaphysical category; e.g., God, angels, human beings.—not physical, chemical substance. It is the basic ontological unit, a complete, individual whole, a determinate, particular subject of existing and acting, e.g., this tree, this human being, Tom, Mary, etc. It is the proper subject of existence, “that which exists [quod est],” not “that by which something exists [quo est]”

This is the first “category” of Aristotle’s ten categories or predicaments, the principal and primary sense of being. (See the list below)

Aquinas defines “person” as “individual substance of rational nature,” (cf. Boethius) and divine persons as “subsisting relations.”

Second substance refers to the essence/quiddity/nature (including both substantial form and prime matter) that defines the kind of being something is, “that by which” a thing remains the kind of being it is; it is universal, not particular like first substances, and is realized only in first substances. Iit is an internal principle of being (not a being), “that by which”; e.g., humanity, dogness, treeness, not a human being, a dog, a tree—entities are not all externally determined but have certain natures intrinsic to themselves that make them what they are and make them act as what they are; intrinsic or internal principle of being and acting.

Therefore it refers to a set of the defining potentialities proper to a specific kind of being to be actualized by accidents; it provides identity, continuity, and stability in the midst of “accidental changes,” coming to an end when “substantial change” occurs and the entity ceases to be what it is – for example when a body ceases to be human by dying and being decomposed in to chemical substances.


They refer to realities that cannot exist in themselves, like first substances, but only in something else that does exist in itself – like color, weight, action, passion, etc. Iit is that by which a being can change while remaining the specifically and individually same entity and provides the elements of change and difference; it is the principle of diversity within the unity of the first substance. Some accidents are called “proper” accidents because they are proper to the species as a whole (e.g., ability to speak, laugh)

There are, according to Aristotle and Aquinas, nine categories of accidents, or modes of being in which a first substance can exist

  1. Quality: good, bad, wise, white
  2. Quantity: two feet long
  3. Action: run, walk, etc.
  4. Passion: being burned, being cut
  5. Relation: double, half, greater than
  6. Place: in the classroom, in Claremont, etc.
  7. Time: yesterday, last year, etc.
  8. Posture: reclining at table, sitting down, etc.
  9. State: having shoes on, being in armor


Structure or Essence of Material Substances:

The essence of material substances is composed of substantial form and prime matter. Substantial form is the source of the specific identity or identity as a species, as a human being, as a dog, etc. Prime matter is pure potentiality to be specified, determined, activated by the form. It is the principle of individuation: it multiplies the form and accounts for diversity within the unity of the form or species by receiving and restricting the form to “this” material subject–the possibilities of the species are not exhausted by an individual. For example, “humanity”is  multiplied into “many human individuals” by matter.

Consequently, in human beings there is a composite of form and matter: hylomorphism. There is a unity and distinction of soul and body –  soul as form of the body (matter); the soul is the efficient, transcendent cause of the body through intellect and will


Ultimate Principles of Being: Essence and Existence

For any being, or substance there are two fundamental questions: what something is and whether it exists—essence and existence

As such, there is a distinction between ens (a being), esse (to be, act of being, act of existing, activity of existing, existence, as verbal noun), and essence– the act of existing diversified by a diversity of essences. For example, one can ask whether a unicorn actually exists.

There is real distinction between essence and act of existing in all finite beings – they may or may not exist – but only a rational distinction in God, since God’s essence does not possess existence, but rather, is identical with his existence.


Ontological primacy of esse, existence:

Thomism is a metaphysics of existence, not metaphysics of first substance–esse is not to be reduced to substance. It is an existentialist, not essentialist ontology. The general rule is that the actual determines the potential (e.g., accidents determine substance; form determines matter (specifying and actualizing).

The act of being cannot be determined by anything outside itself, i.e., by something not existing. It can only be determined internally from within – the finite act of being is not absolute, pure, unique esse but only an act of being of a certain limited kind.

This limitation can only come from essence, which as potency, potentiality of certain kind of being, receives, determines, specifies, and limits the act of being. Thus, the act of existing both actualizes the essence as something other than itself and is limited by essence.

This is different – even opposite than previous ideas found in Alfarabi, Avicenna, Algazali, which, in making a distinction between essence and existence, considered existence as added to essence, i.e., existence as accident, which is then an essentialist philosophy (not existentialist).

In contrast, for Aquinas, existence is not on same level as essence. Existence is not another accident, but the most intimate and most profound element in all things. Existence as accident cannot explain  the necessary existence or simplicity of existence in God. Esse and essence belong to two different orders altogether: esse transcends the whole plane of essence.

Essence is distinct from existence and essence does not contain existence but is also thoroughly actuated by existence. Existence is internal to essence in the sense that essence is truly essence only when actualized by existence, but essence is external to existence in the sense that existence is not inherent in essence; that is to say, a thing can be or not, exist or not; to be a particular kind of being is not necessarily to exist as that kind of being—existence is most internal to me yet external to my essence as this individual of a particular kind.

To create is precisely to produce the esse of things – it is to make things exist. The creator is most intimately present to things because he is present to their act of existing—more deeply than to their materiality or even their spirituality. God is more intimately present to me than I am to myself – as Augustine said, intimius intimo meo.

Existence is graced, intrinsic to me as most intimate to me yet not constitutive of me because I am not my own existence—my existence is always borrowed, gifted, given. Existence is not part of my essence. This distinction precludes pantheism, and yet it does involve a certain panentheism: all things are in God, in the sustaining power of God’s creative causality.

All things have meaning only in relation to existence; what is most perfect is the act of existing, related to all things as to their first act. Existence is the actuality of all things, including essence, form, matter, etc. It precedes all other perfections: the good, the beautiful, one, etc.; these latter are meaningful only insofar as they are or exist and therefore only as particular modes of being or existing. There is a primacy of existence in Aquinas vs. the primacy of the Good in Plato.


Cognitive primacy of existence:

Esse, existence, is the horizon of all cognition: all things are understood as existing or at least as capable of existing (the first principle) and we perceive all things under the horizon of being (sub ratione entis). The natural tendency of reason is to essentialize existence, turn it into a mode or kind of essence, especially material essence—to reify esse into a frozen essence, to reduce existence to an abstract concept.

We must distinguish between simple apprehension of essence or quiddity (first operation of the intellect, i.e., what is this? It is a horse, or a unicorn.) and the act of judgment which composes or combines or separates essence and existence (second operation of the intellect which regards the esse of things – the unicorn does not exist, the horse exists). Thus, there is a judgment of existence: “Socrates is”– a composition of substance Socrates and its existence in the unqualified or absolute sense.

It depends also on what the meaning of “is” is!

Judgment of existence in the qualified sense would be: “Socrates is a human being” – the role of the copula: essence of Socrates is to be a man, or white–existential value is not direct in the copula, but still there–actuality of the act of existing is the principal signification of “is,” but secondarily all actuality whatsoever including the actuality of a certain form (man, white).

The copula still designates composition of form and existence; the actuality of the form is consignified —“Socrates exists with such and such determinations” still specifies his particular mode of existing. The unity of subject and predicate is affirmed as existing in reality, outside the mind, irreducible to our own affirming subjectivity. Thus the modern turn to the subject has its limitations.

Every time we make such judgments – Socrates is … – we are already affirming existence, and act of existing as grasped in the act of judging contains a permanent reference to an infinitely rich reality of the pure act of existing–pursuing it all the way to the supreme existent, God. As concept, being is most universal and most abstract—richest in extension but poorest in comprehension. Reason dislikes the undefinable, which being is in its inexhaustible reality.


Real distinction between essence and existence in finite beings

Essence can be understood without knowledge of its existence. There is a radical contingency of all beings (they may or not come into existence, and they may nor not cease to exist) and there is the impossibility of there being more than one being in which essence and existence are identical (God).

Existence and essence are related as act and potency. There is no potency in God, who is pure actuality because his essence is identical with his existence.

God is not a genus, a quiddity. Finite existence is existence by participation; God exists by essence – ipsum esse subsistens, the very act of existing that subsists, the subsisting act of existing

Kant says that existence is a logical, not a real predicate, but this is not true; existence is neither merely logical nor merely one among other predicates, but the predicate that confers reality on all other predicates because existence makes all predicates real. The reality of predicates depends on existence.

Thus, Thomist theology is a theology of being (sapiential, contemplative), as opposed to contemporary theologies of life, existence, praxis, liberation, hope, etc. (prophetic, practical).

Kierkegaard speaks of forgetfulness of existence in the subjective sense, Heidegger of forgetfulness of being—Aquinas speaks of the forgetfulness of existence in the metaphysical sense—the sense of the suppression of contingency of existence, death, old age—our tendency to reduce reality to the sensible in their particularity—and ignore the act of existing as the most profound and intimate act of a being as a being (shich requires contemplative detachment from the lures and illusions of sensible things)

Because of the composition of act and potency, where every act is the actualization of an existing potentiality, the world is not a mere succession of purely contingent appearances or acts but an orderly succession of intelligible, stable events—there is no act which is just act without actualizing a potentiality, while potentiality, if it is real, is an already actualized potentiality.



Luminous Darkness? Dazzling Darkness!

St.-Gregory-PalamasSt Gregory Palamas, in attempting to explain the vision of the divine light, the divine energies, makes several points worthy of note:

First, it is not a mere negation, a mere expression of the apophatic way. Rather, it goes beyond negation; when one sees the divine light, one sees something, one does not see the void.

However, secondly, one does not see by mere positive apprehension of discursive or intellectual knowledge either. It is something that is apprehended directly, and beyond both the knowing of reason and the unknowing. It is beyond words, and yet analogous words are used to describe it. But only direct experience can give knowledge of it, as St Paul saw the divine light and was changed.

Third, it is a divinizing union of the pure heart with the very being of God, in his energies. And this is through grace, not intellectual effort.

Fourth, and therefore, it is something that is not seen either with the senses – it is not seen with the eye – or with the discursive intellect. (Thus, it is not a symbolic theophany given to the senses, as. e.g., Augustine had argued in De Trinitate).

Fifth, it is a participation in God, a mystical union, a deification, the call and destiny of Christians.

It is a Luminous Darkness, as St Gregory of Nyssa had put it (see the about section of the blog), or, as St Gregory Palamas (citing the Areopagite) puts it here, a Dazzling Darkness.

So, when the saints contemplate this divine light within themselves, seeing it by the divinising communion of the Spirit, through the mysterious visitation of perfecting illuminations—then they behold the garment of their deification, their mind being glorified and filled by the grace of the Word, beautiful beyond measure in His splendour; just as the divinity of the Word on the mountain glorified with divine light the body conjoined to it.

For “the glory which the Father gave Him”, He Himself has given to those obedient to Him, as the Gospel says, and “He willed that they should be with Him and contemplate His glory” . . .

No one has ever seen the fullness of this divine Beauty, and this is why, according to Gregory of Nyssa, no eye has seen it, even if it gaze forever: in fact, it does not see the totality such as it is, but only in the measure in which it is rendered receptive to the power of the Holy Spirit.

But in addition to this incomprehensibility, what is most divine and extraordinary is that the very comprehension a man may have, he possesses incomprehensibly. Those who see, in fact, do not know the one who enables them to see, hear and be initiated into knowledge of the future, or experience of eternal things, for the Spirit by whom they see is incomprehensible.

As the great Denys says, “Such a union of those divinised with the light that comes from on high takes place by virtue of a cessation of all intellectual activity.” It is not the product of a cause or a relationship, for these are dependent upon the activity of the intellect, but it comes to be by abstraction, without itself being that abstraction.

If it were simply abstraction, it would depend on us, and this is the Messalian doctrine, “to mount as far as one wills into the ineffable mysteries of God”, as St. Isaac says of these heretics.

Contemplation, then, is not simply abstraction and negation; it is a union and a divinisation which occurs mystically and ineffably by the grace of God, after the stripping away of everything from here below which imprints itself on the mind, or rather after the cessation of all intellectual activity; it is something which goes beyond abstraction (which is only the outward mark of the cessation).

This is why every believer has to separate off God from all His creatures, for the cessation of all intellectual activity and the resulting union with the light from on high is an experience and a divinising end, granted solely to those who have purified their hearts and received grace.

And what am I to say of this union, when the brief vision itself is manifested only to chosen disciples, disengaged by ecstasy from all perception of the senses or intellect, admitted to the true vision because they have ceased to see, and endowed with supernatural senses by their submission to unknowing? But we intend to show later on, by God’s aid, that though they have indeed seen, yet their organ of vision was, properly speaking, neither the senses nor the intellect.

Do you now understand that in place of the intellect, the eyes and ears, they acquire the incomprehensible Spirit and by Him hear, see and comprehend? For if all their intellectual activity has stopped, how could the angels and angelic men see God except by the power of the Spirit?

This is why their vision is not a sensation, since they do not receive it through the senses; nor is it intellection, since they do not find it through thought or the knowledge that comes thereby, but after the cessation of all mental activity.

It is not, therefore, the product of either imagination or reason; it is neither an opinion nor a conclusion reached by syllogistic argument. On the other hand, the mind does not acquire it simply by elevating itself through negation. . . .

Similarly, beyond the stripping away of beings, or rather after the cessation [of our perceiving or thinking of them] accomplished not only in words, but in reality, there remains an unknowing which is beyond knowledge; though indeed a darkness, it is yet beyond radiance, and, as the great Denys says, it is in this dazzling darkness that the divine things are given to the saints.

Thus the perfect contemplation of God and divine things is not simply an abstraction; but beyond this abstraction, there is a participation in divine things, a gift and a possession rather than just a process of negation.

But these possessions and gifts are ineffable: If one speaks of them, one must have recourse to images and analogies—not because that is the way in which these things are seen, but because one cannot adumbrate what one has seen in any other way.

Those, therefore, who do not listen in a reverent spirit to what is said about these ineffable things, which are necessarily expressed through images, regard the knowledge that is beyond wisdom as foolishness. . . .

– St. Gregory Palamas, Triads, pp. 33-36 . (emphases mine)

Radical Orthodoxy – Conclusion (Part 6 of 6)


Erik Olin Wright

Erik Olin Wright, President of the
American Sociological Association

For Milbank, Christian theology/sociology has to provide a “counter-ontology” because, as required by the provision of a different ethics, it has to establish an ontology of participation united with an epistemology of analogy, both of which are necessary to provide depth to all reality.

Outside of such ontology of participation, all reality is flattened; all social, political and cultural aspects become reducible to the mere human and humanistic level, all ethics are reducible to preference and power games, all language reducible to mere signs, and all men reducible to chemical/biological machines.

Within an ontology of participation, there are no things, no ultimate substances, only shifting relations and generations in time which only exist in their constitution of ideal, logical patterns; knowledge is not a representation of things, but is a relation to events, and a action upon events, because truth, for Christianity, is not correspondence, but rather participation of the beautiful in the beauty of God.[1]

Secular reason is part of an antique-modern scheme, and this is counteracted by an ontology of difference where narrative and ontology reinforce each other, the transcendent God announcing himself in the narrative as the God Who Is.

In this ontology, “there can be no more ‘truth and falsity’ . . .  because no positive non-being is posited, as by Platonism, and not pure material potency, as in Aristotelianism, [and] nothing that is, can be in any sense wrong.”[2] The other important points Milbank makes concerning this ontological outlook have been already highlighted in the first section of this paper.

Counter-History of the Kingdom

Lastly, this Christian theology/sociology has to take up again the “counter-history,” but this time under the aspect of ecclesial critique. Milbank has no intention of adopting a naïve perspective in which Christian theology and Christian praxis have been perfect, mere victims of secularization and distortion coming from outside. Rather, the failures of Christian theology and practice themselves have given occasion to ontological and epistemological shifts that have eventually led down the path to secularization and nihilism.

The Church failed to bring about salvation, but instead ushered in the modern secular – at first liberal, and finally nihilistic – world. [3]

For Milbank, the invention of the secular began at least in the eleventh century.[4] The Church helped to unleash a naked violence and failed to displace politics; it engendered a newly rationalistic and formalized approach to law from the twelfth century onwards, even to the degree that theorists of papal absolutism pressed for a doctrine of unlimited absolutism, and the State assumed the form of a perverted Church, an anti-Church.

In the midst of history, the judgment of God has already happened. And either the Church enacts the vision of paradisaical community which this judgment opens out, or else it promotes a hellish society beyond any terrors known to antiquity: corruptio optimi pessima.

For the Christian, interruption of history decoded antique virtue, yet thereby helped to unleash first liberalism, then positivism and dialectics and finally nihilism. Insofar as the Church has failed – and has even become a hellish anti-Church – it has confined Christianity, like everything else, within the cycle of the ceaseless exhaustion and return of violence.[5]

Milbank’s contention then is that the Catholic vision of ontological peace now provides the only alternative to a nihilistic outlook; there can be again the emanation of harmonious difference, the exodus of new generations, the diagonal of ascent, and the path of peaceful flight.


John Milbank and the Radical Orthodoxy project have made important criticisms of postmodern philosophy, and it has great merit in trying to recover the classical Christian tradition in a way that not merely repeats it, but adapts it and applies it to contemporary issues and challenges. Modern and postmodern insights are not just discarded, but rather incorporated and reoriented when they are helpful.

Beginning with the Enlightenment, the idea that there can be a neutral ground of thought – whether in politics, hard sciences, sociology, philosophy, etc. – became generally accepted. The reaction against the influence and authority of the Church over all areas of human life led thinkers to remove its yoke and seek knowledge independently, for its own sake, and for the sake of human achievement and profit. The illusion created was that knowledge can be acquired without any theological and philosophical presuppositions.

Radical Orthodoxy successfully challenges this outlook.

There can be no knowledge without presuppositions (as postmodernism recognized) and there can be no presuppositions without a theological outlook grounding them. There can be no thought without theology, and it is a matter of which theology will inform one’s presuppositions. As theologians have been arguing for centuries now, secular reason has a religion of its own, with its own sacraments (e.g. empiricism), and its own canon law (e.g. closed natural systems).

Milbank’s arguments, however, at times seem to be inconsistent, both internally and with the Augustinian/Thomistic tradition he seeks to recover.

As discussed in the other articles of this series, Milbank presses his arguments too far when challenging the autonomy of reason. There is no purely autonomous reason indeed, but there are serious difficulties in arguing that revelation is “but a higher measure of illumination.”

In this area, Milbank should follow his own directive of appropriating what is useful in the modern/postmodern context; there is legitimacy to reason and knowledge that does not make reference to transcendentals – one can know things in this way, but ultimately, what needs to be shown is that there is no reason why one should be able to know anything in a universe not sustained by God’s Logos.

We can know the laws of physics, biology, mathematics, logic – but they are only borrowed capital from the God who sustains all things and gives order to all things. In a secular universe, there cannot be any order, and therefore there cannot be any law. Moreover, there can be no ethics that is not arbitrary; in a secular universe, all that can be known about ethics – and some things are rightly known – ultimately can be reducible to preferences and power games, if ethics does not participate in the being of God.

Another deficiency in Milbank’s arguments has to do with his vision of peace as the antidote to postmodernity’s will to power. As already shown, Milbank seems to correct this in his later work, but correlative to his views of the altera societas of pure peace and pacifism is the denial of the full legitimacy of the State/Church distinction.

Milbank’s arguments fail to account for the fact that the Church arguably will never engulf all societies before the eschaton. That means that the work of the theologian, as an expression of the work of the Church, is to recognize that God has granted legitimacy to certain aspects of culture – law, government, politics, and so on. Milbank argues that “tending gardens, building bridges, sowing crops, caring for children, cannot be seen as “ecclesial” activities, precisely because these activities are now enclosed within a sphere dubbed “political.”

But what is the alternative? A totalitarian Christian Church that engulfs governments, civilizations, cultures, denying their freedom to believe as they will, and the legitimacy of the value of life to those who are not Christians (or at least theists)?

This will not do.

Christian theology has to view the public square not only as something that is, but also as something that should be, and then address it, precisely because before the consummation of all things, the Kingdom of God advances by the presentation of Christ and him crucified – as Augustine, Aquinas, and many other Church fathers understood – within a context of loving persuasion, not domination. It is ironic that the very context of the early Church that Milbank seeks to recover was one that is the most similar to our contemporary context when it comes to the existence of the Church in a thoroughly pluralistic society.

Christianity did eventually became mixed with the State, but for three hundred years it flourished, even under persecution, in a context in which Christian thought and practice was only possible in a pluralistic context. And this flourishing was not by denying legitimacy to the pluralistic world.

This seems to be Radical Orthodoxy’s greatest weakness: it fails to recognize that we live in a pluralistic world in which globalization is here to stay.

Christian theology should not use this as an excuse to dissolve its message under a relativistic banner of radical correlationism, but neither should it spend its energies outlining a Christian world where there is “no secular.”

Christian theology has to confront nihilism with the core of its message; the center of Christianity is not participation and transcendence – although they are indispensable for it – but the Incarnate, dead, buried, resurrected, and ascended Christ who is the revelation of the Triune God from whom, through whom, and to whom are all things.

When that is obscured, one runs the risk of reifying transcendence and participation, which is precisely one of the main complaints Radical Orthodoxy has concerning postmodernity: reifying things apart from the One who gives them depth.

Therefore, it seems that Milbank’s concerns with relation to the nihilistic path Western civilization has taken are well grounded, and many of his criticisms and suggestions are needed, but there has to be a certain refining towards consistency in his work when it comes to our present global pluralistic context.

If Milbank rightly does not want the One to be swallowed by the many, neither should he allow the many to be swallowed up by the One.


See Also:

Radical Orthodoxy – A Theological Vision

Radical Orthodoxy – Altera Civitas

Radical Orthodoxy – Reason and Revelation

Radical Orthodoxy – Metanarrative Realism

Radical Orthodoxy – Counter Ethics

[1] Milbank, Theology & Social Theory, p. 434

[2] Ibid., p. 438

[3] Ibid., p. 383

[4] Ibid., p. 441

[5] Ibid., p. 442

Radical Orthodoxy – Counter Ethics

John Milbank

As discussed in the previous article, Milbank argues that, Christian theology and sociology has to provide, first, a “counter-history.” It has to deny that history is reducible to purely humanistic and pragmatic socio-political arrangements, and rather it has to argue that there is a transcendental dimension to history that grounds its ethics, as well as its political and social practices.

Second, Christian theology/sociology has to provide a “counter-ethics.” There has to be a different practice that emerges as Christian ethics differs from either pre-Christian or post-Christian ethics, because it is in fact the difference from all cultural systems, exposing the nihilism inherent in them.

For Milbank, while there is continuity between the “antique understanding of ethics” (e.g. Plato, Aristotle) and Christian ethics, the latter critiques it and modifies it to a significant degree.

The polis is the ultimate center of virtue and ethics, but the Christian polis is the community of the Church. Similarly, this distinction between the social polis and the Christian polis should not imply that Christian ethics retreated to mere personal ethics as in modern liberalism, because the early Church remained in the social context in which it was generated.

One of the central aspects in this continuity/discontinuity structure of early Christian ethics that was neither pure social ethics nor mere individual piety is the concept of the Christian household, which included women, children and slaves as well as adult free males. This “came to be regarded as the primary context for paideia, a ‘laboratory of the spirit,’ in a fashion virtually unknown to antiquity.”[1]

Another important element was the combination of submission to the civil authorities as a rule (in its perceived God-given role of coercion and discipline of sin and disorder), with the disobedience of civil authorities when they would require Christians to participate in imperial worship or other forms of explicit paganism. Later, there was a gradual shift in the practice of Christian ethics in relation to the State, in that the gradual conversion of Roman citizens and rulers was expected to have implications for the character of political governance – and this culminating with the ascension and conversion of the emperor Constantine.

Following Augustine, then, Milbank argues that “worldly justice and government as paideia are not thereby abandoned as desirable objectives. On the contrary … they are truly realized in the city of God: fully in heaven, but also partially here on earth.”[2] Partially, because as long as time persists, there will be some sin, and therefore a need for its regulation through worldly dominium and the worldly peace, which takes the form of a bare compromise between competing wills.

The power of the State is necessary – it ought to be incorporated as an expression of the Christian community, and yet it will still regulate power negotiated between fallen wills and purposes. The political, then, is necessarily imperfectly social, because it contains elements of compulsion and of mere compromise.

At the same time, Milbank argues that “all political theory, in the antique sense, is relocated by Christianity as thought about the Church,” and that for Augustine, there is “nothing recognizable as a theory of Church and State.”[3] Milbank sees Augustine’s idea of the city of man not as a legitimate State, but as a vestige of ancient Babylon, which uses finite goods for bad ends; the city of God, by contrast, uses finite goods for good ends, with a different faith, and different hope, and a different love.

The city of man is now, after the Fall, at the same time an illegitimate State and a necessary evil, so that coercive political rule curbs human sin – thus sin curbing sin. Milbank thinks Aquinas has moved somewhat from Augustine’s position, and, accordingly, he criticizes him for it:

By beginning to see the social, economic and administrative life as essentially natural, and part of a political sphere separate for the church, Aquinas opens the way to regarding the Church as an organization specializing in what goes on inside men’s souls; his affirmation, for example (possibly inconsistent with his own affirmation of the “consequences of charity”) that the new law of the Gospel adds no now “external precepts,” seems to tend dangerously in this direction.

Once the political is seen as a permanent natural sphere, pursuing positive finite ends, the, inevitably, firm lines of division arise between what is “secular’ and what is “spiritual.” Tending gardens, building bridges, sowing crops, caring for children, cannot be seen as “ecclesial” activities, precisely because these activities are now enclosed within a sphere dubbed “political.”[4]

Milbank proposes rather that it is better that the bounds between Church and State be extremely hazy, so that a social existence of complex powers may emerge and curb either a sovereign State or a statically hierarchical Church.[5] Ideally, then there should be a state of total peace, where even the ancient virtues are subsumed and fulfilled in charity alone, and thus society would anticipate heaven and act as if sin was not there.

In fact, Christianity is to deny the necessity of sovereign rule and absolute ownership, and instead to seek to recover “the concealed text of an original peaceful creation beneath the palimpsest of the negative distortion of dominium, through the superimposition of an third redemptive template, which corrects these distortions by means of forgiveness and atonement.”[6]

Milbank goes as far as to argue that Augustine’s concession to punishment as inevitable in the fallen realm was inconsistent, even a mistake. For Milbank, non-sinful “pedagogic” coercion partially violates Augustine’s ontology because it makes some punishment positive. Since punishment must inflict some harm, however temporary, it has an inherently negative relationship to Being.

Milbank seems to have moved somewhat from this position in one of his later works: he writes in Being Reconciled (2003) that violence is violence “only when it is also evil,” i.e., there is violence that is evil, but it is also evil not to fight “evil violence” with proper violence.

To become a mere spectator of violence, and not oppose it, even with violence, is an evil act in and of itself. In this way, “evil and violence are convertible but not identical,” and “looking at violence is actually more violent than participating in violence . . . pacifism, as looking at violence, is at least as violent, and probably more absolutely violent, than actual physically violent interventions . . .  gazing at violence is the greatest violence.”[7]

This later shift apparently seeks to correct some of the inherent tensions in Milbank’s arguments concerning violence and pacifism.

See Also:

Radical Orthodoxy – A Theological Vision

Radical Orthodoxy – Altera Civitas

Radical Orthodoxy – Reason and Revelation

Radical Orthodoxy – Metanarrative Realism

Radical Orthodoxy – Conclusion

[1] John Milbank, Theology & Social Theory:  Beyond Secular Reason (Oxford:  Blackwell, 1990) p. 403

[2] Ibid., p. 404

[3] Ibid., p. 410

[4] Ibid., p. 412

[5] Ibid., p. 413

[6] Ibid., p. 423

[7] John Milbank, Being Reconciled:  Ontology and Pardon (New York:  Routledge, 2003) p. 28-30.

Radical Orthodoxy – Metanarrative Realism

John Milbank

First, Christian theology and sociology has to provide a “counter-history.” It has to deny that history is reducible to purely humanistic and pragmatic socio-political arrangements, and rather it has to argue that there is a transcendental dimension to history that grounds its ethics, as well as its political and social practices (since theological and metaphysical assumptions have guided societies’ praxis, and such assumptions are not reducible to mere preference or collective fantasies).

In order to fulfill this task, Christian theology has to provide a “metanarrative realism.” The objects of Christian faith and the modes of Christian experience are derived from a particular cultural practice which organizes subjects and objects, signs, images and actions, not just a set of propositions. The Christian metanarrative is performative, and the performance of its praxis takes place in the stage of a historical and mythical scene.[1]

Here again Milbank wants to use Hegelian principles in that the Incarnation brings together theoria and praxis, idea and history, doctrine and narrative. The incarnation “demands a return to the concrete, narrative level: if Jesus really is the Word of God, then it is not the mere extrinsic knowledge of this which will save us, but rather a precise attention to his many words and deeds and all their historical results.”[2]

This metanarrative is not be turned into a mere paradigm, isolated from its historical genesis, but there has to be a dialectic relationship between the “paradigmatic” and the “syntagmatic.” In other words, there is an organic relationship between the paradigms of the narrative that in a sense “stay in place” and the breaking out of this frame of reference into the temporal course of events – and that, of course, is performed by the Church in history.

In this way, the metanarrative is the story of Jesus and the story of the Church. No historical story is ever “over and done with,” and the Church’s history is the unfolding of both the history and story of Christ, so that there is no “disappearance of our own personalities into the monistic truth of Christ.”[3]

Rather, Jesus’ mission was the preaching of the Kingdom, and thus the inauguration of a new community, the Church. There is a displacement of time and chronological sequence in that the continuing story of the Church has already been finalized in an exemplary way in Jesus, and yet it is still to be realized universally by all generation of Christians – not in a mere repetition, but in a different reenactment of the metanarrative until its eschatological conclusion.

The metanarrative, then, is “the genesis of the [historical] Church” outside of which Christianity becomes a set of ahistorical propositions about Christ – indeed a sort of Gnosticism. For Milbank, however, this metanarrative of the Christ/Church has an interpretative, regular function with respect to all other history – it becomes a somewhat Hegelian “philosophy of history,” although based on faith, and not on reason. That is to say, the exclusivistic and universalistic claims of Christianity concerning ultimate truth and salvation are an intrinsic part of its faith, theology and history.

As Milbank puts it, “the logic of Christianity involves the claim that the interruption of history by Christ and his bride, the Church, is the most fundamental of events, interpreting all other events.”[4]

Not only Christianity makes its claims in its paradigmatic aspect, but it also continues the narrative syntagmatically, becoming the whole story of human history which is still being enacted – and that means that Christianity will have a fully social and political dimension, which nonetheless will give priority to the normative narrative – the way things ought to be will constantly be the goal of the way things are.

This normative aspect, for Milbank, is the possibility of critique of the Western tradition, and he argues that Augustine’s model in the City of God succeeds where Hegel and Marx fail – the latter being “gnostic’” versions of the former. Surprisingly, Milbank’s criticism of Hegel and Marx at this point is not that their models seem to be too idealistic, based on “reason,” but rather that their dialectics necessarily incorporate antagonism and violence.

Augustine’s model of the altera civitas, on the other hand, has “no logical or causal connection with the city of violence.” It is at this point that Milbank’s arguments for a counter history may run the risk of becoming ironically impractical and ahistorical – and, accordingly, he did in later works refine some of his views on violence and pacifism. I will expand this discussion in the conclusion.

Milbank argues that Augustine’s model in his Civitas Dei presents a non-antagonistic, peaceful mode of life grounded in historical and mythical narrative, as well as in a Christian ontology that gives priority of peace over conflict (which, for Milbank, is arguably the key theme of Augustine’s entire thought).[5] The city of man is marked by sin, the denial of god, self-assertion and self-love – a kingdom of power over others, the libido dominandi – power is pursued as an end in and of itself.

By contrast, the city of God is marked by real peace, worked out in a state of harmonious agreement, based upon a common love, and the realization of justice for all. The city of God has not been founded, as Rome, by the exertion of violent power, but by peaceful donation, in fellowship, in self-forgetting conviviality, illumined by an overarching vision of peace:

Whereas the civitas terrena inherits its power from the conqueror of a fraternal rival, the “city of God on pilgrimage through this world” founds itself not in a succession of power, but upon the memory of the murdered brother, Abel slain by Cain. The city of God is in fact a paradox, a “nomad city” (one might say) for it does not have a site, or walls or gates. It is not, like Rome, an asylum constituted by the “protection” offered by a dominating class to the dominated, in the face of an external enemy. This form of refuge is, in fact, but a dim archetype of the real refuge provided by the Church, which is the forgiveness of sins.[6]

Accordingly, mutual forgiveness and bearing on each other’s burdens becomes the modus vivendi of the Church, an atoning way of life. The Church itself is a continuing atonement to God, following Milbank’s metanarrative that starts with the life and work of Christ and continues in the life and work of the Church. Atonement, forgiveness, harmony, and ultimately peace, are the foundations of the city of God, whereas in the city of man, where there are no objective standards of truth and goodness, every act of persuasion is a violent act.

[1] John Milbank, Theology & Social Theory:  Beyond Secular Reason (Oxford:  Blackwell, 1990) p. 385

[2] Ibid., p. 387

[3] Ibid., p. 389

[4] Ibid., p. 390

[5] Ibid., p. 392

[6] Ibid., p. 394

Theosis? What are you, Mormon?

St Paul and the other apostles used many images and analogies when speaking of our redemption, and one concept that became central to the Fathers since New Testament times was that of deification.

Christ has shared in our poverty so that we may share in the richness of his divinity: for our sakes He became poor, so that through His poverty we might become rich (2 Cor. 8:9); Christ prayed that we might share in the perichoresis of the Trinity, “that they may be one, just as We are one – I in them, and You in Me, that they may be perfectly one” (John 17:22-23); we have been made “partakers of his divine nature (2 Peter 1:4).

If humans are to share in God’s glory, they are to become by grace what God is by nature, i.e., we are to be deified. As St Athanasius put it,

The Word was made man in order that we might be made divine [also translated, that we might become god]. He displayed himself through a body, that we might receive knowledge of the invisible Father. He endured insult at the hands of men, that we might inherit immortality. [1]

This is only possible because we are mystically and ontologically united to Christ through faith, in the Holy Spirit; therefore, our redemption and deification is only possible if Christ is fully God and fully human, and if the Holy Spirit himself is also fully God. In fact, this became central in the Father’s arguments for the deity of Christ and of the Holy Spirit in the fourth century.[2] No one less than God can save humanity, and so Christ must be fully God; but only if He is truly human, as we are, can we humans participate in what He has done for us.

Scripture states that human beings have been created in the image and likeness of God (Gen. 1:26). Most of the Greek Fathers made a distinction between those two terms, arguing that the image of God refers to our intellectual capacities and our freedom of will, while the likeness of God refers to our conformity to God according to virtue. Our image has not been lost in the Fall for we retain our reason and human free will; but what Adam failed to do, and that which we must attain through the grace of God enabling our efforts – the synergia of God and man – is likeness to God. To become like God is to acquire divine likeness, to be assimilated to God through virtue, and therefore, to be deified, to become a second god, a god by grace.[3]

Adam and Eve were created in the image and likeness of God, but they still had to mature and progress to a greater likeness. Thus, human beings before the Fall were perfect not so much in an actual but in a potential sense, for, having the image, they were called to acquire the likeness by their own efforts, assisted by the grace of God (cooperation, synergia). As St Irenaeus put it,[4] Adam was in a state of innocence and simplicity, in need of growth unto perfection.[5]

Sin, Grace, Free Will

After the Fall the likeness is not something with which we are endowed from our first moment of existence; it is a goal for which we must aim, something we can only acquire by degrees. However sinful we may be, we never lose the image, but the likeness depends upon our moral choices, upon our virtue, our cooperation with the grace of God – and conversely, this likeness is destroyed by sin.

The Orthodox Church rejects any account of grace that might seem to infringe upon human freedom; therefore, we, as “fellow workers with God” (1 Cor. 3:9) must make our contribution to this common work – although always recognizing that what God does is of immeasurably greater importance than what we do. There are two unequal but necessary forces that cooperate: divine grace and human will.

The paradigm and supreme example of this is seen in the Theotokos, who said “may it be done according to thy will.” We cannot merit salvation, but we must work it out in fear and trembling (Phil. 2:12-13), for faith without works is dead (Jas. 2:17). Sin has restricted the scope of our free will but has not destroyed it.

Acquire the Holy Spirit!

St Seraphim of Sarov taught that “the true aim of the Christian life is the acquisition of the Holy Spirit.” Vladimir Lossky argues that this “sums up the whole spiritual tradition of the Orthodox Church.”[6] The acquisition of the Holy Spirit is nothing other than deification. The final goal at which every Christian must aim is to become god, to attain theosis; for Orthodoxy, our salvation and redemption mean our deification.

Just as the Persons of the Trinity inhere in one another in the divine perichoresis, we also are called to dwell in the Trinitarian God, to share in the life of the Trinity, and to dwell in one another in an unceasing movement of love. This idea of personal and organic union between God and humans – God dwelling in us and we in Him – is often highlighted in the gospel of St John[7] and the epistles of St. Paul;[8] again, St Peter speaks of our sharing in the divine nature.

His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire. (2 Peter 1:3-4)

A Fourth Member of the Trinity? Essence and Energies.

It is important to note that the idea of deification must always be understood in the light of the distinction between God’s essence and His energies, as St Gregory of Palamas stated, viz., union with God means union with the divine energies, not the divine essence. The latter remains transcendent, inaccessible to creation ontologically, as well as intellectually – thus the need of apophatic theology.

Union with God’s essence would constitute pantheism (or panentheism) which the Orthodox Church rejects. In the mystical union of God and man through deification, the Creator and the creature are not fused into a single being, but remain distinct. Human beings fully retain their personhood even after attaining deification, and their union with God is the analog of the Trinity, where there is unity in diversity. Of course, the distinction being that in the Trinity the Persons share the same numerical nature, whereas human persons only share their specific nature with other humans, and remain human even while participating in the divine nature.

We remain creatures while becoming god by grace, as Christ remained God when becoming man by the Incarnation. We do not become God by nature, but created gods, gods by grace or by status. Nonetheless, deified saints, according to St Maximus, are those who are worthy of God and have one and the same energy with him. Saints do not lose their free will, but when deified they voluntarily conform their will to the will of God in love.

Body and Soul, Heaven and Earth

Deification involves not only the inward person but also the body, for human beings are hylomorphic beings, unities of body and soul, and Christ took upon himself full humanity in order to redeem the whole person. Therefore, according to St Maximus, “our body is deified at the same time as our soul.” Our bodies are the temple of the Holy Spirit, and we are to offer them as living sacrifices to God (1 Cor. 6:19, Rom. 12:1).

The full deification of the body must wait until the Last Day, when our redemption will be fully consummated and the righteous will rise from the dead and be clothed with a spiritual, incorruptible body. In that Day, the glory of the Holy Spirit which now shines hidden in the inward man will transfigure our bodies, coming out from within and shining visibly with the light of Mount Tabor. In the meantime, we receive the firstfruits of our redemption, and as such some saints have experienced tokens of the visible, bodily glorification.

St John Maximovitch

Reports of saints shining visibly in times of prayer include that of St Seraphim of Sarov, Arsenius the Great, Abba Pambo and others.[9] Here in San Francisco, the incorrupt relics of my patron saint, St. John Maximovitch, lie displayed for all to see and venerate at the Holy Virgin Cathedral.

Because the Orthodox are convinced that the body is sanctified and transfigured together with the soul, reverence for the relics of the saints is a natural outcome. The grace of God that is present in the saints’ bodies during their lives remains active when they die, and God uses such bodies as channels of divine power and as instruments of healing. In some cases, the bodies of the saints have been miraculously preserved from corruption; but the reverence and veneration of the relics of the saints is present even when this has not occurred.

Indeed, the doctrine of theosis, which informs a worldview of God suffusing human beings with his grace, in his energies, is also the framework for the understanding that God redeems not only human beings, but all of physical creation as well. Not only our human body but the whole of the material world will be eventually transfigured, for Christ came to make all things new, and God’s redemptive plan culminates in the establishment not only of a new heaven, but also a new earth. Creation is to be saved and glorified along with humans, and icons are the firstfruits of this redemption of matter.

The Incarnation, of course, is both the basis and means through which God redeems all of creation, including matter. Christ took flesh and thus the material order in him was united to God. From his Incarnation springs God’s cosmic redemption, and the Orthodox doctrine of the deification of the body, its iconology, and indeed its view of the holiness and even sacramentality of the created order are firmly grounded on it.[10]

In the Orthodox tradition there is therefore a profound sense of the intrinsic sacredness of the earth, a serious affirmation of the goodness of life and an increasing concern for man’s responsibility as the steward of the planet. According to Ecumenical Patriarch Dimitrios’ 1988 Christmas message, the world “should become a Eucharistic offering to the Creator, a life giving bread, partaken in justice and love with others.”

Six Points to Remember

Metropolitan Kallistos lists six points that must be made in order to avoid misunderstandings concerning the doctrine of theosis:

  1. First, it must be clear that theosis is for every Christian without exception. The process of divinization begins in this life for all Christians, and not for a select few. However weak our attempts may be to follow Christ and keep his commandments, of using our will in making choices that conform to the grace of God, we are already in some degree deified.
  1. Secondly, the process of deification does not mean that one becomes perfect or sinless in this life, or that one ceases to be conscious of sin. It was St Paul who called himself the “chief of sinners,” for it is characteristic of great saints to have an acute awareness of their own limitations. Deification always presupposes a continual act of repentance, and it is not for nothing that the Jesus Prayer begs, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.” The doctrine of theosis is not mutually exclusive with a doctrine of ongoing penitence, but rather presupposes it.
  1. Thirdly, theosis does not come about through some esoteric or magical technique. Rather, the process of deification, in which we cooperate with the grace of God, takes place in one’s life through the means God has appointed  to bring that about.
    • Metropolitan Kallistos lists six such means:
      1. Church (i.e., participating in the liturgy and in the life of the community),
      2. The regular reception of the sacraments
      3. Perseverance in prayer
      4. The reading of the Gospels
      5. The keeping of God’s commandments
      6. Christian service.
  1. Therefore, fourthly, deification is not a solitary but a “social” process. The commandments are summed up in the love of God and the love of neighbor. These two are inseparable, for one cannot fulfill one without fulfilling the other. Only if one loves God – and therefore only if one loves his neighbor – can one be deified. As the Persons of the Trinity dwell in one another, so we must also dwell in our neighbors.
  1. Fifthly, and consequently, theosis is practical because love of God and of our neighbors must be practical, i.e., expressed in action. Obviously the process of theosis does not exclude mystical experience, but it certainly includes the service of love. In our efforts, our synergia, we cooperate with the grace of God by conforming not only our minds and hearts to him, but also in imitating his love through actions.
  1. Lastly, deification presupposes life in the Church, life in the sacraments, for they are the means appointed by God for us to acquire the Holy Spirit and be transformed in the divine likeness.

[1] On the Incarnation, 54

[2] Cf. e.g., St Gregory of Nazianzus’ orations on the Son and on the Holy Spirit against Arianism. Also, as theosis requires not only the full divinity of Christ, but also his full humanity (since he does not redeem what he does not assume), it became important for the Christological discussions concerning the human nature of Christ as well, over against Docetism, Monophysitism, Monothelitism, etc.

[3] “I said, “You are gods, sons of the Most High, all of you” (Ps. 82:6). “Jesus answered them, Is it not written in your Law, ‘I said, you are gods’?’” (John 10:34).

[4] Demonstration of the Apostolic Preaching, 12.

[5] Metropolitan Kallistos points out that this is a different approach than that of Augustine, who viewed humans in Paradise in a state of realized perfection. It is interesting to note that the “magisterial” Reformers (Calvin, Turretin, et. al.) in Protestantism viewed Adam and Eve as being not in a perfect state, but in a state of probation, after the successful completion of which they were to attain glorification through obedience to the “covenant of works.” In that view, Christ came to fulfill that covenant of works as the second Adam, and thereby to impute his perfect obedience and righteousness to those united to him through faith. The idea of imputation (in the forensic, Reformed sense) was foreign to the Fathers (and arguably to the New Testament), but it is interesting to note some similar views the Reformers had with the Greek Fathers concerning Adam’s need to attain likeness to God, in contradistinction to Augustine and later Latin theologians.

[6] The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church, p. 196.

[7] E.g., John 15:1-5 reads, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser . . . Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.”

[8] E.g., we are members of His body, of His flesh and of His bones (Eph. 5:30), we are members of Christ (1 Cor. 6:15); Christ lives in us (Gal. 2:20) and dwells in our hearts by faith (Eph. 3:17); He is in us (Rom. 8:10), and is to be formed in us (Gal. 4:19); etc.

[9] There are similar reports of such events in the Western tradition, the example of Anselm of Canterbury perhaps being the most famous.

[10] As C. S. Lewis has famously stated in Mere Christianity, “God likes matter, He invented it.” Indeed, he also has redeemed it.