The Council of Nicaea: A Historical Explainer

 The Council of Nicaea: A Historical Explainer

This year is, among other things, the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea. Ecumenical commemorations have already begun, focusing for the most part on the dual institutions of the Papacy and the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople--institutions both deeply entwined, though in different and somewhat ironic ways, with the event. 

Later this year, two men will meet in Nicaea: Pope Leo XIV-- an American born in Chicago who spent his ministry in Peru, places that none of the bishops at Nicaea had ever heard of, but the latest sitter on what was already in the fourth century the ancient and venerable seat of the bishop of the Church of Rome, and Patriarch Bartholomew--an ethnic Greek whose see was, at the time of Nicaea, a minor suffragan of Heraclea, who today presides over a tiny, purely vestigial Christian flock in what was, in the 4th century, the population heartland of Christianity, but which now resides within the borders of an ethnic nation-state named after Central Asian nomads and populated by the largely secularized followers of Islam, a Christian offshoot that would emerge centuries later from a portion of the world that nearly all the bishops of Nicaea would have regarded as a minor scrap of territory stuck rather awkwardly between two great Empires. These two men will no doubt issue appropriate statements of fraternity and commemoration for what both traditions they represent regard as the first Ecumenical Council of the undivided Christian Church of the first millennium. 

Accompanying these commemorations will come many, many explanations by the popular press the world around, designed to communicate to ordinary folks from America to Siberia to India and back again just what the Council of Nicaea is, anyway, and why it's important enough to make the Chicagoan Pope go all the way to Turkey. Alas, the popular press being what it is, the vast majority of these explanations will be wrong. This event will also be accompanied, no doubt, by many intelligent and intellectual explanations of just what the Council of Nicaea is, in podcasts, tweets, blueskys and the like: and as is frequently the case, these will be even more wrong. 

Hence, to get out ahead of these takes, I wanted to issue, as a scholar who has published an academic volume among other things on Nicaea and its context and legacy, a brief explainer on the historical event of the Council of Nicaea. This will be a deliberately broad take, deliberately designed to skirt most controversial scholarly questions; but nevertheless unavoidably based on my own opinions and scholarly judgments. 

As such, I am confident it will contain a great deal of information that will come as a surprise to most moderately-informed people, and an even higher percentage of information that both ordinary, good people and wicked take-having intellectuals have never heard of. I hope it will prove both informative and reasonably diverting.

Death of the Son, Episode VIII: In the Assembly of the Great King

Death of the Son, Episode VIII

In the Assembly of the Great King 

[Episode One; Episode Two; Episode Three; Episode Four; Episode Five; Episode Six; Episode Seven]

Theodotus and Apollon slept, again, in their quarters--but only after Theodotus had made something of a show of locking all the doors, propping furniture carefully against them as the old priest watched nervously. It was all so much theater: if the Emperor's slaves wish to take us, they will do so. Otherwise, I am more than a match for any lone assailant. A locked door will not hold anyone determined. Yet Apollon seemed truly reassured, and after only a few minutes Theodotus had the satisfaction of hearing, through his own door, the old man's snores.

He himself, though, stayed awake a great deal longer, lying in his bed, his head propped up on his hands, considering the events of the previous day, and those about to come. 

There must, he was sure, be some way to make sense of this tale...to wrest some victory from the jaws of apparent defeat. If he could only understand the players involved...deduce the secret both Crispus and Fausta had known, which Apollon had almost heard...the secret that had somehow involved the dead Emperor Licinius...the secret which he must know, when at last he spoke with Constantine...the secret that might save Eustathius' life...

But what could the secret be? So far as he and everyone else know, Licinius' tale was straightforward, if twisted in a way not uncommon for Emperors in time of civil war. A Dacian, friend of Galerius, appointed Augustus of the West to contain the usurpers Constantine and Maxentius...but unlike his fellow Tetrarchs, wise enough to see Constantine's potential, and first tolerate him, then ally with him against Maximinus Daza. Then for nearly ten years, Augustus of the East, ruling from Nicomedia, in partnership with Constantine. 

In his mind's eye, Theodotus saw the statue he had passed every day, along his route from apartment to the chancery, for nearly a decade: the heavy body, the long head, the staring eyes gazing upwards, the small, confident smile. Licinius had been the Emperor he, and everyone in the East, had looked up to, appealed to, praised and thanked for defeating the cruel pagan, the arch-persecutor Daza, and bringing the Persecution to a close. Like most, Theodotus had payed little attention to the second, smaller statue set up beside Licinius', with its sharp nose and broad face and grave expression: Licinius' Western colleague Constantine. It was only when that second statue abruptly disappeared, one morning, from its place at Licinius' side that he, and everyone else, realized that civil war had begun. 

The rest had been only rumors, let slip by tired soldiers in the taverns, or boasted of by confident, well-fed men in the market-places. Again and again, Theodotus had come into the room where his fellow court deacons worked to find them all huddled together, faces grave, discussing the latest news. Incursions, troop movements, raids, persecutions...

As the weeks went by, the talk turned more and more to this latter category. Licinius, it was said, had begun to fear the Christian clergy of his domain, seeing in them advocates and supporters of Constantine: spies, or worse. Bishops, it was said, had been arrested and put on trial before the Emperor for treason, priests expelled from the palace as spies. On every face, Theodotus saw the same fearful, enclosed expression, the same stirring memories, though no one ever actually spoke the words flicking through their mins: it is happening again...

As during the persecution, the people of Antioch began withdrawing. The crowds in the cathedral thinned by nearly a third; people began giving clerics a wide berth in the marketplace; and even the shopkeepers and slaves in the cookshops avoided Theodotus' eyes as they took his coins. Everywhere, there was a tense expectancy, like a storm about to break. 

Theodotus had not known the previous bishop, Philogonius, at all well; apart from brief meetings where he and the other deacons explained the cases and proposed judgments of the court for his approval, the two men had never spoken. Yet he remembered well the sermon Philogonius had given barely two years before, at the height of the war. 

The old bishop, like them all, had lived through the Persecution; barely ten years had passed since Daza's famous indulgences in the arena of Antioch. His thin, grizzled face had been pale even next to his white robe, and his hand had shaken as he had delivered his discourse. 

He had exhorted them, obliquely and carefully, saying nothing that might call down Licinius' wrath or those of officials, to endurance. He called to their minds the sufferings of the martyrs; and his frozen face and unblinking eyes showed clearly that he was remembering even as he spoke. The martyrs, he had reminded them, had considered the loss of their earthly possessions, even the loss of their hands and eyes (everyone's faces involuntarily turning toward the old bishop's empty socket), as nothing in comparison to the gain of heaven. It made no sense, the bishop insisted, to save perishing trifles and in so doing lose imperishable treasure. Still, he insisted, those who had left the Church and returned to their former ways of life out of fear would be welcomed back upon their return. But those who fled from Christ would never receive his rewards.

The display had been effective; the crowds of departing Christians slowed to a trickle, and many returned, shame-faced, to receive the bishop's forgiveness. Among the clergy of Antioch, though, Philogonius' courage had caused a panic. The deacons abandoned their work entirely, and instead spent all their time discussing when the hammer would fall, when and where and how Licinius would take his revenge against their bishop for speaking so openly. 

Abruptly, discussion of the Persecution ceased being taboo among the clergy of Antioch. Stories were swapped, in low tones, of brave men and women, and weak men and women, and their individual fates; of creative punishments administered to bishops by Daza, by local governors, in arenas and palace chambers and prisons. The implications, though never stated openly, were always the same: this is what will happen to Philogonius. Theodotus had taken no part in these discussions, but had wondered, idly, as he continued with his own work, if any of these discussions came to Philogonius' ears, and what the old man thought of it. He suspected the bishop had plenty of memories of his own to occupy him.

At last, it had, apparently, happened. A young priest, Eukalion, burst into the court office, just as the deacons were gathering to leave for the day, to tell them that a messenger had arrived for the bishop from Licinius. Though Eukalion had not heard the message himself, rumors had it that Philogonius had been summoned to Byzantium, where Licinius was currently holed up. Licinius, Eukalion speculated, must be furious; his rages, it was said, had grown worse and worse, and it was said he had had clerics killed in front of him, just like Daza. Even an invitation to court, Eukalion declaimed, his cheeks pale, was as good as a death sentence.

In the end, of course, nothing had happened. Whether or not Philogonius had been summoned to Byzantium, he did not go; nor was Licinius in Byzantium much longer. Within a matter of months, the old bishop was dead; a development not, Theodotus suspected, at all unrelated to the strain of those feverish months. This development seemed to sap the courage of the clergy of Antioch entirely; though month after month discussions were raised over electing a new bishop, nothing was done. There was no point, his fellow deacon Martinus had whispered, shrugging his shoulders, in electing someone who would go straight into the arena.  

As the months passed by without incident, however, the specter of persecution did not dissipate; it seemed rather, to hang in the air over the city, dimming the sunlight. People went about their business with heads bowed, shooting resentful glances at the cathedral, treating it like a bad omen. After the initial flurry of activity, the civil war seemed to have stalled; though there were still rumors of battles, they were less plausible and more fanciful, and the people stopped discussing them. The cookshop Theodotus visited every evening for his dinner was now nearly silent, with people standing quietly in line and even the slave at the counter sullen.

Without a bishop, though, the work of the episcopal court ground to a halt; and Theodotus and his fellow deacons were reassigned to delivering food for the poor. This meant a great deal of traipsing through the streets, day and night, which allowed Theodotus an even better sense of the city's mood. It had soured, and it was clear the souring was against Licinius. People stopped paying respect to his statues as they passed, and a few even spit; graffiti calling for Constantine's victory appeared throughout the city, and after a few months the local Imperial administration gave up on removing it. A statue of Licinius, it was said, had been torn down in the night; and though it was set up and shining again when Theodotus saw it the next morning, soldiers with round shields slung on their backs now watched it, sweating under their armor and shooting suspicious glances at passersby.

Again, the crowds in the cathedral dwindled, though this time it was likely as much due to lack of a preacher than fear of persecution. The smaller chapels throughout the city, when Theodotus passed by them, seemed fuller than ever, people unable to fit inside down on their knees praying for deliverance and, increasingly, for Constantine's victory. Persecutor or not, Licinius had lost the confidence of his people.  Living under Galerius and Daza had been frightening, but living under a possible persecutor was an intolerable strain, from which only the Christian Emperor could deliver them.

Finally, the war broke out again in earnest; not mere rumors, but detailed reports soon began pouring into the city, passed eagerly from well-dressed Imperial messengers in tabernae or soldiers in the town squares or slaves from the Palace; they spoke of battle after battle, all, it seemed, lost by Licinius and won by Constantine. Licinius' army of 150,000, it was said, had been routed by Constantine's much smaller force, bearing the sign of the chi-rho on their shields and with the Emperor's divine totem, the labarum (the design of which, it was said, had been given to him in a dream) borne before them. Licinius too, it was whispered, had dreamed of Christ taking the diadem from his head and placing it on a statue of Constantine. Bodies of martyrs, fresh from the slaughter, had spoken, telling of Licinius' defeat, and predicting his imminent demise. 

Most trumpeted of all, however, was the news of the total defeat of the Eastern Emperor's fleet, the ships taken or burned off the Hellespont after a bold tactical maneuver had encircled them. The commander who had originated this strategy, and bravely led his men in boarding Licinius' ships, was not Constantine, though, but a heretofore unknown figure in the East: the Emperor's brilliant, dashing son, a great strategist, and equally brave, a pious Christian like his father, who had prayed on bended knee before a cross just before the battle: a worthy heir to the throne, a new Christian Emperor, a guarantee against any future persecution. His name, it seemed, was Crispus.

At that, Theodotus' thoughts were brought back, with a jolt, to the present. He sat up in bed, and silently mouthed the words: Constantine murdered Crispus. The Emperor killed his son.

Almost angrily, he lay back down again, and tried to force his mind to consider, once again, what the secret might be. 

Future Heresies: A Thought Experiment

Future Heresies: A Thought Experiment

The following post will most likely interest very few people; but, well, it interests me. 

I have spent a great deal of time and energy studying the history of Christian and Catholic doctrine; and have even published a scholarly volume on the subject. There are a number of interesting facets or aspects of such a study: one, which is absolutely central to any serious contemporary Christian theology, may be called the theory of development, or more precisely theories of development, encompassing all the various attempts, from Antiquity to the present day, to understand theoretically the mix of continuity and change visible in Christian doctrine over time, its causes, and its results. These theories have spanned the entire range from naive to absurd to self-contradictory to insightful and back again; and to have a real theology, in any sense, it is necessary to operate on the basis of some such schema, if only implicitly: and to have a rational, explicit, truthful theology, it is necessary to have a rational, explicit, truthful theory of development.

However, that is not what I am going to be talking about in this post, at least not directly. Rather, what I have been trying to develop, based on my studies, here and elsewhere, is what I might call a theory of deformation, or perhaps (with a nod to Whip It) a theory of devolution.

This is, however, to put the matter somewhat dramatically, as well as somewhat polemically. The more basic truth is that Christianity as such, not to mention Catholicism, embodies a highly particular metaphysics, ethics, philosophy, ethics, history, and way of living, and that there are few, if any, things in human life that it does not in some way touch on or incorporate into its grand synthesis. 

For precisely this reason, however, Catholicism necessarily overlaps withareas of human life also dealt with by more human and secular and historical sciences and philosophies and cultures and politics. It not only covers the same ground as them, but frequently addresses the same concepts, even uses the same words. It typically does so, however, in very different ways, ways that are opaque, confusing, and often even offensive to many people, and which are therefore highly susceptible to being reinterpreted entirely in light of their more common usages.

To take only one instance, the use of the term nature in Catholic Christology necessarily overlaps to some limited extent with the uses made of this concept in science, philosophy, genetics, ethics, etc, of our own or indeed any historical society--but for all that, the concept of nature used in Catholic Christology is highly different than that used in any contemporary domain. To simply take the Christological sense of nature and insert into a discussion of, say, ecology would produce nonsense; while to take the contemporary ecological sense of nature and insert it into Christology might produce nonsense, but might also produce something a great deal more like a heresy.

This framing, however, is a bit more abstract than is necessary. I do not think, really, that most historical or contemporary heresies arise from mere confusion of the technical language of Catholicism with the technical language of contemporaneous science or philosophy. This has been, in the past, a common way of interpreting historical heresies; and it usually produces historiography (and heresiography) that is overly schematic and conceptually muddled. 

As a matter of fact, in most cases technical domains, so long as they remain technical and specific, remain to that extent open to broader domains of philosophy and metaphysics and theology, or more precisely subordinate to them in the sense that they deal with more particular matters that can and should and to an extent even must be integrated with broader domains: and to the extent this is true, engagements between technical domains and theology, so long as they are done skillfully, can produce positive fruit in both domains. 

Rather, what usually happens in regards to serious deformations of Catholic doctrine, I think, is quite a bit more subtle than this, and much harder to resolve simply with reference to mere definitions.

Most people do not study technical fields; but most people do live in societies, in communities, and in institutions. And these societies, communities, and institutions, explicitly or implicitly, run off of and embed and embody and incarnate particular views of the world, particular anthropologies, particular practical ethical goals and conceptions of the good. And it is these, in particular, that most directly and frequently clash with the overarching, holistic ethics and metaphysics of Catholicism; and which most frequently and impactfully lead to reinterpretations and deformations of Catholic belief and practice.

To take only one example, my scholarly book (AVAILABLE NOW!) focuses in part on the complex conceptual and practical clash between the implicit and explicit views of God, man, person, nature, equality, hierarchy, etc, found in the world of Late Imperial politics and Late Antique Christianity: and the various ways in which this led to radical reinterpretations of Imperial politics in terms of Christianity, and of Christianity in terms of Imperial politics. This is, of course, by no means a simplistic one-way affair, without ambiguity.

Still, if one accepts the basic framework above, it becomes clear that something like this has happened again and again in the history of the Catholic Church; and, considered soberly, to some degree must happen, in every age, place, institution, culture, and time. For, after all, the truth, even considered qua abstract and universal, must be concretely and particularly received and understood in every age, by every person: and for it to be understood, it must be related to existing stores of knowledge, culture, terminology, and so on. And if it is possible for this to be done well, in a way faithful to the essential meaning of Christian revelation, subordinating earthly knowledge to divine revelation, it is also possible, and intrinsically a great deal more likely, to be done badly.

And more interestingly, all this must happen here and now, and in the future: and must be, to some degree, predictable and understandable, even where said deformations are only implicit or only incipient. 

Here, then, is the ambitious and likely ludicrous "thought experiment" I wish to engage in this post: namely, to see if I can to some extent predict, to some extent extend, and to some extent make explicit the implicit deformations of core Catholic doctrines created by, or likely to be created by, our contemporary institutions and social systems. In so doing, I wish to be clear that I am using the term "heresy" only in a colloquial sense, as a helpful abstraction, and that I am in no way attempting to preempt Church authority, define a canonical crime, and/or accuse anyone of being a formal heretic deprived of divine grace and/or liable to ecclesiastical sanction. Similarly, in dealing with the below "heresies," I am in no way predicting, even theoretically, that anyone in particular will ever explicitly argue for the positions laid out below, let alone turn them into widespread theological or popular or religious movements. I am merely postulating that the following deformations of Catholic belief do exist or will exist, explicitly or implicitly, to vastly varying degrees, in the lives and thoughts and arguments of Catholics: and as such, will have, to vastly varying degrees, negative effects.

For my next blog post, most likely, I will be examining what I think are the emerging political principles likely to govern global and American politics over the next several decades. Before doing that, though, I wish to preserve the proper hierarchical order of things, and deal first with the higher domain of theology, before proceeding to lesser matters. 

Buy My Book!

Those readers of this blog who do not otherwise know me may be interested to learn that my first academic book, from Oxford University Press, has just been published.

Entitled Christ the Emperor: Christian Theology and the Roman Emperor in the 4th Century AD, the book aims to give a new, intertwined narrative of the dynasty of Constantine and the Arian Controversy, focusing on the political theologies espoused by both Emperors and bishops and by theologians on both sides of the controversy. 

You can order it from the Oxford University Press website here, as well as from Amazon here. It is also available at a number of other online retailers, including international ones. Amazon and Google Books both feature roughly ~50 page previews that you are welcome to check out even if you don't end up buying. 

This is obviously a work of academic historiography and so quite different from the sort of writing I do on this blog. However, if you can stomach my overly-long essays and are generally interested in the sort of topics I cover here, I would imagine you would enjoy and get something out of the book as well.

Godspeed!

Column 1/09/2023: Christmas and the Divine Creativity

Christmas and the Divine Creativity

Cur Deus homo? 

"Why is God a man?"

So asked St. Anselm of Canterbury, long ago; and so many us are hopefully compelled to ask, for the first or the hundredth or the thousandth time, by the Christmas season. Or perhaps not; perhaps, after a dozen or two or three or five or seven dozen Christmases, perhaps we simply take the angels and the Mother and Child and Wise Men and Shepherds all as givens. Perhaps we have never questioned them at all. Perhaps all our knowledge of Christmas comes from Hallmark Christmas movies. Perhaps we always thought that Christmas was a fictional holiday invented for Jim Carry's How the Grinch Stole Christmas. 

Why is God a man? Why is God a human being? Why is God a child, an infant, held in the arms of his mother, watched over by a stepfather, surrounded by animals and poor shepherds and exotic magicians? Why is God nursing, why is he crying, why is he sleeping? Why is God the descendant of the founding king of a minor Near Eastern dynasty? Why is God a political subject of Gaius Iulius Caesar Augustus? Why does God need a blanket?

Why is God something?

Of course, to even begin to answer the question posed above, we have to have some understanding of what God is; and also (a much harder question) what man is. Anselm had one very good answer to these questions; and I invite you to consider this answer at your leisure. For now, I will merely suggest some thoughts that came to me recently, and which were for me wrapped together inextricably with the event of Christmas. 

Column 09/25/2023: Prudence, Wisdom, and the Contemporary Crisis in Catholic Ethics

Prudence, Wisdom, and the Contemporary Crisis in Catholic Ethics

I am going to attempt what I fully understand is both a very difficult and very presumptuous task: that is, to summarize what I see as a centrally important concept to ancient philosophical and Catholic ethical theories, and to indicate why lack of proper understanding of this concept wreaks havoc with attempts to understand and apply these concepts in the modern world. This is quite an obnoxious thing to do; if you are annoyed by it, please pray for me. If you like it, pray for me anyway. 

In contemporary Catholic ethical discourses and debates, especially on a popular level, but increasingly also in academic and even clerical circles, there are two terms that are thrown around more than any others. These terms, in fact, are thrown around with such frequency that one would think that there were more or less no other issues in Catholic ethics at all; and what is perhaps oddest of all, they are thrown around by both sides of virtually all contemporary Catholic ethical debates, and in highly similar terms.

In watching these debates unfold, I have grown more and more and more certain that, put simply, these terms are being used all wrong--not just trivially or technically wrong, but in ways that, frankly, I can find no parallel in the tradition prior to the 20th century, and which taken together threaten the very edifice of Catholic ethics. This is a strong claim; but it is strong precisely because these terms refer, however increasingly remotely, to base assumptions of Catholic and ancient philosophical ethics without which the whole edifice of Catholic ethics simply makes no sense, and simply cannot be lived out or applied.

I refer, of course, to the two terms intrinsically wrong and prudential. 

Column 8/19/2023: Death of the Son, Episode Four: At the Court of the King

Death of the Son, Episode Four: At the Court of the King 

[Episode One; Episode Two; Episode Three]

Day had dawned before he was even aware he had been asleep, and when he awoke the priest Apollon was waiting by his cot, his old face drawn and worn, as if he had slept even less than Theodotus. Such hours suit me; the soldier and the deacon alike. Less sleep means less time for dreams.

Surely the old confessor must have similar dreams? For a moment, as the sleep cleared from his mind, he toyed with the idea of asking him about them. I saw so many like you, old man. Do you dream of the walls and the chains that held you? Or the men in fine robes who questioned you, day after day, always the same question, over and over again? Or the soldiers who held you by the arms and struck you on command? Or do you merely dream of the day they put out your eye? But the first words he spoke were more to the point: 

"My investigation of the palace is proceeding well. Today I must interview the clerics of the court."

Column 07/19/2023: Twin Peaks is America and David Lynch Needs Religion

Twin Peaks is America and David Lynch Needs Religion

[Warning: the following contains spoilers for the shows and movie Twin Peaks. I would highly advise watching it first, as it's quite good and very worth watching.]

There is something very strange about the human mind. 

One thing that, for me, makes Chesterton such a valuable thinker is that he is one of the very few authors I have ever read who actually seems to understand modernity--because he sees it, properly, not in terms of technology or mythical historical processes or even more mythical economic discoveries, but in terms of fundamental anthropology and human psychology, which is perhaps the only way to ever understand any human epoch or civilization. 

One of his more misunderstood quotes is the famous tag that the world is divided not between dogmatists and anti-dogmatists, but between conscious dogmatists and unconscious dogmatists. This is not merely, as it may seem, an ironically clever taunt, but a reflection of a much broader anthropological theme. Man, as Chesterton puts it, is defined by the making of dogmas; he is homo dogmaticus; which does not mean merely a creature that has beliefs or that codifies them, but first and foremost an entity whose mind, in some strange way, cannot think at all, cannot function at all, cannot even exist, without an entire universe to sustain it. Mind implies, desires, demands world: in his Thomas Aquinas he compares the meeting of the two to a marriage. As in a human marriage, in seeking the world, the mind becomes one flesh with it, incorporating it into itself and itself into it, relating to it as the defining context and atmosphere and background and content for all its own acts of thought and apprehension and speech. World in this sense is not merely a mechanical or abstract construct, an equation in physics: it is all those materials of reality and being and atmosphere and emotion and, in short, content, within and through which the mind moves and acts and exists.

A marriage between real world and mind is the ideal, the telos--but it is not always achieved. Even when the marriage fails, when the mind is cut off from the real world, it does not cease to dream dreams, see visions, and construct, out of its own desire and lack and disappointment, worlds of its own. The mind must exist in a world to exist at all--if only in a world of its own making. And yet, even in their deformities and absences, such universes reflect, inevitably, the shape of the one real world.

Column 04/25/2023: Apophaticism, Incarnation, Bythos: A Response to Timothy Troutner's "Five Theses on Apophaticism"

Apophaticism, Incarnation, Bythos: A Response to Timothy Troutner's "Five Theses on Apophaticism"

Once upon a time, there was a bottomless abyss of unformed, undefined, unrelated infinity.

Once upon a time, there was a single, absolutely solitary, absolutely unrelated, and so absolutely sovereign will.

Once upon a time, there was a Father and his Son.

What is God? 

Is God something?

Is God nothing?

An acquaintance of mine, Timothy Troutner, a theology graduate student at Notre Dame, has recently published "Five Theses on Apophaticism," a distillation of his dissertation in which he issues a public challenge to what he sees as a troubling trend in modern theology by which a kind of apophaticism has come to assume a "systematic, total, and regulative" governance of Christian theological doctrine. I could not possibly hope to do justice to his overall thesis, particularly in its treatment of various specific modern academic-theological trends and actors. I am not familiar with or embedded in the world of modern academic theology; I am, I think, quite familiar with the world of ancient philosophy and theology in general and Trinitarian controversy in particular, about which I am in the process of publishing a monograph. It is from this perspective, then, that I write, and which will shape my focus in responding to Troutner's theses.

Before I begin, I would direct my readers to two recent pieces I have written that lay some of the foundations for this discussion: my argument about Trinitarian theology and its relationship with ancient Platonic debates, and my attempt to summarize Hilary of Poitier's doctrine of divine equality. As will become clear, I think these articles are related to Troutner's points in several ways. For the broader points made here, I would ask readers to consult Athanasius, Hilary of Poitiers, Zlatko Plese's excellent scholarship on Gnosticism, and eventually my forthcoming monograph.

To quickly sum up my responses to Troutner below: while Troutner does appear to be in certain ways unfair to Patristic and Scholastic treatments of apophaticism, I think his argument does highlight a perennial danger for Christian theology, which to a large extent modern academic theology has not avoided, and helps us in setting some limits for apophaticism as a concept. My main critique, as will become clear, is that he seems to concede far too much to his modern apophaticists even in conceptualizing an escape from them, and thus produces a construal of the Trinity that I find very hard to accept.

Column 04/16/2023: Easter Ironies

Easter Ironies

One day, someone should make a book that simply goes through and lists all the jokes in the Bible. There are many of them, from the subtle to the gross, the large-scale to the fine-grained, the architectonic and metaphysical to the literally obscene. And they are sadly neglected.

I once read the story of a filmmaker who said that when approaching a story, the first thing he looked for was the jokes. This strikes me as fundamentally sound. After all, the main function of humor is to highlight the connections and relationships among things, events, characters; and it is in these relationships that a story most essentially consists. 

In the case of the Bible, the relationships are manifold and nearly infinite: for what are the Scriptures if not a written record of the act of Divine Revelation, by which God enters into relation with the totality of created and human reality, and then reconfigures that totality based on this new relation? 

As I write this, it is again the Easter season, and I have once more taken part in the central rites of the Church: the Triduum culminating in the great Easter Vigil. The Easter Vigil especially serves deliberately as a kind of summum of the whole liturgical year and hence of the history of Revelation, beginning with Genesis through Abraham and Moses to the Resurrection, a narrative encapsulated both in the long sequence of readings and in the rite of the Paschal Candle, as a new light is kindled in and out of the detritus of created being and spreads and illuminates and transforms all things.

This is without a doubt my favorite rite of the Church, and not merely because I entered the Church at such a vigil. It simply is the Revelation of God, arising in darkness to herald new life, the washing away of sins in Baptism, the anointing with Chrism in Confirmation, and the fulfillment of all mysteries in the Eucharist. Every year, and with every reenactment, I learn something new about this revelation, and it takes on new aspects, as I bring my own life and all that it contains, it's narratives and victories and defeats, once more within this one great Narrative.

Column 03/25/2023: The Trouble with (Modern) Physics: Lee Smolin's Time Reborn

In my last essay, I decided that I understood ancient Platonism. In this post, though, I will not pretend to understand modern physics. I will, however, say some things about a recent book from an eminent theoretical physicist and cosmologist, Lee Smolin (who also happens to be my uncle), that I recently read: Time Reborn: From the Crisis in Physics to the Future of the Universe. 

Many of my posts on here are notable for their sheer cheek in tackling topics, but this one, as they say, takes the cake. If you happen to know about this topic, then please accept this humble disclaimer that I emphatically not a physicist, and take this as what it is: some hopefully interesting comments from a non-expert.

What is the Trouble?

Lee Smolin's task over the last decade or so has been to argue that (1) modern physics and cosmology has reached a crisis point that threatens the bases of the entire field, and (2) only a radical paradigm shift can save it. The former point was argued at most length in his previous book The Trouble with Physics, while Time Reborn attempts to provide a way forward and a sketch of the necessary paradigm shift: an effort that he has more recently followed up on with several other volumes along the same lines. 

This, I think, is the best sort of book to gain some measure of understanding of a field: not a textbook or popularization, both of which typically present caricatured versions of research from decades ago without interpretation or explanation, but a interpretation of a field by an acknowledged master with a clear and obvious angle. 

Of course, such interpretation of a whole field, especially a field as abstract and analytical as theoretical cosmology, cannot help but be philosophy.

I won't defend this claim, which would drive many physicists crazy, but I will, as stated above, comment on the book's conclusions and arguments from the perspective of someone well-versed in ancient and medieval philosophy.

Column 02/25/2023: Benedict XVI, 1927-2022

 Benedict XVI, 1927-2022

I have been meaning to write this essay since the death of Benedict XVI. I am just now getting to it.

Lots of light and heat have been released into the world by reactions to his death. Many people, inspired in most cases with much more genuine and personal emotion than my own, have written and spoken many things. With few exceptions, these have followed the trajectory of the generally-accepted understandings (and misunderstandings) of his life, and reactions thereto. 

I don't wish to add to these reactions. This is for a few reasons, mostly coming down to my own lack of personal stake. Benedict was the Pope when I became Catholic; but only for about a year and a half. I have a lot of respect and a certain degree of affection for this paralyzingly shy academic lover of classical music, cats, and Orange Fanta, but nothing like the personal devotion or hatred that inspire many others. Likewise, as a convert and a historian, my investment in the internal mass-media and ideological and cultural conflicts within contemporary Western Catholicism is more remote than most. 

I wanted to write something about Benedict XVI after his death, then, not to prove any particular ideological point or express any profound emotion, but simply to note and express my own recognition and cognizance of an enormous, epochal figure in the history of the Catholic Church.

Column 08/26/22: Hilary of Poitier's Argument For Human & Divine Equality

Hilary of Poitier's Argument For Human & Divine Equality

[I was a bit under the weather and very busy this week, so instead of taking the time and effort to flesh out one of my existing column ideas, I decided to just write up what I've been immediately thinking about lately. As it turns out, I've been thinking a lot about Hilary of Poitier's doctrine of equality.

Hilary of Poitiers is a Doctor of the Church of the 4th century AD, known mostly for his stand against Arian doctrine. He played a big role in my dissertation, and ever since then, I've been fascinated by his concept of (human and divine) equality, which he makes absolutely central to both his theology and anthropology. Since then, I've been working on a paper on the topic, and trying to puzzle out both his essential argument, and especially what his sources and influences might have been. I haven't solved the latter one quite yet, but I thought it might be helpful to try to flesh out and write out in my own words what I take to be his essential argument and definition of equality. 

(It's sad to think how many people in the modern world don't realize that the centrality of equality in Christianity and modernity ultimately traces back to 4th century Trinitarian theology in general and Hilary of Poitiers in particular!) 

The below, then, is based on Hilary's work, especially De Synodis, with a smattering of De Trinitate, Ad Constantium, and In Constantium; it includes a few quotations from De Synodis at key points. However, while I believe the main arguments and conclusions are Hilary's, it also includes my own attempt to think through the implications and possible additional arguments and defenses for his concepts. Probably no one will find this interesting, but I enjoyed writing it. Ora pro nobis!]

I. That All Human Persons Are Equal, and Are Defined by Relations of Equality

(1) Postulate: The fundamental, basic category of experience and philosophical reflection is res: that is, "a thing" or "a reality." 

(2) Postulate: res can only be spoken of and made the subjects of philosophical thought to the extent that they exist and are rationally comprehensible.

(3) Argument: "Essentia (=ὀυσία, essence), and natura (=φύσις, nature), and genus (=γένος, natural kind), and substantia (=ὑπόστασις, substance), are able to be predicated of every res whatsoever."

(4) Definition: "An essentia (=ὀυσία, essence), is a res which exists, or it is those things from which a res exists, especially a res which stably exists (subsistit=subsists) in that which is enduring. Most properly, however, a res is called essentia insofar as it always exists." (De synodis 12)

That is to say, essentia designates a thing, a reality, insofar as it truly exists, and therefore insofar as it endures stably and in an orderly and knowable fashion over time. In particular, it describes a res insofar as it is either actually capable of, or at least tends toward, perpetual, ongoing existence. All res that possess essentia therefore in some sense tend towards perpetual existence.

(5) Definition: "The res, therefore, is also a substantia, because it is necessary that the res which it is should stably exist (subsistit=subsists) in itself." (De synodis 12)

That is to say, substantia (=ὑπόστασις, substance) designates a thing, a reality, insofar as it stably exists in and of itself. In this sense, substantia is not strongly distinguished from essentia: both designate a res insofar as it exists stably in such a way as to tend toward perpetual existence, with essentia describing this in terms of being and substantia laying the emphasis on stability and enduringness and their containment within the res itself.

(6) Definition: "Whatever stably exists, without a doubt is enduring in its genus or natura or substantia. When, therefore, we speak of essentia in order to signify nature or natural kind or substance, we understand them as belonging to that res which always stably exists in all these things." (De synodis 12)

Genus, natura, and substantia, then, are all essentially aspects of essentia, ways of designating and further describing those aspects or elements of a res by which it is enabled to exist stably in a way tending toward perpetual existence.

(7) Context: From among these terms, focus in on natura (=φύσις, nature). The Greek φύσις is etymologically tied to concepts of "birth" or "origination," as well as to broader ideas of "growth," "life," "movement," "springing up" (a la plants), and so forth. Natura, however, is derived from the more limited Latin word nascor="to be born, to be produced, to be procreated."

In speaking of natura, then, Hilary specifically intends to zero in on the aspect of a res's continuing existence that are tied to origination in general and procreation in particular. 

(8): Argument: Among those aspects of essentia that allow a res to exist stably in a way tending toward perpetual existence, central to many of our experience is the fact that the res was itself procreated by a res of the same genus and natura, and it in turn possesses the capability of procreating another res of the same genus and natura. 

(8.1) This is especially important for res like animals or human beings existing in time, and so in at least some aspects impermanently. 

(8.2) For res such as these, without procreation, in a very short time there would be no animals or human beings in actual existence, and so by necessity human being and animal would not be rationally comprehensible or knowable res.

(8.3) Furthermore, without procreation, humans and animals would be fundamentally temporary and transitory res, not in any genuine way tending towards perpetual existence, and so not describeable in terms of concepts like essentia and substantia. These res would not, therefore, truly subsist, and therefore they would fail to exist and to rationally knowable in a fundamental sense.

(8.4) Procreation is therefore metaphysically essential to the existence of these res, and possibly of all res.

(9) Argument: The process of procreation consists of two necessary elements: two entities who are truly distinct, of which one originates the other, and also a single natura which endures through the process of procreation and is shared in toto by both entities.

(9.1) If the two entities were not truly distinct, there would be nothing to distinguish natura from the simple enduring existence of an entity in itself designated properly by substantia. 

(9.2) If the two entities were not truly distinct, then it would be logically impossible, as happens in our experience, for one of the entities to die and cease to exist, and the other to continue existing.

(9.3) Hence, if the two entities were not truly distinct, then procreation would be absolutely useless in ensuring the continuing existence of the res and its tending toward perpetual existence. 

(9.4) If, on the other hand, nothing endured or continued to exist through the process of procreation, then procreation would have no relevance for the essentia of the res, and the res would therefore fall afoul of (8) and no longer truly exist or be rationally comprehensible.

(9.5) That the natura is shared in toto by both entities follows self-evidently from the definition of the term (see 10 below).

(10): Definition: Natura designates precisely that aspect of a res which stably exists and endures through the process of procreation.

(11) Argument: Natura must include all substantial and essential and generic properties possessed both by the progenitor and the natural kind as a whole.

(11.1) We in fact find, in our experience, that the offspring of a particular member of a natural kind is of the same natural kind as its progenitor. The child of a human being is a human being, the offspring of a cat is a cat, the offspring of a horse is a horse, and so on.

(11.2) If natura in the offspring lacked any property essential to the progenitor's own existence as a substantia and essentia, then again, procreation would not in fact extend the stable, substantial existence of the res and, per (8), that res would lack substantial existence and not be rationally comprehensible.

(11.3) If natura in the offspring lacked any property essential to its existence as a member of the same natural kind as its progenitor, then that natural kind or genus would lack stable existence and fail to be comprehensible, also as per (8).

(12) Definition: A virtus is a "natural power," that is, a power essential to the substantial existence of a res and included among its essential properties.

(13) Argument: Per (11) and (12), natura also includes the totality of virtus or natural power.

(14) Definition: Equality (=aequalitas) designates the relationship between a progenitor and an offspring, such that the two are both truly distinct (see 9) and share one and the same natura (see 10) and so all essential and substantial properties.

(15) Argument: "Every child, according to natural birth, is the equality (=aequalitas) of its parent." (De synodis 73).

In other words, the relationship of equality is fully constitutive of the existence of both child and parent qua child and parent, such that both child and parent can and must be described and defined, at least qua child and parent, as subsistent (that is, enduring, existing, rationally comprehensible) relations.

(15.1) Given (11) above, the only thing essentially and substantially distinguishing offspring from parent is the relationship between the two, which per (14) is designated by equality.

(15.2) Given that equality involves the true distinction of the two participants (see 9), this relation is all that is necessary to distinguish the two terms of the relation.

(15.3) Given (15.1) and (15.2), the only thing essentially and substantially distinguishing child and parent is the relation of equality. It therefore essentially and substantially constitutes their relation as child and parent.

(15.4) Furthermore, given that the relationship of procreation is fundamentally a relationship of origination, by which one entity produces another, there is a fundamental sense in which that relation constitutes not only the existence of the child qua child, but the existence of the child simpliciter, which is to say, the existence of the child merely as a res.

(15.5) Likewise, given that for the progenitor procreation extends the stable, essential existence of their own res and grants it a substantiality and essentiality otherwise lacking, there is at least one sense in which the relation of equality also constitutes the existence of the parent, not merely qua parent, but qua substance, qua essence, and therefore qua existence in a fundamental sense.

(16) Conclusion: All human persons without exception are equal (=aequalis, ἴσος) to one another in the sense given in (14).

(16.1) All human persons participate in the process of procreation as defined in (9) either as offspring alone or as both offspring and progenitor, and therefore participate in the relation of equality in a constitutive way with at least some other persons.

(16.2) All human persons belong to the natural kind "human being," which is defineable and knowable only in light of the essentia and substantia and natura whose res exists stably and is known through the process of procreation, and therefore through the relation of equality.

(16.2) Per Scripture and Tradition and dogmatic teaching, all human persons without exception are descended from one original human being, and therefore are related to one another through the relation of procreation, and therefore are equal to one another.

Part Two: That This Equality Has Necessary Implications For Society and Politics

(1) Postulate: Societies consist of human persons.

(2) Postulate: Societies and institutions can be said to exist and subsist and therefore be rationally comprehensible only in a manner analogous to natural res.

(3) Postulate: All societies, including political societies, are formed out of entities that are themselves constituted to a large extent by their direct relations as offspring and progenitor, and therefore by the relationship of equality. 

(4) Postulate: Per I. above, all societies, including political societies, are formed out of entities that are equal to one another in essence, nature, and natural power (virtus).

(5) Argument: The existence of political, social, or religious offices, institutions, and societies as stably existing, rationally comprehensible entities is likewise necessarily dependent on relationships of equality.

(5.1) The constitutive relationship between child and parent is analogous to the          relationship between (political, social, or religious) predecessor and successor inasmuch as both extend the existence of the office, institution, and society over time in such a way as to give it (analogously) substantial, essential existence and make it rationally comprehensible. 

(5.2) Therefore, the existence of all political, social, or religious offices, institutions, and societies is dependent for existence, stability, and knowability on the equality of predecessors and successors. 

(5.3) Political, social, and religious societies are analogous to natural kinds. 

(5.4) Therefore, all political, social, and religious societies exist in a stable and comprehensible fashion only inasmuch as all members without exception share some (analogous) essence in common. 

(5.5) Hence, all political social, and religious societies exist and are rationally knowable only inasmuch as the members are equal to one another.

Part Three: That God is Defined by Equality Between the Persons of the Holy Trinity

(1) Postulate: God may be defined as a res that exists and subsists in the maximal way, such that he not only tends toward, but actually achieves, eternal, stable existence and total rational knowability.

(2) Postulate: Therefore, God may be defined as the only res for which res is absolutely synonymous with essentia and substantia.

(3) Postulate: Given (1) and (2), there is a direct relationship between God and the fundamental metaphysical categories ascribeable to all res, and therefore it is both possible and fruitful to reason about God by analogy from created beings and natural kinds, especially human persons. 

(4): Argument: Given the above, and given that as established in I. natura is fundamentally synonymous with essentia and substantia, and given that, as Hilary argues in I.3 above, natura, like essentia and substantia, is able to be predicated of every res whatsoever, it is reasonable that God be equated with natura also, and therefore be defined necessarily by a procreative relationship.

(5) Argument: In applying the terms Father and Son to God the Father and God the Son, the Scriptures and Tradition intend to assert that the necessarily concomitant sense of equality described in (I.14) is the defining feature of the relationship between Father and Son.

(5.1) God is incapable of deliberate deception, and aims fundamentally at the salvation of all human persons. 

(5.2) Given (5.1), God uses in their natural significations the essential words of the Sacraments necessary for salvation. 

(5.3) The confession of God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit belongs to the necessary words and actions of the Sacrament of Baptism and therefore is necessary for salvation. 

(5.4) Therefore God in designating himself as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is using the terms "father" and "son" in their natural significations: that is, to designate fundamentally the relationship of natural equality. (See Ad Constantium)

(5.5) Moreover, the Scriptures (Philippians 2:6-11, John 5:18) in fact designate the relation between Father and Son by the term equal (=aequalis, ἴσος), and in Philippians connect this with being "in the form (=essentia, οὐσία) of God," while in John this is treated as the logical, natural consequence of Christ "calling God his Father." (See De Trinitate)

(6) Argument: If the Father and Son are in fact equal in even an analogous sense to that given of human persons in I., they are necessarily equal in a maximal, absolute sense, inapplicable to any other entities.

(6.1) Since Father and Son by procreation share a single natura that includes all essential properties, and since in God there is no distinction between res and essentia, the natura conveyed to Son by the Father in the process of procreation necessarily makes the Son God in the fullest possible sense. 

(6.2) Besides substantial and essential properties, all created res possess various accidental properties, which lead to differences among human persons that are not rooted in substance and essence. 

(6.3) God does not possess any accidental properties; hence, it is impossible for Father and Son to differ in any way whatsoever. 

(6.4) In particular, since virtus or natural power is an essential property, and since all accidental powers or accidental differences in the exercise of natural powers are excluded from the definition of God, it is impossible for Father and Son to differ in power.

(7) Argument: The Father cannot exist without the Son, and so cannot precede the Son in existence. 

(7.1) Given the analogy with human equality, it is reasonable to define the Son as the equality of the Father, and hence as constituted qua Son by his relationship with the Father; it is also reasonable to see the Father as constituted qua Father by his relation with the Son. 

(7.2) However, there is in Father and Son no possibility of distinction between essential existence, existence simpliciter, and existence qua Father and qua Son. Hence, both Father and Son are fully constituted as such by their relation. 

(7.3) Given (7.1) and (7.3), and even given (6.1) it is impossible for the Father to precede the Son in any way, and especially impossible and even inconceivable that he could precede the Son in the temporal sense in which human fathers precede sons. 

(7.4) Moreover, to be essentia in the sense ascribed to God is per (1) to actually exist eternally; therefore the Son actually exists eternally in the maximal possible sense; hence, the Father cannot precede him in existence.

(7) Conclusion: The Father and Son are truly distinct, possess one and the same substance, essence, and nature, are co-eternal with one another, do not differ in any way in essence, substance, nature, glory, power, or honor, and are absolutely equal and consubstantial (=ὁμοούσιος) to one another.

Column 07/27/22: Manifesto of an Ultramontanist

[I would like to apologize for missing a few weeks with my column due to family vacation, starting a new job, and getting terribly sick. I will likely occasionally miss weeks in the future, of course. In the meantime, here is a column that answers a desire of mine to write a bit more on specifically Catholic issues.]

An Ultramontanist Manifesto

Of all my various claims to fame (author of the comic strip Bob, director and star of Star Groove, food prep for Mimi's Sodas), one that I'm actually fairly proud of is that I have played a role in a number of people becoming more Ultramontane. 

Ultramontanism is not, as you might suspect, a rare disease of the feet, but a theological and personal and pastoral and ecclesiastical emphasis within Catholicism: namely, an emphasis on the authority of the Pope, the bishop of Rome, as the central, universal, infallible, practical authority of the Catholic Church. 

In this column, I will aim to give a brief analysis of what this means and why I think it's important:

Silence: An Exercise in Film Criticism and Cultural Jeremiad

Note: Every possible kind of spoiler exists herein. Proceed at your own risk.

The elusive, controversial American Catholic filmmaker Martin Scorcese spent roughly thirty years trying to adapt Silence, a novel by the equally elusive and controversial Japanese Catholic writer Shusaku Endo. After momentous efforts and many false starts, the film was finally released last year, to general bemusement and a box office take of roughly 16 million (on a 40 million budget). The film’s distributors, perhaps hoping to avoid controversy, promoted the film very little, and released it only in a heavily limited number of theaters for a very short run. The film was ignored by all major cinematic awards, garnering no Golden Globe nominations and only one Academy Award nomination (for best cinematography), which it did not win. Although it had its vociferous defenders, including most top film critics, it also garnered its share of controversy and vicious criticism, from a number of very different sources. For all intents and purposes, the film sank like a stone, leaving few ripples in its wake.

Still, I saw it, and I also followed the buzz surrounding the film fairly closely; and I found both the film and the responses it provoked almost equally fascinating. I read the novel the film is based on a number of years ago, and, as with Scorsese it has stayed with me ever since; and this in turn inspired me to read a moderate amount about the historical situations that inspired the novel, as well as other works of its author, Shusaku Endo. I also come at both film and novel from the perspective of a practicing Catholic who studies intellectual history academically and also (while by no means being an expert) reads a great deal of Catholic theology, present and (mostly) past. All this has given me, I think, a perspective on film and book different from the average American. It is my basic contention, then, that the film, being what it is, has a great deal to tell us about the perspectives and basic orientations of the people who watched it. And this in turn has a great deal to tell us about the current state of our society.

The Love of God

I wish to speak of the mercy of God.

God has loved each one of us with a love that is greater than what we are, greater than what we will be, greater than hell, greater even than creation itself. For his love is himself.

God does not love us inasmuch as we are powerful, or good, or in control, or able to repay his love. God loves us precisely as nothing. For we are nothing.

Hence, there is no shame, no futility, no sin, no darkness, no confusion, no lack, that the love of God has not already embraced and enfolded.

God loved us in creating us—that is, in causing us to be precisely as beloved, as the nothingness that is beloved. By loving us, he has created us, and caused us to be. We are in his love, and only in his love.

Hence, there is no more stable foundation for life and action and thought and indeed existence than the love of God. It is this, and not any necessity or chance, that is the cause of all things.

Yet this is simply the order of creation. It does not exhaust the order of grace, which is greater.