A Kryptic Model of the Incarnation (Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies) 9781472445735, 9781472445742, 9781472445759, 1472445732

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A Kryptic Model of the Incarnation This book presents an original and important new model for understanding the Incarnation, one that has some interesting virtues and that avoids some of the problems in other models. Although I remain an advocate of Kenotic Christology, I believe this is a significant contribution to the debate. C. Stephen Evans, Baylor University, USA Well organised and comprehensive, contributing new material to a debate that is complex and philosophically challenging. Anna Marmodoro, University of Oxford, UK The Incarnation, traditionally understood as the metaphysical union between true divinity and true humanity in the one person of Jesus Christ, is one of the central doctrines for Christians over the centuries. Nevertheless, many scholars have objected that the Scriptural account of the Incarnation is incoherent. Being divine seems to entail being omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent, but the New Testament portrays Jesus as having human properties such as being apparently limited in knowledge, power, and presence. It seems logically impossible that any single individual could possess such mutually exclusive sets of properties, and this leads to scepticism concerning the occurrence of the Incarnation in history. A Kryptic Model of the Incarnation aims to provide a critical reflection of various attempts to answer these challenges and to offer a compelling response integrating aspects from analytic philosophy of religion, systematic theology, and historical-critical studies. Loke develops a new Kryptic model of the Incarnation, drawing from the Greek word Krypsis meaning ‘hiding’, and proposing that in a certain sense Christ’s supernatural properties were concealed during the Incarnation.

ASHGATE NEW CRITICAL THINKING IN RELIGION, THEOLOGY AND BIBLICAL STUDIES The Ashgate New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back into focus for authors, international libraries, and student, academic and research readers. Headed by an international editorial advisory board of acclaimed scholars spanning the breadth of religious studies, theology and biblical studies, this open-ended monograph series presents cutting-edge research from both established and new authors in the field. With specialist focus yet clear contextual presentation of contemporary research, books in the series take research into important new directions and open the field to new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key areas for contemporary society. Other Recently Published Titles in the Series: Recovering the Female Voice in Islamic Scripture Women and Silence Georgina L. Jardim Speaking of God in Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart Beyond Analogy Anastasia Wendlinder New Voices in Greek Orthodox Thought Untying the Bond between Nation and Religion Trine Stauning Willert Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism Difference is Everything David Pitman Pannenberg on Evil, Love and God The Realisation of Divine Love Mark Hocknull Sacrifice and the Body Biblical Anthropology and Christian Self-Understanding John Dunnill

A Kryptic Model of the Incarnation

Andrew Ter Ern Loke

Hong Kong University, Hong Kong

First published 2014 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © 2014 Andrew Ter Ern Loke. Andrew ter ern loke has asserted his right under the copyright, designs and patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:

Loke, Andrew Ter Ern, author. A kryptic model of the incarnation / by Andrew Ter Ern Loke. pages cm. – (Ashgate new critical thinking in religion, theology and biblical studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4724-4573-5 (hardcover) – ISBN 978-1-4724-4574-2 (ebook) – ISBN 978-1-4724-4575-9 (epub) 1. Incarnation. 2. Hypostatic union. 3. Jesus Christ–Natures. I. Title. BT220.L65 2014 232'.8–dc23 2014017417

iSBn

978-1-472-44573-5 (hbk)

To Alister McGrath

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Contents

List of Abbreviations   Preface  

ix xi

1

‘Veiled in Flesh the Godhead See’? Thinking Critically about the Incarnation  

2

Problems Concerning Omniscience, Omnipotence and Omnipresence  

23

3

The Need for a New Solution to Problems Concerning Omniscience, Omnipotence and Omnipresence  

37

4

A New Kryptic Christology: The Divine Preconscious Model  

65

5

Addressing the Problems Concerning Omniscience, Omnipotence and Omnipresence  

113

6

Addressing the Difficulties Facing the New Kryptic Christology  

137

7

Conclusion  

149

Bibliography   Index  

1

157 183

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List of Abbreviations

Inst. SCG ST TDNT

Calvin, John. Institutes of the Christian Religion Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Contra Gentiles Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Theologica Theological Dictionary of the New Testament

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Preface

The Incarnation, celebrated by millions every Christmas, has been one of the central doctrines for Christians over the centuries. Nevertheless, many have objected that the doctrine is incoherent, for being divine seems to entail having properties such as being omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent; but the New Testament portrays Jesus as having human properties, such as being apparently limited in knowledge, power and presence. It seems logically impossible that any single individual could possess such mutually exclusive sets of properties. This book aims to provide a critical reflection of various attempts to answer these challenges and to offer a more compelling response compared to what is available in the literature. This will be accomplished by developing a new model for the coherence of the Incarnation: the Divine Preconscious Model (DPM), which distinctively avoids the problems which have been elaborated in recent literature (see Chapter 3) besetting the three most widely discussed models in the literature, viz.: • Two Consciousnesses Model. This faces problems concerning whether Christ would have two contradictory self-consciousnesses simultaneously and whether there could be an I–Thou relationship between these consciousnesses, both of which imply Nestorianism. • Standard Ontological Kenotic Model. On the understanding of God as the greatest possible being for whom ‘all things are possible’ (Gen. 18:14, Matt. 19:26, Luke 1:37 etc.) and whose greatness is related to the greatness of his knowledge and power (Ps.147:4–5), this model faces the question of whether a divine person would still be divine after giving up his omnipotence and omniscience. • Divine Subconscious Model. This faces problems which have been raised against the model proposed by the Oxford theologian William Sanday, such as whether a Monophysite mixture would result. By postulating that Jesus had only one consciousness, DPM is able to maintain the unity of his person, thus avoiding the problem with the Two Consciousnesses

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Model. By postulating that the Logos possessed divine properties in virtue of his divine preconscious, DPM is able to maintain the true divinity of Jesus, thus avoiding the problem with Ontological Kenoticism. By postulating that the divine preconscious was not part of his human nature but was part of his divine nature, and that the divine nature and human nature were concrete and distinct parts of Christ, DPM avoids a Monophysite mixture. I shall show that DPM also illuminates other difficult issues, such as whether Christ has one will (Monothelitism) or two wills (Dyothelitism), physicalist versus non-physicalist account of the Incarnation, and problems related to the communicatio idiomatum. I am grateful to the following publishers for permission to reproduce the contents of my articles in various parts of this monograph: 1. Oxford University Press – ‘Sanday’s Christology revisited’, Journal of Theological Studies 63 (2012): 187–97. 2. Cambridge University Press – ‘Divine omnipotence and moral perfection’, Religious Studies 46 (2010): 525–38; ‘Solving a paradox against concretecomposite Christology: a modified hylomorphic proposal’, Religious Studies 47 (2011): 493–502. 3. Notre Dame University Press – ‘On the an-enhypostasia distinction and three-part concrete-nature Christology: the Divine Preconscious Model’. Journal of Analytic Theology 2 (2014): 101–16. 4. Wiley-Blackwell – ‘On the use of psychological models in Christology’, The Heythrop Journal (online October 2012); ‘The Incarnation and Jesus’ apparent limitation of knowledge’, New Blackfriars 94 (2013): 583–602; ‘On Dyothelitism versus Monothelitism: the Divine Preconscious Model’. The Heythrop Journal (online August 2013). 5. De Gruyter – ‘On the coherence of the Incarnation: the Divine Preconscious Model’, Neue Zeitschrift für Systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie 51 (2009): 50–63; ‘Immaterialist, materialist, and substance dualist accounts of Incarnation’, Neue Zeitschrift für Systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie 54 (2012): 414–23. While the book synthesizes the contents of these articles, there are significant amounts of new material in the book which is not found in my earlier works. This new material includes: 1. Engagement with the views of a variety of theologians and theological traditions throughout history e.g. Cyril and Nestorius on impassibility

Preface

xiii

(Section 4.4.4), Lutheran and Reformed theologians concerning communicatio idiomatum (Section 4.5), Boethius and Eutyches on parts Christology (Section 4.5), Aquinas on the foetal Jesus (Section 5.3.3), Calvin on the extra calvinisticum (Section 6.2). 2. DPM and the issue of divine impassibility (Section 4.4.4), an issue which is extremely significant historically as a driving force behind Christological debates. 3. DPM and the issue of omnipotence and Jesus’ conscious awareness (Section 5.3.3), including the highly interesting question of whether Jesus maintained conscious awareness when he was a foetus and when he slept. 4. The analysis of DPM as Partial Functional Kenoticism and ‘Krypsis C’ (Section 6.2). 5. Replies to objections by John Hick concerning Kryptic Christology (Section 6.2). 6. Whether (on DPM) the limitation of the Logos in his incarnate state would last forever (Section 6.3). 7. Analyses of various metaphysical and theological issues concerning the bearers for divine and human properties (Chapters 4 and 7). 8. An assessment of the religious power of Ontological Kenoticism (Chapters 3 and 6). 9. Addressing the issue of simplicity as a criterion for comparing the plausibility of various models of the Incarnation (Chapter 7). I would like to thank my PhD supervisor, Professor Alister McGrath, for his guidance, correction, encouragement and advice over the years; it is to him that this book is dedicated. I would also like to thank Professors William Lane Craig and Robert Saucy for inspiring this project, and Professors Richard Burridge, Alan Torrance, Stephen Williams, C. Stephen Evans and Timothy Pawl for their valuable comments, suggestions, and recommendations. For very helpful exchanges I would like to thank Professors Andrew Louth, Richard Cross, Richard Sturch, Stephen Davis, Eleonore Stump and Anna Marmodoro, as well as Dr Joseph Jedwab and Dr Ray Yeo. I hope that this monograph will prove worthy of their efforts, though any mistakes remain my responsibility. I am grateful to the team at Ashgate—in particular Sarah Lloyd, Maria Anson, Tricia Craggs, Nicole Norman, Katie McDonald, and David Shervington, for their excellent editorial work, efficient support and encouragement, and to Dr Anna Marmodoro for her strong recommendation for publication and advice. For financial assistance I am indebted to the trustees of the Brash

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Scholarships Trust, Amy Low, Grace Segran and Dr David Ng. My parents, parents-in-law, daughters Joy, Serene and Evangel and my beloved wife Mary have shown tremendous understanding and support for my research, and their sacrifices I can never fully repay. Finally, this book began as a result of God’s answer to prayer six years ago on a certain day in December, when the spirit of Christmas was in the air. Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift (2 Cor. 9:15)! Andrew Loke Singapore, 2014

Chapter 1

‘Veiled in Flesh the Godhead See’? Thinking Critically about the Incarnation

1.1. Problems Concerning the Incarnation Veiled in flesh the Godhead see Hail the incarnate Deity Pleased as man with man to dwell Jesus, our Emmanuel Hark! The herald angels sing ‘Glory to the newborn King!’

These verses, taken from a carol by Charles Wesley and set to the glorious music of Felix Mendelssohn, contain some of the most familiar words sung by millions every Christmas. The carol tells the beautiful Nativity story, the story of God who loves humankind so much that he was willing to dwell with them as a human and to reconcile them to himself so that they might live eternally with him. The story concerns the Incarnation of the Son of God, one of the central doctrines of Christianity.1 The Incarnation is traditionally understood as the union between true divinity and true humanity in the one person of Jesus Christ (O’Collins 2002b, 1–7). However, throughout the centuries many sceptics from various traditions ( Jewish, Islamic etc.) have failed to see the possibility of ‘Godhead veiled in flesh’ that Wesley wrote about, for being divine seems to entail being infinite, necessarily existent, eternal, immutable, incorruptible, impassible, without parts, incorporeal, a-spatial, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, sovereign, untemptable, impeccable, immortal and absolutely sacred. On the other hand, being human seems to entail being finite, contingent, temporal, changeable, corruptible, passible, composed of parts, partly or wholly physical, spatially determined, limited in power, knowledge, and presence, subordinate, able to be tempted and to die, involved in activities which humans have in 1 Following the convention of the literature cited, I shall refer to the Second Person of the Trinity as the Son of God (or simply ‘Son’), the Logos or the Word.

A Kryptic Model of the Incarnation

2

common with animals (e.g. urination, defecation) and, according to the Jewish religious tradition to which Jesus belonged, defiled by blood at birth and by other ceremonially unclean things later in life.2 Significantly, the New Testament portrays Jesus as having human properties such as those listed above: being born (Gal. 4:4) and hence contingent; growing in time (Luke 2:40) and hence finite and changeable; corruptible and passible (Heb. 5:7–8); having bodily parts which exemplify physicality (Mark 15:19); apparently limited in power ( John 4:3–6), knowledge (Mark 13:32) and presence (i.e. having to travel from place to place – e.g. John 4:3–6); being subordinate to God (Phil. 2:8); able to be tempted (Heb. 4:15) and to die (Mark 15:37). It seems logically impossible that any single individual could possess such mutually exclusive sets of properties as being divine and human. This book is a critical reflection on the challenges confronting the coherence of the traditional account of the Incarnation. In this introductory chapter, I shall spell out the motivation and methodological assumptions of the project. It should be noted that this chapter is not intended to offer an exhaustive treatment of the assumptions which I adopt, as this is beyond the scope of this monograph. Rather, this chapter will only briefly indicate some reasons why these assumptions are chosen and why they are defensible; 3 more detailed justification of these assumptions can be found in the literature cited in the following sections.

This list is compiled from Morris (1986, 19–20); O’Collins (2002b, 6–7); Sturch (1991, 18–19) as well as Jewish (Shapiro 1983, 358–61; Nizzahon Vetus, Pentateuch 6, in Ford and Higton 2002, 203), Islamic (Thomas 2002, 181–7) and other sources (Porphyry, Against the Christians, fr.77, in Ford and Higton 2002, 68; Mardān Farrukh, ‘Doubtdispelling explanation’, xv. 31–45, in Ford and Higton 2002, 150–51). It might be objected that the divine/human essence does not include a number of the properties listed above, or that the properties listed require qualification. This objection (which I agree with in respect of some of these properties) will be taken into consideration as the discussion proceeds; at this point, I am simply listing the problems which sceptics have raised concerning the coherence of the Incarnation. 3 Brink (1993, 7–9) observes that in a sense the ‘problem of presuppositions’ is germane to scientific inquiry in general. A physicist, for example, would certainly be unable to deal extensively with all the intricacies of the guiding axioms of her work without being compelled to give up her task as a researching physicist and becoming a full-time philosopher. The impossibility of arguing extensively for all the a priori assumptions which play a role beneath the surface of a scientific inquiry, however, cannot be an excuse for disregarding them altogether, for it is extremely important to be as conscious as possible of their nature and implications (ibid.). 2

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3

1.2. The Motivation for Addressing the Challenge Concerning the Traditional View of the Incarnation Why address the challenges concerning the coherence of the traditional view of the Incarnation? Why not simply give up the traditional view? After all, throughout the history of Christianity there have been those who deny that Christ was one person who was truly human and truly divine, by affirming that Christ was truly divine but not human (Docetism);4 or truly human but not divine (Ebionitism);5 or truly human but quasi-divine (Arianism,6 some form of Adoptionism);7 or quasi-human but truly divine Goldstein and Stroumsa note that Docetism (the view that Jesus’ humanity was illusory) probably originated in the first century, as it is against such doctrines that the author of 1 and 2 John seems to argue, and it influenced a number of other views such as Marcionism and Gnosticism. Suggestions of how Docetism arose include Greek philosophical influences, Jewish influences or a combination of the two (the Greek conception of heroes being replaced by ‘doubles’ when their deaths are imminent was combined with Jewish interpretations of Gen. 22 and of Ps. 2 in order to offer a solution to the scandal of Christ’s Passion) (Goldstein and Stroumsa 2007). 5 The Ebionites originated, probably sometime in the second century, as an attempt to reform the Jewish (Torah-observing) form of Christianity by rejecting the divinity and virgin birth of Jesus (Bauckham 2003, 162–75). Concerning their motivation, Bauckham explains that ‘If the first Ebionites lived alongside other Jews in the period after the two revolts, when the rabbinic movement was growing in strength and toleration of diversity in Palestinian Jewish communities diminishing, it is easy to see that a Christology that was uncontroversial in this sense, differing from widely accepted Jewish messianic expectations only in its claim that Jesus is the Messiah, could be attractive, both as a defence against the charge of apostasy from Judaism and as a form of the Gospel that other Jews could be persuaded to accept. It is even possible that the first Ebionites were Jews who had come to believe that Jesus was the Messiah but found the exalted Christological claims made for him by other Christians unacceptable’ (Bauckham 2003, 175; see also Grillmeier 1975, 76–7). 6 Historically, ‘Arianism’ was a designation bestowed by fourth-century opponents such as Athanasius, a designation that was never accepted by those on whom it had been imposed as Arius was in fact never very central to the concerns of those who came to be called after his name (Ayres 2004, 13–14). Thus, in this monograph the term ‘Arianism’ will be used only as an adjective to describe Arius’ own theology, the fundamental themes of which are not in dispute even though it is known primarily through the works of his opponents (A. McGrath 2009, 143). 7 Adoptionism (also known as Dynamic Monarchianism) affirms that Jesus was a ‘mere man’ upon which God‘s Spirit had descended. The originator, Theodotus of Byzantium in the late second century, claimed that at Jesus’ baptism the Spirit descended on him, and he then worked miracles without, however, becoming divine – others of the same school admitted his deification after his resurrection (Kelly 1977, 115–18; Grillmeier 1975, 77–8). By speaking of 4

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(Apollinarianism);8 or quasi-human and quasi-divine/neither human nor divine (i.e. a tertium quid);9 or truly divine and truly human but two separate persons (Nestorianism).10 In recent centuries, non-incarnational Christologies have been proposed by a number of theologians who express interest in the historical Jesus, such as the Liberal Jesus of A.B. Ritschl (1900), the eschatological prophet of Albert Schweitzer (1910), the Hasid ( Jewish holy man) of Géza Vermès (1984, 1993, 2001, 2003, 2004, 2008), the Religious Mystic of Marcus Borg (1991, 2006), and the Social Revolutionary of John Dominic Crossan (1991) (A. McGrath 1994; Powell 1999). Nontraditional views of the Incarnation have also been proposed; for example, John Knox understands the Incarnation as ‘the Word became, in a unique and supremely significant way, active and manifest within the life of “man”’ the Son as assumed for a salvific function by the divine power, Adoptionists sought to protect the unity of God and avoid attributing the suffering of Christ to God (Ayres 2004, 72). 8 Apollinarianism originated from Apollinaris of Laodicea in the fourth century, who in opposition to dyoprosopic Christology (the doctrine that Christ embodies the union of two distinct and individually complete personal entities each with its own centre of consciousness) denied that the incarnate Word possessed a full human psychology, specifically a rational intellect (Spoerl 1994). The following objections were raised against Apollinarianism by the early church fathers: it was virtually Docetic, for if Christ lacked a human mind and will it is absurd to call him a man at all. Furthermore, the rejection of normal human psychology clashes with the Gospel picture of a Saviour who underwent all sorts of human experiences. Moreover, Apollinarianism failed to meet the essential conditions of redemption. It was man’s rational soul, with its power of choice, which was the seat of sin; and, as Gregory Nazianzen famously puts it, ‘What has not been assumed cannot be restored; it is what is united with God that is saved’ (Kelly 1977, 296–7; see Gregory of Nazianzus, Epistle to Cledonius ‘Against Apollinaris’). 9 This was the error attributed to Eutyches in the fifth century. The bishops of the Home Synod condemned him for his refusal to concede that Christ existed in two natures after the Incarnation, but the actual sentence against him makes no clear reference to anything actually said by him at the synod, so it could indeed (as later alleged) have been written up in advance of the trial (Price 2005, I, 28, n.97). 10 Kelly notes that Nestorius was not a Nestorian in the classic sense of the word, as can be seen from the fact that the doctrine of the two Sons was abhorrent to him. He was a thoroughgoing Antiochene who was concerned to maintain that the Incarnation cannot have involved the impassible Word in any change or suffering, and he objected to the Alexandrian habit of speaking of God being born and dying, and of Mary bearing the divine Word – expressions which he considered contrary to the practice of Scripture and creed. Furthermore, he thought it important that Christ should have lived a genuinely human life. The real problem, however, was his inability to provide a deeper analysis of the substantial unity of the incarnate Logos by explaining what constituted his person, the metaphysical subject of his being (Kelly 1977, 312–17).

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(Knox 1967, 65–7). Some have also argued that the Incarnational claims from the New Testament and such subsequent Christian confessions as the NiceneConstantinopolitan Creed of 381 should be understood as ‘myth’, in the sense of being merely a non-historical, religious truth about ourselves which has been communicated under the form of talk about a divine being coming among us (O’Collins 2002b, 1; Evans 1996, 43–4, 51, 73–4, citing D.F. Strauss and Joseph Campbell among others). Historical-critical methodologies have often been seen, and indeed have been used, as a weapon against the traditional view. However, in recent years a number of distinguished New Testament scholars (e.g. N.T. Wright 1996, 1998, 2003; Martin Hengel 1995, 2007), philosophers of religion (e.g. Richard Swinburne 1994, 2003; William Lane Craig 2008a), and systematic theologians (e.g. Wolfhart Pannenberg 1968, 1991; Gerald O’Collins 1995) have argued that a historical-critical methodology that does not hold an unwarranted anti-supernaturalistic presupposition yields evidences for the traditional view. Among other things, a number of them have argued that there are historical evidences which indicate that Jesus understood himself as truly divine11 and that he was bodily resurrected, the latter serving as a divine vindication of Jesus’ claims. These arguments imply that there are historical evidences for thinking that Jesus was not merely truly human but also truly divine. With respect to the terms ‘divine’ and ‘God’, it should be noted that up to the fourth century many theologians made distinctions between being ‘God’ and being ‘true God’, such that there was no clear distinction between the words ‘God’ and creation (a looser sense of ‘God’ might include creatures such as human figures and angels) (Ayres 2004, 4–14). Nevertheless, New Testament scholars of the so-called ‘New Religionsgeschichtliche Schule’ (Hurtado 2003, 11) – which include Richard Bauckham, Larry Hurtado, N.T. Wright and the late Martin Hengel – would argue that the highest Christology of the later New Testament writings (e.g. Gospel of John) and the creedal formulations of the early church fathers in the fourth century, with their explicit affirmations of the pre-existence and the true ontological divinity of Christ, are not so much a development in essence but a development in understanding and explication of what was already essentially there at the beginning of the Christian movement. These scholars are well aware that there are differences between the language, formulation and thought patterns of the later Greek creedal statements and those of the New Testament (Brown 1994, 171). Nevertheless, they have argued Even though Jesus did not use the same terminology as later Christological formulations such as Chalcedon’s. 11

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that their case is justified on the basis of exegeses of early Christian texts such as 1 Cor 8:612 and Phil 2:6–11 as well as other passages indicating the devotional practices offered to Jesus in corporate liturgical gatherings (especially references to ‘calling upon’ Jesus [1 Cor 1:2])13 and the relationship between believers and Jesus.14 As Bauckham (2008a, x) memorably puts it, ‘The earliest Christology was already the highest Christology’. This conclusion implies that the earliest Christians would not have disagreed with pro-Nicene’s ‘highest Christology’, i.e. the Son and the Father are ‘of equal ontological standing’ (Ayres 2004, 236), even though they did not use the same terminology. While a number of proponents of non-traditional views have argued that the Hebrew biblical authors espoused a functional Christology against an ontological Christology (i.e. arguing that Jesus was only given some divine functions by God the Father but did not have a divine nature), other scholars have argued that the New Testament authors did have an idea of ontology. To James McGrath objects by arguing that Paul is not necessarily splitting the Jewish Shema but perhaps adding an additional affirmation alongside it ( J. McGrath 2009, 40–41). The view that Paul split the Shema so as to include Jesus within the Divine Being, however, fits better with Richard Bauckham’s observation that the second source for the statement in 1 Cor. 8:6 is a Jewish monotheistic formula which relates the one God as Creator to all things. Bauckham notes that Paul uses this formula in Rom. 11:36a – ‘from him and through him and to him are all things’ – and that there are parallels in Jewish writings. That God is not only the efficient cause of creation (‘from him’) and the final cause or goal of all things (‘to him’), but also the instrumental cause (‘through him’) expresses the Jewish monotheistic concern that God used no other being to carry out his work of creation, but accomplished it alone. This is evident in Isa. 44:24, which states, ‘Thus says the LORD, your redeemer, and the one who formed you from the womb, “I, the LORD, am the maker of all things, stretching out the heavens by myself and spreading out the earth all alone”’ (italics mine). While Rom. 11:36a simply refers to God, in 1 Cor. 8:6 Paul has divided it between God and Christ (from whom are all things and we for him [God the Father] … through whom are all things and we through him [Lord Jesus Christ]), applying to God two of the prepositions that describe God’s relationship as Creator to all things (‘from’ and ‘for’) and the third preposition (‘through’) to Christ. Hence, Paul includes Christ in this exclusively divine work of creation by giving him the role of instrumental cause (Bauckham 1999, 37–9). 13 As Capes observes, ἐπικαλέω (‘to call upon’) is used commonly in Greek texts to refer to the invocation of a god, and in the LXX it occurs with similar meaning as petitioners call upon YHWH (e.g., Gen. 13:4, 21:33, 26:26; Ps. 78:6, 79:18, 104:1, 118:4; Isa. 64:6: Jer. 10:25; Zeph. 3:9; Zech. 13:9; and Joel 2:32) (Capes 2008, 150). 14 Chris Tilling argues that the relational data in Paul’s epistles concerning believers and Jesus corresponds, as a pattern, only to the language concerning believers and YHWH in second temple Judaism. He helpfully observes, for example, that in the Judeo-Christian understanding ‘worship is bigger than church service, it involves the whole of life’ and notes Paul’s Christ-shaped goals and motivations in this regard (Tilling 2012, 60, 106–13). 12

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give a brief example, commentators have noted that the phrase ἐν μορφῇ θεοῦ in Phil. 2:6 expresses an ontological idea (even though the idea is not exactly the same as the ontological concepts of later patristic discussions). Gordon Fee takes it to be referring to Christ as having that which characterizes the reality of him being God. He explains that μορφῇ was the right word for the dual usage of characterizing both the reality (his being God) and the metaphor (μορφὴν δούλου, ‘form of a slave’ Phil. 2:7) for humanity. In his earthly existence he took on the ‘essential quality’ of what it meant to be a slave (Fee 2007, 377–8, 383–5). ‘Having that which characterizes’, ‘reality’, ‘being’ and ‘essential quality’ are all expressions of ontology. Likewise, Reginald Fuller argues that, while much of New Testament Christology is functional, it is not just a quirk of the Greek mind but a universal human apperception that action implies prior being, and that ontic reflection about Yahweh is found even in the Old Testament (e.g. in the ‘I AM’ of Exodus and ‘Deutero-Isaiah’) (Fuller 1965, 247–9). The assessment of the debate concerning whether there are historical evidences for the traditional view of the Incarnation as well as the debate between scholars of the New Religionsgeschichtliche Schule and their critics (e.g. Casey 1991, 1996, 1999; Dunn 1980, 1998, 2003, 2008, 2010; and a number of essays in Capes et al. 2008) is too large and complex to be dealt with here, and I have addressed some aspects of it elsewhere (for the resurrection of Jesus, see Loke 2009b; see also Wright 2003; Swinburne 2003; Habermas and Licona 2004; Craig 2008a; McGrew and McGrew 2009; Licona 2010). Suffice it to note here that the traditional view has not been refuted. In this book, I shall assume that there are defensible grounds – historical or otherwise15 – for accepting the traditional view of the Incarnation, and I shall focus on the issue of whether a coherent understanding of this view is possible. In this book, the words ‘God’ and ‘divine’ are used in the strict sense, that is, I shall take the word ‘God’ to be synonymous with ‘true God’ and ‘divine’ to be synonymous with ‘true divinity’ unless otherwise indicated. 1.3. The Need for a Coherent Model How should the problems concerning the coherence of the Incarnation be addressed? One might attempt to rebut the sceptic by arguing that the New One might, for example, argue that belief in the traditional view of the Incarnation is warranted by developing an externalist epistemological approach along the lines of Plantinga (2000). The discussion of whether such an approach can stand up against the objections of its critics is beyond the scope of this monograph. 15

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Testament accounts of Jesus’ humanity which give rise to those tensions with the divine nature – such as the account in Mark 13:32, which suggest ignorance – are unhistorical. However, since it is arguable that the early Christians did believe that Jesus was divine (see Section 1.2), such details which give rise to tensions with Jesus’ divinity would have been embarrassing for their case, and therefore they are likely authentic. A number of the early church fathers interpret these texts as saying that Jesus was unwilling to reveal his knowledge (Madigan 2007, ch.3–4), but without further justification the exegeses seem unconvincing. Many theologians would address the problem by saying that Jesus was ignorant qua human but omniscient qua divine. This is the reduplication strategy widely used by medieval school theologians (Adams 2006, ch.5). The problem with this strategy is that it is in itself inadequate, for it does not demonstrate in what sense Jesus was ignorant qua human but omniscient qua divine (did he have a divine mind apart from his ignorant human mind?). Marmodoro and Hill point out that: An important advance in recent work on the Incarnation has been the recognition that the reduplicative strategy, in itself, operates only at the linguistic level … It is a way of avoiding ascribing explicitly inconsistent properties to Christ. It is not, in itself, a metaphysical strategy. It does not tell us how or why Christ avoids having inconsistent properties, or how this is compatible with his being fully divine and fully human. To do that, the defender of the reduplicative strategy must go beyond mere reduplication and into metaphysics, to show why the use of this language is legitimate. (Marmodoro and Hill 2011, 5–6)

A few scholars have appealed to the notion of relative identity (Van Inwagen 1994),16 but the problem with this approach is that the notion of relative identity is widely regarded as spurious (Moreland and Craig 2003, 592; Cross 2008a, 458). More common is the appeal to the notion of divine mystery (e.g. Oden 1989, 172),17 paradox (e.g. Baillie 1948; Anderson 2007) or the limitation of human reason and understanding. On the last option, Dietrich Bonhoeffer vividly brushes aside issues concerning the coherence of the Incarnation by 16 Proponents of this position deny that identity is absolute, and claim that identity is relative to a sort of thing, such that ‘a and b could be the same F but not the same G’ (Morris 1986, 28). 17 Oden appeals to Col. 2:2, which speaks of Christ as God’s mystery. It should be noted, however, that the idea of mystery in that passage refers to aspects of God’s plan that are no longer hidden but have been fully revealed in Christ (Fee 2007, 316).

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asserting that Christ is the Anti-Logos whose existence means the end of the human Logos (Bonhoeffer and Robertson 1978, Introduction). As such, it is inappropriate to ask how the Incarnation could be possible; rather, the right question that should be asked is ‘who he is’. The inadequacy with such approaches is that, since the Christian wants to make meaningful statements by affirming, as the Scriptures do, that God’s understanding is unlimited (e.g. Ps. 147:5) and that Jesus apparently denied knowing the day and hour of his second coming (e.g. Mark 13:32), he/she must demonstrate what is meant (or what could possibly be meant) by these statements and to ensure that the explications of these statements do not result in contradictions; it is not enough to appeal to the concepts of mystery, paradox etc. and leave it at that. Note that I am not saying that the Incarnation is not in some sense a mystery; nor am I denying the limitation of human reason – rather, I am saying that appealing to these is not enough in the present context. In relation to this point, Islamic apologists have long complained that Christian sects use terms that carry no meaning when they explain their beliefs concerning the Incarnation (e.g. Thomas 2002, 231). With respect to Bonhoeffer, it needs to be pointed out that, to affirm that God’s knowledge is unlimited and that Jesus was apparently limited in knowledge, as the Scriptures do, is precisely to give content to the answer to the question ‘who Jesus is’. Thus, to ignore what is meant (or what could possibly be meant) by these statements would be to ignore the right question. Neither is it enough merely to claim that these statements contain ‘implicit meanings’, are ‘partial and approximate’ and ‘analogical’, as James Anderson (2007, 297–306) does in a recent publication defending the notion of the Incarnation as paradox. These statements may indeed be so, but the challenge is to spell out at least some of their contents (i.e. in what sense are they ‘partial and approximate’, and in what respects the analogical terms are similar) without ending up in contradictions. Anderson (2007, 300–302) suggests that the meaningfulness of a particular claim can be assessed by considering the extent to which we can draw both implications and applications from it. But this still does not answer the question ‘what are the contents of the claims’ that lead to these implications and applications. One does not need to spell out the contents fully, but one does need to spell out at least some of them. The problem with asserting that one can make contradictory statements about Jesus, such as ‘Jesus has complete awareness of everything and complete unawareness of everything simultaneously’, is that the person who makes such contradictory statements is not affirming anything about Jesus. To see this, one could ask the proponent what he is trying to affirm when he makes the statement ‘Jesus has complete awareness of everything and complete unawareness of

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everything simultaneously’. It turns out that he is not affirming anything about Jesus, for he will not be able to say what it is about Jesus that he is affirming. This does not mean that the statement is gibberish, for (unlike gibberish) the statement is syntactically well formed,18 and the individual words ‘awareness’, ‘unawareness’ etc. do have meanings of their own (that is why such statements can be conceived of in a purely ‘formal’ manner, as Anderson observes).19 Nevertheless, affirming ‘complete awareness of everything’ and ‘complete unawareness of everything’ simply cancel each other out; it is like writing something and then immediately erasing it, such that one ends up with nothing that is affirmed of Jesus.20 Therefore, the Christian has to provide a model to show how concepts like omniscience and apparent limitation in knowledge can be applied to Jesus, in such a way that at least some of the contents of these concepts can be spelt out and that no contradiction results. However, for the purpose of rebutting the charge of incoherence, all that is required is not to provide an actual model of the Incarnation (‘It was like this … ’), but to provide a possible model to show how it is not impossible that the apparently contradictory properties coexist in the same person (‘It could have been like this … ’). It is evident that to show how this is not impossible a degree of conjecture is justified. To elaborate on this point, it needs to be highlighted that the sceptic who objects to the coherence of the Incarnation is making a very strong claim: he/she is claiming that even an omnipotent God cannot make the Incarnation happen. To rebut such a strong claim, all that the Christian has to do is suggest a model that could possibly be true of the Incarnation and which is defensible, and then say, ‘for all we know, this is what the Incarnation could have been like’. The sceptic would then need to bear the burden of proof to exclude these possibilities in order to claim that the Incarnation is incoherent. In this book, an internally coherent model – which I shall call the Divine Preconscious Model (DPM) – that is also consistent with the Scriptural data will be provided, and the difficult questions concerning the Incarnation will be addressed. The formulation of this model has benefited greatly from the brilliant, lucid and insightful analyses of many theological issues concerning the Cf. Geach (1973, 7–20), with respect to Universal Possibilism. Anderson (2007, 303) explains our ability to conceive of something in a purely formal manner as our capacity to reflect on some proposed item or scenario, and to introduce it into the discourse so as to invite others to reflect on it, regardless of whether subsequent thought leads to the conclusion that the item or scenario in question is coherent or metaphysically possible. He gives the example of a ‘square circle’. 20 This point is adapted from Thomas Morris’ (1991, 66–7) argument against Universal Possibilism. 18 19

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Incarnation by philosophical theologians such as Oliver Crisp (2007, 2009), Richard Swinburne (1994, 2003), Gerald O’Collins (1995), William Lane Craig (Moreland and Craig 2003), and the contributors to Marmodoro and Hill (2011), Evans (2006), and Davis et al. (2002). Nevertheless, as I shall show in Chapter 3, the models which they propose are beset with certain problems which they have not adequately addressed. Moreover, the philosophical discussion they offer is at times not as sensitive as it should be to the complexities of the exegeses of the relevant Scriptural texts (Mark 13:32, Heb. 4:15 etc.). Additionally, their expositions of a number of theological issues, such as those concerning Dyothelitism, fail to take into account the insights of contemporary patristic scholarship (e.g. Bathrellos 2004). My book will remedy these deficiencies by offering a tighter integration of biblical, historical, theological, patristic and philosophical scholarship, and by proposing a novel Kryptic and Functionalist Kenotic account of the Incarnation which is distinctively different from the models of the Incarnation discussed in these volumes and which avoids the difficulties besetting these models. 1.4. The Use of Philosophical Analysis The Bible is not a theological or philosophical treatise on aspects of doctrine, but a book for believers (Brom 1999, 81), and therefore detailed analyses of concepts related to the Incarnation are absent from it. Nevertheless, since the question of coherence concerns whether the concepts of the properties of divinity and humanity contradict each other, a detailed philosophical analysis of the intricate concepts of divinity and humanity will be required. Although there have been some who oppose the use of philosophical tools in theology, the consensus within Christian theology as a whole is that a critical appropriation of such tools (based on the insight that ‘all truths are God’s truths’) in clarifying doctrines which have their basis in the Scriptures is helpful, productive and integral to the theological task (A. McGrath 2007, 108, 173–200). Such an appropriation has long been practised in the history of the church, especially in the formulation of creedal statements by the church councils. For example, Athanasius observes that both the supporters and the opponents of Arius could use similar Scriptural texts and phrases to undergird their positions. He thus argues that this made it necessary for the Council at Nicaea to employ terms taken from philosophy rather than Scripture as interpretative norms, to ensure that the Scriptures would be understood in the way that they have been traditionally understood

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and the way that the New Testament’s authors had intended them21 (for the use of philosophical concepts in the study of earlier history to fulfil an explanatory function, see also Section 1.5). In reply to theologians who naively assert that they merely intend to keep to the Scriptures alone and nothing else, Küng observes that: If … interpretation is not a mere exposition of single words, but rather an explanation of the sense, then it is easy to see that it must bring its own idea into the foundational Word … Man necessarily brings his own presuppositions, prejudices, ideas and thinking into his exegesis. These things do not hail from the Bible, but are brought to the Bible, and they have their own conditions and intrinsic forms before they come into contact with the Bible. And for interpretation, for exegesis, and, finally for the theology of the reader of Scripture himself, everything hinges on ‘whether his thinking is correct or not. (Küng 1987, 360)

Küng goes on to point out that the fundamental science of philosophy is useful for judging the a priori correctness of thinking. Against the objection that the use of philosophical tools is a move away from the simplicity of the biblical narratives to a more metaphysical view of Jesus, McGrath argues well that the New Testament vision of Jesus is itself highly complex, weaving together strands that occasionally seem to contradict each other. He writes: Here is someone who is clearly human – who gets tired, thirsty, and so on – but who says and does things that put him way beyond humanity, on any understanding of an index of its capacities. It’s not a ‘simple’ picture, and cannot lead to a ‘simple’ answer. In this case, ‘simple’ just means simplistic – failing to attend to the complexity of the issues. (A. McGrath 2006, 78–9)

In employing the tools of analytic philosophy, the approach of this monograph can be classified as ‘analytic theology’, defined as systematic theology attuned to the deployment of the skills, resources and virtues of analytic philosophy (Abraham 2009, 54). Such an approach is characterized by (a) explanatory/ metaphysical ambitions that prioritize explanations marked by rhetorical features like clarity and (b) a commitment to the view that there are theological truths that are accessible to human beings (Crisp 2009b, 33–53) (analytic theologians typically hold the supposition that we can arrive at clear knowledge of God, even if that knowledge is not complete and some mysteries remain) Daley (2008, 268), citing Athanasius, Defence of the Nicene Definition 5.18–24.

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(Crisp and Rea 2009, 9). Tools that are characteristically employed include logical apparatuses of various sorts (deductive, probabilistic, epistemic, modal etc.); abduction; rational intuition; thought-experiment; reflective equilibrium; appeal to substantive theory-building constraints such as simplicity, elegance and explanatory depth; stylistic rigour, clarity and necessary-and-sufficientconditions analysis of concepts, refined by appeal to counterexamples (Chignell 2009, 117–18). Some might raise the concern that the use of philosophy in theological discourse would yield ‘the God of the philosophers’ very different from the God whom we meet in the revealed Scriptures. In response, philosopher of religion William Abraham argues that the God who is identified is not some idol invented by philosophers, but precisely the God who has revealed himself in Jesus Christ, the triune God of Christian revelation. The tools of philosophy are used to do justice to this God, whom Anselm realizes can be identified as nothing less than that which nothing greater can be conceived, by unpacking as fully as possible what is involved in confessing faith in him, and how believers may speak appropriately of him who is worthy of worship (Abraham 2009, 61–3). Some might also object that the explications of divine attributes such as omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence offered in philosophical theological literature (including this monograph) are not exactly the same as what the Scripture affirms of God, and that the explications of these attributes are in any case highly controversial among philosophers of religion. In reply, while what the Scripture affirms of God might not be exactly the same as the explications of some of the divine attributes given subsequently in this monograph, nevertheless these explications are not contradictory to the Scriptural portrayal of God either. Furthermore, while it is true that the explications of these attributes are controversial, it will be shown in later chapters that the explications offered in this monograph are nevertheless defensible. Hence, these explications are possibly true of God, and they could therefore be used to formulate a possible model of the Incarnation, which is all that is required in the dialectic with the sceptic. 1.5. The Use of Psychological Notions It has been noted previously that one of the areas of tension is between the notion of divine omniscience and the New Testament account of the apparent limitation of Jesus’ knowledge. The question ‘How is the consciousness of Christ, which apparently evinces ignorance according to the Scriptures (Mark 13:32), compatible with divine omniscience?’ is a legitimate one and cannot simply be

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dismissed (Vine 1955, 51). Since knowledge is a psychological concept, it would seem that utilizing psychological notions to tease out the coherence of Jesus’ knowledge with divine omniscience would be helpful. Proponents of these models have pointed out that the use of psychological notions for formulating models of the Incarnation is not a recent novelty; and previous examples of such use will be given in Chapter 3. Nevertheless, the use of psychological notions in Christological discourse has been subject to criticism. To give a sampling of some of the objections: back in the 1940s G.L. Prestige (1940, 228) complained that ‘Psychology, in ancient times at least, was ever the parent of heresy’. In opposition to the Divine Subconscious Model of the Incarnation proposed by Sanday, D.M. Baillie (1953, 239) writes: ‘one is moved to ask whether this kind of thing was what the New Testament meant when it spoke of Jesus as the Son of God and the Word becoming flesh in him’. H.M. Relton (1917, 210) argued that the difference between God incarnate and us is so great as to convince us that the startingpoint for a sound Christology is not to be found so much in our psychological resemblance to him, but in his difference from us. Ivor Davidson warns of the dangers of using psychological models in Christology: Any attempt to construct a ‘psychology’ of Jesus … is in no small measure doomed to failure, and may be in peril of yet more serious evils … the degree of conjecture involved in such enterprises is necessarily considerable. The experiential dynamics of incarnate consciousness are simply not vouchsafed to human ingenuity … Efforts to penetrate the psyche of Jesus tend to forget that the case in question, the nature of divine existence in human flesh, is entirely sui generis, an utterly free act grounded in the mystery of divine choosing. Alleged parallels with ‘divided minds’ or the like are inherently problematic … no other mind can represent a case comparable to that of Christ’s person. Any other mind is created, pure and simple; his human mind is created, yes, but his created humanity is not all that there is to his person … it is also potentially to violate the ontological uniqueness of the one who is here confessed. He is not just a particularly interesting instantiation of a phenomenon capable of being studied elsewhere: he is God among us, and his human existence is an instance only of itself. (Davidson 2005, 200)

Criticizing a particular version of Divine Subconscious Model, the late John Hick stated that the problem he had with the model is that it was ‘unacceptably anthropomorphic’.22 Theologians who, like Hick, favour an apophatic approach John Hick, private correspondence, 15 January 2009.

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concerning what may be said about God (as against a kataphatic approach) would also argue that one cannot make positive affirmations about God incarnate, such as his having a subconscious, because God is so transcendent that his essence cannot be known by creatures in any positive way. The concerns that these theologians raise are important. With respect to Prestige’s complaint, whether DPM is indeed heretical would have to be judged on its own merits; in what follows, I will show that there is in principle no adequate reason to discourage the use of psychological models in defending the coherence of the Incarnation. With respect to Baillie’s criticism concerning what the New Testament meant, we must be careful to note the distinction between (A) interpreting the biblical authors and (B) showing that what the biblical authors say concerning God and Jesus are not contradictory. If someone is proposing a model for the purpose of (A), then one should ask for positive evidence to show that the proposal was what the biblical authors intended; but for the purpose of (B) it is perfectly legitimate to propose a possible model which the human biblical authors may not have thought of, as long as the possibility is defensible and not contradictory to what these authors expressed.23 Baillie’s objection is based on a misunderstanding of the intention of such efforts; such efforts do not have to be perceived as attempts to understand what the human biblical authors had in mind, but rather as attempts to show that what these authors said concerning God and Jesus are not contradictory. While the psychological models suggested by such efforts may indeed not be what the biblical authors had in mind or what the biblical authors mandated, ‘not being what the biblical authors had in mind or what the biblical authors mandated’ is not the same as ‘contradictory to what the biblical authors expressed’. We should readily acknowledge that modern philosophical and psychological concepts are not available to the human authors in the New Testament era. Nevertheless, just as modern historians studying ancient warfare can draw from modern-day knowledge (e.g. of infectious disease, a knowledge that was unavailable to the ancients) to explain historical events (e.g. why soldiers die from contaminated wounds), it can be argued that later knowledge (including knowledge of philosophy, psychology etc.) can be employed in the study of earlier history to fulfil an explanatory function, a function that is different from that of immersing oneself in the world of the protagonists (Kitcher 1998, 43). Here, the explanatory function is to show that The traditional doctrine of divine inspiration of Scripture does not require the human biblical authors to be omniscient just as the Divine author is, and it does not require God to reveal to the human biblical authors an exhaustive knowledge concerning everything they wrote. 23

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it is not logically impossible that a historical individual could be divine and human. A divine omnipotent person, if he exists, could of course exist and act in ways that are beyond the philosophical and psychological concepts available in the first century. In reply to the criticism from apophatic theology, there is no adequate philosophical or biblical justification for a notion of divine transcendence that would rule out the possibility of an omnipotent God creating entities that are similar to him in some positive ways, which would be the basis for them knowing him and speaking of him in some limited positive and partially univocal ways. Philosopher Katherin Rogers (2000, 16) explains that this similarity between creation and Creator would be in line with Anselm’s and Augustine’s view that the basic relationship of creation to Creator is one of participation, i.e. every good quality which is possessed by a creature is possessed through some sort of ‘reflecting’ or ‘sharing in’ the nature of the divine. Rogers notes Duns Scotus’ argument that, in order for us to speak properly of God, there must be some underlying sameness, genuinely applicable to the creature and God, which we are grasping. It could well be the case, as Scotus proposes, that God created humans with the capability of abstracting concepts of sufficient generality from experiential data of creation, such that these concepts can apply univocally to God and creatures. Rogers explains: We get our concept or wisdom, for example, from observing creatures. In creatures wisdom is limited. Wisdom per se, however, is neither limited nor unlimited. Wisdom is just wisdom. When we abstract the concept we can strip it, in intellectu, of all the imperfections which accompany wisdom in the creature but which are not part of the definition of ‘wisdom’.24

Since humans are created in the image of God according to the Scriptures, certain similarities between God and humans are to be expected in accordance with Christian theology. Additionally, as the late Colin Gunton argues in one of his last writings, there is inadequate Scriptural support for apophatic theology; that in its historical and intellectual origins apophatic theology derives from certain forms of Greek theology; that apophatic theology runs the risk of denying revelation, of identifying existence with fallen-ness, and of assuming the superiority of the intellectual realm to the material; and that apophatic theology lacks Incarnational content (Gunton 2003, 11, 36–8, 47–9, 66, 97; cf. Davies Rogers (2000, 17–18) cites Duns Scotus, Oxford Commentary on the Four Books of the Sentences, I, dist. III, q.1 and 2. 24

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and Turner 2002). Based on the Scripture’s numerous positive affirmations about God and the God-man Jesus, and its emphasis that God makes himself known positively through his acts, it can be argued that the Scripture favours the kataphatic approach as long as this approach recognizes its limitations (i.e. it is based on analogies and cannot claim an exhaustive knowledge of God). This conclusion would be similar to the ‘partial univocity’ view proposed by William Alston. Alston (2005, 234–42) demonstrates that many terms can be analysed into an abstract component which can be applied univocally and which goes some way toward specifying the relevant analogy, and a more concrete part which is not strictly appropriate to God. Thus, there is an analogy between divine and human properties with an ‘abstract univocal core’, and this partial univocity gives us a secure foundation for the less determinate portions of our talk of God. Alston differentiates his position from the ‘analogical’ position of Aquinas which denies the possibility of an explicit literal formulation of the points of analogy resulting in loose ends dangling our talk of God. Of particular relevance to the discussion here concerning the use of psychological notions is Alston’s view that functional concepts of psychological states can be univocally applied to God and to us. Alston suggests that a functional concept is in terms of the function of its object, not in terms of its structure or intrinsic character. Thus, a loudspeaker is anything with the function of converting electronic signals into sound, and this is compatible with a great variety of composition and design. He writes: So if we conceive a desire, an intention, a belief, or a bit of knowledge in terms of its function in the motivation of action, then that concept can apply to items that are radically different in their composition and structure, even as radically as the divine psyche differs from the human psyche. (Alston 2005, 235–6; 1989, ch.3–4)

One might object by claiming, as theologian Sallie McFague (1982, 194) has done, that all our language about God is metaphorical. But, as Alston (1989, ch.1–2) points out, metaphors posit some kind of comparison that can at least in part be literally specified.25 Concerning Hick’s charge of anthropomorphism, it would be inconsistent with divine omnipotence to assert that a divine person cannot create creatures Scott points out that McFague seems to rely on introducing a non-standard understanding of ‘metaphor’, observing that, standard-ly, we can distinguish ‘God created the world’, where the speaker means what is said, from ‘the Lord is my shepherd’, where a speaker uses a (false) sentence to convey something else (Scott 2010, Section 5.1). 25

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which, although finite, are similar to him in certain ways, or that a divine person cannot freely choose to create another consciousness or restrict the exercise of his ability to be consciously aware of all things (and thus possessing a subconscious). With respect to Davidson’s point concerning constructing a ‘psychology’ of Jesus, although we cannot find an exact parallel with his mind, it is observed that Scriptural passages affirm concerning the experiential dynamics of his consciousness that he experienced suffering (e.g. Heb. 5:8). One can justifiably infer that this suffering was in some ways analogous to the unpleasantness that we feel when we experience pain. It should be noted that in the case of Christ, even though there were two natures, there was only one subject of the experiences; and to say that he had psychological states such as self-awareness of his thoughts (Mark 13:32), suffering (Heb. 5:8) etc., as the Scriptures do, is to make positive (and not merely negative) affirmations. In relation to the ontological uniqueness of Christ’s person, Erickson (1991, 559) gives a balanced view when he writes that we cannot, of course, know exactly what the consciousness of the divine-human person was like; yet we are probably safe in assuming that there is enough commonality on the nature of consciousness between Jesus and us that we may trust to a certain extent the analogy of our own experiences. Additionally, it is important to note the use of psychological models of the Incarnation in the context of the dialogue with the sceptic. With respect to Davidson’s concerns, the purpose here is not to construct a comprehensive and actual psychology of Jesus, but to rebut the sceptics’ charge of incoherence. As noted above, to accomplish this task all that is required is not to provide an actual model, but to provide a possible model to show how it is not impossible that the apparently contradictory properties coexist in the same person. It is evident that in order to show how it is not impossible that the apparently contradictory properties could coexist in the same person, a degree of conjecture is justified. It should be noted that this conjecture is different from the ‘mere speculation’ discouraged in 1 Tim. 1:4. There the troublemakers in the Ephesian church were church leaders who emphasized the law accompanied by a minimizing of faith, and who defined salvation in terms of their mythical reinterpretations based on Old Testament genealogies (Mounce 2000, 21–2). The result of this is ‘mere speculation’ which opposed faith. By contrast, the theologian can argue that the result of the conjectures made by proponents of defensible psychological models is to allow the Incarnation to be coherently affirmed and believed. Hence, and with respect to Davidson’s warning, the project of proposing psychological models (as I understand it in this monograph) is not ‘to penetrate the psyche of Jesus’ and then say ‘it was like this (say, a divided mind)’; rather, it is to suggest

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a possible model and then say ‘it could be like this’. As long as the psychological model in question is defensible (i.e. it is internally coherent, not contrary to the essential attributes of God or humanity, not contrary to the Scriptures etc.), it is possible and not improbable that the mind of the divine Son existed in a manner consistent with this model. Furthermore, given divine omnipotence, a divine person could indeed have actualized this particular possible model, and we are not in a position to know that he would not have chosen to do that. In conclusion, the objections to the use of psychological models in Christology are not unanswerable. The theologian is justified in proposing a possible and defensible description of the mind of Christ, utilizing psychological notions that are based on certain analogies of human experiences, for the purpose of demonstrating the coherence of the Incarnation. This should be done with a clear eye on avoiding heresies and a clear recognition of its limitations – (1) it is not intended to be an exhaustive description of the psychology of Christ, and hence does not aim to dispel all mystery; (2) it is but one possible model and not necessarily the actual model; and (3) there could be other better possible models. With respect to the task of systematic theology, the theologian can first interpret what the Scriptures say concerning the Incarnation – e.g. God’s knowledge is infinite (e.g. Ps. 147:5) and that Jesus’ human knowledge was limited (e.g. Mark 13:32) – and then go on to show that a particular psychological model is one possible and defensible way of suggesting, for example, in what sense God’s knowledge is infinite and Jesus’ human mind was limited. The theologian is not required to claim that that particular model is the actual way the Incarnation occurred. Offering a possible model is not only useful for allowing what the Scriptures say concerning the Incarnation to be coherently affirmed; it is also helpful for resolving longstanding interdenominational disagreements concerning the Incarnation, such as those between Chalcedonian and non-Chalcedonian churches, Dyothelites and Monothelites, and Lutherans and Reformed theologians. A review of church history would show that these disagreements are to a large extent due to neither side being able to see how the position of the other side could be possible within the bounds of orthodoxy. For example, the Reformed theologians fail to see how the Lutheran’s position on the unity of Christ’s person could avoid compromising Christ’s humanity, while the Lutherans fail to see how the Reformed position on the distinction of natures could avoid compromising his unity (Pannenberg 1968, 301–2). Hence, proposing a possible and defensible psychological model that would address the concerns of both sides would be very useful indeed, and further work in this area should be encouraged.

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1.6. An Overview of the Following Chapters In the following chapters, I shall critically reflect on the coherence of the Incarnation, and propose a new Kryptic Christology which would address the problems mentioned above. The term ‘Kryptic (from the Greek word Krypsis, meaning ‘hiding’) Christology’ has its roots in the theological debates in the 1620s between the Lutheran schools of Giessen and Tübingen. Kryptic Christology proposes that in a certain sense the supernatural properties of God incarnate were concealed (‘veiled’) during the Incarnation. The Kryptic Christology I propose is different from its Lutheran forebears, as will be explained in Chapter 6. The problems that I will be focusing on are the areas of tension between the apparent limitation in power, knowledge and presence of Jesus with divine properties of omnipotence, omniscience and omnipresence. The reason for focusing on these three areas is that, as will be shown in Chapter 3, current attempted solutions are unsatisfactory where addressing these three areas is concerned. This does not imply that the areas of tension concerning the other divine and human properties will be ignored; on the contrary, many of these will be addressed (albeit in less detail) throughout this monograph. In particular, the tension between infinity and finitude is discussed with respect to other divine and human properties. The tension between necessary existence and contingent existence is discussed in Section 4.5, atemporality and temporality in 4.4.3; immutability and changeability in 4.4.3; incorruptibility and corruptibility in 4.5; impassibility and passibility in 4.4.4; divine simplicity and having parts in 4.4.2; incorporeality and partly material in 4.5; a-spatiality and spatiality in 5.4.2; sovereignty and subordination in 2.2 and 4.4.4; divine untemptability and Jesus’ temptability in 4.3; immortality and mortality in 4.5; and sacredness and defilement in 4.4.4.26 In Chapter 2, the Scriptural and philosophical problems concerning divine omniscience and Jesus’ knowledge, divine omnipotence and Jesus’ fatigability, and divine omnipresence and Jesus’ apparently limited presence will be laid out in detail, and in Chapter 3 three prominent solutions that have been offered will be evaluated. These include various forms of Kenoticism, the Two Consciousnesses Model and the Divine Subconscious Model. It will be shown that all forms of Ontological Kenoticism have difficulty avoiding the unacceptable implication of divesting the Logos of his divinity during his Incarnation, while the Two Consciousnesses Model has difficulty avoiding the unacceptable implication of Nestorianism. While the Divine Subconscious Model is the best way ahead, I address the issue of Jesus’ impeccability in Loke (2010); see also Yandell (1988).

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current versions of Divine Subconscious Model face certain problems, and further modifications to the existing versions are required. These modifications are undertaken in Chapter 4 in the form of a new model, the Divine Preconscious Model. After an explication of key terms such as the conscious, preconscious, personhood, essence and nature, I shall argue that DPM avoids the weaknesses that have been previously identified in other versions of the Divine Subconscious Model; that in DPM Jesus had complete human nature and a complete divine nature at the same time; and that this model is able to handle the problematic issue of the communicatio idiomatum. While some recent advocates of the Divine Subconscious Model have denied Dyothelitism, I shall demonstrate that DPM is consistent with the Dyothelitism of Maximus the Confessor as recently explicated in a well-argued study by Demetrios Bathrellos (2004). Having explained the model, the utility of DPM in rebutting the sceptics’ accusation that the Incarnation is incoherent will be assessed in Chapter 5. It will be shown that it is reasonable to suggest the possibility that Jesus’ knowledge of all things was not limited, but only his conscious awareness of all things was limited, and this is consistent with passages like Mark 13:32. In virtue of his omniscience being in the preconscious rather than the unconscious part of Jesus’ personality, there is no problem with his possession of omnipotence. I shall also argue that having omnipotence does not imply the continual utilization of this omnipotence. Thus, Jesus could have freely refrained from utilizing his omnipotence when he carried out certain activities, such that he did these activities by the finite strength of his human body and hence experienced fatigue. Furthermore, it will be demonstrated that, given an adequate understanding of omnipresence and that Jesus retained his omniscience and omnipotence, Jesus’ divine preconscious could be omnipresent while his conscious and body could be spatially limited at the same time. Two major critical questions facing DPM are whether Jesus was pretending when he evinced human limitations, and whether these limitations would last forever. These questions will be addressed in Chapter 6. I shall argue that, although Jesus retained the ability to access his divine preconscious at all times, he truly experienced the desires, limitations and hence the temptations which humans face. I shall also argue that Jesus’ true humanity and divinity can be maintained whether or not the limitation would last forever, and hence this issue poses no insurmountable problem for DPM. The conclusions of this monograph will be summarized in Chapter 7.

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Chapter 2

Problems Concerning Omniscience, Omnipotence and Omnipresence

2.1. Introduction How could someone be truly divine and truly human at the same time? In this chapter, I shall spell out the areas of tension between the New Testament’s portrayal of the humanity of Jesus and divine omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence. 2.2. Problems Concerning Divine Omniscience and Jesus’ Knowledge A major area of tension concerns Jesus’ knowledge and divine omniscience. Consider first what the Scriptures say of God’s knowledge. In the Jewish wisdom tradition, God’s omniscience is often contrasted with human ignorance through the mention of things only God can know (e.g. Job 38:37), while other Scriptural passages refer to God’s knowledge as being immeasurable (e.g. Ps. 147:5) and allinclusive (e.g. 1 John 3:20) (Allison 1990). Consider now what the Scriptures say of Jesus’ knowledge. Some scholars have argued that the Jesus of the Gospels had false beliefs, and therefore he was imperfect in knowledge. For example, Raymond Brown argues that Jesus mistakenly asserted Abiathar to be the High Priest during the lifetime of his father Ahimelech (Mark 2:26; cf. 1 Sam. 21:1–7, which mentions Ahimelech as the priest) (Brown 1994, 37–8). However, a number of plausible alternative explanations are available (Wallace 2004; Evans 2008, 1–2). To give one example, the phrase ἐπὶ Ἀβιαθὰρ ἀρχιερέως can be taken to mean ‘in the days of Abiathar the high priest’ (Wallace 2004, Appendix), i.e. when Abiathar, who was to become high priest later, was around. Since Abiathar was better known than Ahimelech and more closely associated with David in later life, this would explain why Abiathar rather than Ahimelech was mentioned.1 The omission of the phrase in Matt. 12:3–4 and Luke 6:3–4, as well as some manuscripts of

1

The fact that Abiathar was better known is noted by Brown (1994, 37–8).

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Mark, does not necessarily imply that the authors of Matthew and Luke or some copyists of Mark knew that there was an error in Mark. Rather, it could well be the case that they knew that the phrase might be misunderstood as an error, and therefore they chose to omit it.2 Others have argued that, according to the Gospels (Matt. 16:28/Mark 9:1/ Luke 9:27; Matt. 24:34/Mark 13:30/Luke 21:32), Jesus predicted the timing of his second coming as occurring within the lifetime of the apostles, which was mistaken (Casey 1991, 58–9, 170–74; Bockmuehl 1994, 99–100).3 However, there are again a number of plausible alternative explanations. For example, Plausible alternative explanations are also available for other cases of alleged false beliefs which Brown (1994, 37–9) cites, such as the reference to Zechariah in Matt. 23:35 (for a response, see Gundry 1967, 86–8; Blomberg 2007, 85); the historicity of Jonah in Matt. 12:39–41 (see Stuart 1987, 435–42, 486–8); and the authorship of Ps. 110 in Mark 12:36 (see Bateman 1992). Brown complains that in demonology, the afterlife and the apocalyptic Jesus seems to draw on the religious concepts of his time without indication of superior knowledge (Brown 1994, 44), but he does not provide adequate evidence for thinking that what he deemed as ‘superior knowledge’ is correct (for example, there is insufficient basis for thinking that demonic possession cannot be manifested in the form of epilepsy or insanity, similar to the way many diseases can be manifested in the form of another – e.g. HIV infection can be manifested in the form of parasitic gastrointestinal infection). Brown further argues that the citations of Scripture attributed to Jesus employ a hermeneutic that would be judged marginal today: in Mark 12:36 Jesus says that the ‘my lord’ in Ps. 110 refers to the Messiah, but Brown argues that there was no expectation of the Messiah when Ps. 110 was composed (Brown 1994, 39–40). In reply, it is possible that David intended Ps. 110 to be applicable also to the future Davidic kings/king who would fulfil the promise of a never failing kingdom in 2 Sam. 7. Therefore, it is not necessarily hermeneutically illegitimate for the Jesus of the Gospels to use this Psalm to refer to that Messiah who would fulfil this promise after the destruction of the monarchy in 586 BC. Brown also complains that, in John 10:33–6, the Jews had accused Jesus of making himself God, but Jesus glosses over a difference in meaning of the word ‘god’ by answering with the citation of Ps. 82:6, where human beings are called gods in a different sense (Brown 1994, 39–40). In response, Jesus’ reply in John 10:33–6 is not necessarily glossing over a difference of meaning of the word ‘god’. Rather, it could be the case that, according to John, Jesus was trying to break down the strict dichotomy between God and humans upheld by his Jewish opponents, by showing them that their Scriptures (Ps. 82:6) say that humans can in some sense be called gods (Köstenberger 2007, 466). This would indicate that the idea that he, a man, could be divine (cf. John 10:33) is not impossible and therefore they should be open to considering the evidence of his works ( John 10:37) which justifies his claim to be one with the Father ( John 10:30, 38). 3 In support of this interpretation, it has been argued that the earliest Christians expected the parousia to occur in their lifetime, and that they got this view from Jesus (Allison 1998, 113, 190–96). However, the relevant textual evidences can be interpreted as saying that the earliest Christians thought that the parousia might come in their lifetime rather than it would (Witherington 1992, 23–35). The former is preferable, for if there were a failure to 2

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these statements can be taken to be anticipating the transfiguration in the case of Matt. 16:28/Mark 9:1/Luke 9:27 (Bock 2002, 234),4 and the events before his second coming (rather than his second coming itself ) in the case of Matt. 24:34/Mark 13:30/Luke 21:32 (Bock 2002, 346–7).5 It has been argued by some that certain passages in the Gospels portray Jesus as denying his divinity, which would imply that Jesus had a false belief if he was indeed divine. For example, Jesus’ reply to the man’s question ‘Good teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?’ – i.e. ‘Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone’ (Mark 10:18) – has been interpreted as Jesus rejecting the idea that he thought of himself as divine (Hick 1993, 27). Others might argue that Jesus’ acceptance of John’s baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins (Mark 1:4, 9) implies that Jesus regarded himself as a sinner who needed repentance6 and hence not divine. It might also be argued that Jesus’ cry on the

meet this expectation, it would be hard to explain why the church of the second century did not find the predictions inherently embarrassing (Wright 1992, 342–3, 459–64). 4 Bock observes that ‘This kind of “patterned” event, where a short-term event patterns one coming later, is common in Jesus’ teaching, as the Olivet discourse will show. Only the reality of Jesus’ future glory and authority foreshadowed in transfiguration makes sense of this exhortation to self-sacrifice’ (Bock 2002, 234). See also Gundry (1993, 440, 457). 5 Bock explains: ‘The initial impression that many gain from the text is that all these events are predicted to happen by the end of “this generation”, so the Son of Man’s return is predicted to occur within the disciples’ lifetime. However, this reading undercuts two points that the speech already makes, making it an unlikely reading. First, the Synoptics describe the Son of Man’s appearing as obvious, like lightning, evident in the cosmic signs that accompany his coming. So this event is not included in the “leaf ” remark of the parable, which is pointing to what indicates the approach of the end, not its presence or conclusion. This means that “all these things” refers to those events described before the coming of the cosmic signs. They are “all the events” that make up the leaf before the fruit. Thus, Jesus predicts the signs pointing to the end taking place within a generation, but he is not including the end itself in that assessment. In other words, the picture tied to the destruction of Jerusalem is a sign itself that the end will come. In addition, it means that the end is imminent in the sense that it is the next thing on the divine calendar. In another sense, it means that the end is as good as fulfilled, since the sign of the end has come. The fulfilment of one part is the guarantee that the rest will be fulfilled’ (Bock 2002, 346–7). As for Matt. 10:23, Bock notes that the expression ‘finish going through all the cities of Israel’ may mean nothing more than ‘completing your mission to Israel’; in other words, the disciples are to continue pursuing the nation until Jesus’ return, and when he does return, they still will be engaged in that calling (Bock 2002, 572–4). For further discussion, see Bird (2008). 6 Chilton argues that Jesus ‘repented of the anger he had felt, of his resentment against his own people in Nazareth’ (Chilton 2000, 49).

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Cross ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ (Mark 15:34) implies that Jesus regarded himself as not divine. However, many historical critical scholars have observed that passages like these could reasonably be interpreted in other ways which do not imply a denial of divinity. For example, in the first passage, Gathercole points out that, by saying ‘Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone’, Jesus is not necessarily denying that he is good. Rather, it could be the case that Jesus is trying to make the man examine his standard of goodness, to realize that only God is good (therefore the man is not), and that calling Jesus good has the implication of affirming that Jesus is divine, an implication which should lead to an obedience to Jesus’ instruction (not found in the Torah) to sell everything and follow him (Mark 10:21). Hence, it could be the case that Jesus’ contrast between himself and God in v.18 is only a temporary rhetorical strategy, and that in Mark 10:18–21 Jesus is in fact making a subtle, implicit claim to solidarity with God and his goodness (Gathercole 2006, 74). Such an interpretation is how this passage has traditionally been understood. As Brown observes, ‘A frequent patristic understanding is that Jesus was trying to lead the man to a perception of his divinity, i.e., showing the man what he unconsciously (but correctly) implied when he addressed Jesus as good’ (Brown 1994, 174).7 It should be noted that this traditional interpretation would not necessarily be inconsistent with the view of the author of Mark, for it is arguable that all the Gospels (including Mark) treat Jesus as divine, even if divinity is expressed in different ways (Brown 1994, 123n.184; see also Gathercole 2006; Bock 2000, 2003, 2007; cf. Casey 2001). The difference in Matthew’s account concerning the man’s question (‘Teacher, what good thing must I do to get eternal life?’) and Jesus’ answer (‘Why do you ask me about what is good?’ Matt. 19:17) does not necessarily imply that Matthew understood Mark as implying that Jesus was not good. Rather, Bock observes well when he writes that it could be the case the Matthew was concerned that Mark’s account might be misunderstood as suggesting unrighteousness in Jesus, and that Matthew wanted to emphasize the thrust of the man’s question (the man was concerned about soteriology rather than Christology, and it is a Jewish expectation that it is the righteous who are saved) as well as preserve Jesus’ emphasis on God and his goodness (Bock 2002, 302–3). 7 Against this traditional interpretation, Brown replies ‘It is difficult not to think that such an exegesis is motivated by an apologetic concern for protecting the divinity of Jesus’ (Brown 1994, 174). Such a reply, however, does not demonstrate the falsity of this exegesis. In the context of the present dialectic, the one who cites Mark 10:18 to prove that Jesus denied being divine would need to bear the burden of proof to exclude the traditional interpretation, but this has not been accomplished.

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Concerning Jesus’ acceptance of John’s baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins (Mark 1:4, 9), it is noteworthy that the portraits of John the Baptist according to Matthew, Mark and Luke all include citations of Isaiah the prophet. Bock argues that in the eschatological context of deliverance which Isaiah evokes, this forgiveness refers not merely to a personal cleansing, but to a corporate preparation by people for the approach of God’s way. Therefore, it could be the case that Jesus’ acceptance of John’s baptism is a response to a need to identify with John’s ministry and call to the nation before he goes out to complete what John had started. Jesus’ connection to Israel as a whole compelled him to respond to John’s call and the nation’s need for preparatory cleansing (Bock 2002, 87).8 Or, as others have explained, Jesus was fully human and in such solidarity with his human brethren that he could identify with the people of Israel and their need for repentance and forgiveness and what they needed to do, as well as to represent them and repent on their behalf (Kvalbein 2008, 57; Macquarrie 1998, 28–9; Swinburne 2003, 109–11; Gunton 2003, 131). Concerning the cry on the Cross, it can be understood as in accordance with Jesus’ role as a human, which does not necessarily imply a denial that he was divine (it is arguable that the idea that Jesus being divine also had a human role was already found in the earliest Christian documents – i.e. the Pauline epistles; see, for example, Phil. 2:6–11 and Section 1.2). In respect of his human role, Jesus had a God, i.e. God the Father. ‘Forsaken’ does not necessarily imply a disruption in the being of God between the Father and the Son. Rather, it could indicate a broken fellowship between the persons of the Godhead: this was the cost of the Son providing ‘a ransom for many’ (Mark 10:45) (Lane 1974, 573). The cry of dereliction should be seen as the final episode in the incarnate Son’s total identification of himself with the lost human condition; it is the cry of an Israelite expressing the self-distancing of that people from God as the result of their sin, the completion of Jesus’ identification with Israel in his baptism (Gunton 2003, 131). The ‘why’ does not necessarily imply that Jesus did not know the reason for him being forsaken. Rather, it could be an indication that Jesus was a righteous sufferer who suffered what he did not deserve (Edwards 2002, 476).9 Historically, there have been others who argue that certain passages in John’s Gospel portray Jesus as denying a high Christology, and that this Christology was also denied by the author of John’s Gospel himself. Some scholars might 8 Bock argues that the response to such a need is what the phrase ‘fulfil all righteousness’ in Matt. 3:15 seems to be suggesting. 9 Edwards observes that Ps. 22, the psalm of the righteous sufferer, reverberates throughout the crucifixion account (Ps. 22.1=Mark 15:34; Ps. 22:7=Mark 15:29, Ps. 22:18=Mark 15:24).

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question the historicity of these passages just as they question the historicity of the rest of the Gospel of John; but regardless of their historicity these passages became important in later theological debates, and therefore it is of sufficient interest for us to consider them here. In the fourth century, Arius argued that, although Christ was undoubtedly θεός according to John 1, he was distinct from the Father and this distinction was made more specific in John 17:3, which Arius interpreted as affirming that in distinction from the Son only God the Father is to be regarded as the sole veritable God (Wiles 1996, 12).10 In support of this line of thought, others have cited ‘As the Father has life in himself, so has he given the Son to have life in himself ’ ( John 5:26) (Wiles 1996, 82). Hooker argues that John makes it quite clear that the Word, or Jesus, stands over against God: in John 1:1 the declaration that the Word was God is sandwiched between two statements that ‘the Word was with God’, and Jesus declares that he is ascending ‘to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God’ (20:17). Furthermore, she notes that Jesus declares ‘My Father is greater than I’ (14:28), and argues that the relationship between Father and Son is one of dependence on the Son’s part: ‘the Son can do nothing of his own accord, but only what he sees the Father doing’ (5:19); ‘my teaching is not mine, but his who sent me’ (7:16) (Hooker 1993, 80–82). In response, starting from the beginning of John’s Gospel, what the phrase ‘the Word was with God’ indicates is that God the Father is a different person from the Word. This does not imply that the Word was a separate being from the Father; and neither does it imply that the Word was of a lesser status.11 On the contrary, the beginning of the Gospel states that the Word was divine and creator of all ( John 1:1–3), and the end of the Gospel indicates that he was of the same status as YHWH ( John 20:28–9). Concerning the word Logos (‘Word’), New Testament scholar Craig Keener (2003, 333–363) explains, after an extensive survey of the relevant ancient literature, that: John’s choice of the Logos (embracing also Wisdom and Torah) to articulate his Christology was brilliant; no concept better articulated an entity that was both divine and distinct from the Father. By this term, some Diaspora Jewish writers had already connected Jewish conceptions of Wisdom and Torah with Hellenistic See also the exegesis of John 17:3 in J. McGrath (2009, 64–8). In John 1:1c ‘The Word was God (θεὸς)’, the absence of the definite article for θεὸς does not imply that the Word was divine but not truly divine. Rather, as Dunn observes, it may simply indicate that θεὸς, though preceding the verb, is the predicate and not the subject (Dunn 2010, 134n.91, noting that the definite article is used for θεὸς in Thomas’ confession of Jesus as θεὸς in John 20:28). 10 11

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conceptions of a divine and universal power. Finally, by using this term John could present Jesus as the epitome of what his community’s opponents claimed to value: God’s word revealed through Moses. Jesus was thus the supreme revelation of God; the Torah had gone forth from Zion. (363)

Concerning the portrayal of Thomas’ confession ‘My Lord and my God’ in the latter passage, Brown (1966 vol.2) observes that the expression, as used in John, is a cross between a vocative and a proclamation of faith (‘you are my Lord and my God’) (1026). The source for the titles ‘Lord’ and ‘God’ is biblical, combining the terms used by LXX to translate YHWH (κύριος) and Elohim (θεός); cf. Ps. 35:23 – ‘my God and my Lord’ (1047). Scholars note that the parallel between v.28 ‘Thomas said to him’ and v.29 ‘Jesus said to Thomas’ indicates that Thomas’ statement is addressed to Jesus (Harris 1994, 94).12 Although the word ‘worship’ is not said of Thomas’ act, the acknowledgement of Jesus as ‘my Lord and my God’ can hardly be construed in any other way, as the personal possessive pronoun is one of the most common adjectives attached to ‘God’ in the Old Testament and Jewish sources to indicate that the ‘god’ in question is identified with a specific person(s) who honour and worship that deity as God (Thompson 2001, 223–4, 235).13 Arius’ argument concerning John 17:3 ignores this overall context of the Gospel of John. It also ignores the ‘I am’ sayings, which alludes to YHWH’s selfreference in the Old Testament (e.g. Isa. 43:10) and implies that John’s Gospel portrays Jesus as regarding himself to be of the same status as YHWH. This is especially true of the ‘I am’ in John 8:58–9, where the Jewish opposition clearly indicated that it was understood as a claim to be truly divine which they refused Carson explains that Thomas’ utterance cannot possibly be taken as shocked profanity addressed to God (if to anyone), a kind of blasphemous version of a stunned ‘My word!’, for such profanity would not have been found in first-century Palestine on the lips of a devout Jew. He also explains that the overwhelming majority of grammarians rightly take the utterance as a vocative address to Jesus – the nouns being put not in the vocative case but in the nominative to add a certain sonorous weight (Carson 1991, 658). 13 Cf. J. McGrath (2009, 67–8), which explains away the high Christology in this verse by taking the titles ‘Lord’ and ‘God’ separately and ignoring the allusion to Ps. 35:23 and the use of personal possessive pronoun. In addition, it should be noted that, while John 4:23–4 portrays Jesus as teaching that the Father is to be worshipped (Dunn 2010, 123), this does not exclude the possibility (actualized in John 20:28–9) that Jesus thinks of himself as worthy of being worshipped as well ( John 4:23–4 does not say ‘only the Father is to be worshipped’). The best hypothesis that would account for all the evidence in John’s Gospel (including John 4:23–4 and 20:28) is that John portrays both Jesus and the Father as truly divine (i.e. both are within the one being of God) such that both deserved to be worshipped. 12

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to believe (Keener 2003, 769–72; Ball 1996, 276–8).14 Hence, in view of the overall context of John’s Gospel and the prominent ‘I am’ sayings, John 17:3 should not be interpreted as implying that Jesus had a lower status compared to the Father. Thus, Jesus’ use of the adjectives ‘only true’ in John 17:3 should be understood as contrasting the Father not with himself, but with other claimants to deity – the false gods that the Gentiles invented and worshipped (Erickson 1998a, 714). This interpretation is consistent with the observation that these adjectives are often used for YHWH in opposition to Gentile idols in biblical writings (e.g. 1 Thess. 1:9) (Brown 1966, II, 741);15 and it fits the immediate context, i.e. Jesus had authority over all peoples (v.2), and the knowledge of God the Father and Jesus Christ (unlike the knowledge of false gods invented by other peoples) is eternal life (v.3). The rest of the objections can all be addressed by the notion that the divine Word possessed a human role in respect of his flesh (a notion implied by the phrase ‘the Word became flesh’ [ John 1:14], which should be regarded as a crucial hermeneutical key to the problematic passages),16 and the notion of functional subordination between persons of the Godhead which can be seen in the earliest Christian documents, i.e. the Pauline epistles. Pauline passages such as 1 Cor. 3:23, 11:3 and 15:24–8 can be understood as speaking of the subordinate functional role that Christ chose to play with respect to God the Father. The idea of functional subordination can be inferred from Phil 2:7–8 which, in the midst of statements implying Christ’s divinity (Phil 2:6 and 2:9–11), speaks of Christ freely choosing to make himself nothing and to be obedient to death. Just as a son choosing to be submissive to his parents does not imply that the son is less human than his parents, Christ choosing to be submissive to the Father does not imply that Christ was less divine than the Father. Jesus’ acknowledgement of God the Father as his God in passages such as John 20:17 can be seen as in accordance with his role as a human. That is, in respect of his human role, Jesus had a God, i.e. God the Father, a person within the being of YHWH who exercised a fatherly role with respect to Jesus and Israel, Contra J. McGrath, who interprets the ‘I am’ statements (merely) as God’s agent being given the divine name in order to be empowered for his mission ( J. McGrath 2009, 61–3), an interpretation which does not adequately explain why the Jews attempted to stone Jesus as portrayed by John’s Gospel. 15 Brown observes that ‘one’ (or ‘only’) and ‘true’ are traditional attributes of God: ‘one’ in Isa. 37:20, John 8:44; ‘true’ in Exod. 34:6, Rev. 6:10. 16 Such a clear differentiation between those things which referred to Christ’s humanity and those which referred to his divinity was the standard method of interpreting theological texts of the Gospels in the controversies of the fifth century (Pollard 1970, 238). 14

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and by whom YHWH can be identified.17 It is (of course) true that Jesus was not talking to himself when he prayed to the Father.18 But if one were to argue that this implies that Jesus could not know that he was truly divine (such that he could have acknowledged Thomas’ claim), this would be begging the question19 against the claim that Jesus could have knowledge of God beyond the Jews of his time. It would be begging the question against the view that Jesus knew the Trinity and Incarnation to be true, that when he prayed he knew he was praying to another person of the Trinity, and that he was acting in accordance with his human nature when he prayed. In answer to the charge that he was breaking the Sabbath and making himself equal with God by calling God his own Father ( John 5:17–18), Jesus’ assertion of the unity of his action with that of the Father’s can be seen as a denial that he was acting autonomously in what he did and claimed, and his dependence on the Father as the God-man can be understood as an act of functional subordination ( John 5:19; see also John 5:26 – the ‘life in himself ’ is not the inner life of the Godhead but rather the creative life-giving power exercised toward human beings – [Brown 1966, I, 215],20 John 5:30, 6:57, 7:16). As Keener comments, ‘From John’s standpoint, Jesus is fully deity (1:1, 18; 20:28), but he also submits In the Gospel of John, YHWH is identified by the Father in passages such as John 4:20–24, 8:41, 54. Saying that YHWH is identified by the Father does not imply that YHWH=Father (i.e. Unitarianism); and in the context of John it should not be taken to imply YHWH=Father, for this would contradict the Johannine passages which affirm that the Son is also within the being of YHWH ( John 20:28, the ‘I am’ sayings etc.) but distinct from the Father (e.g. John 20:17). Thompson observes that the Father and Son are not two independent and ontologically equal deities, for within the monotheistic framework of Judaism and early Christianity, a framework clearly shared by the Gospel of John, the attributes of God belong solely to one God. Hence, there must be the closest possible unity between them without a collapsing of their identities into one (Thompson 2001, 232–5). 18 Cf. Brown (1967, 86–7). 19 To argue that ‘Jesus prayed to God implies that he did not know that he was divine’ presupposes that Jesus did not know that he was one of the persons of the Trinity who assumed a human role and talked to another person of the Trinity. But this presupposition is what the sceptic is trying to prove. Hence it is begging the question. 20 Thus, this verse does not imply that the Son in his divine nature prior to Incarnation was a creature, which would contradict John 1:1–3, 8:58, 20:28 (see Thompson 2001, 91, 224–5). Cf. Hodge, who explains this verse as the constitution of the Son as God-man was formed by the will of the Father, i.e. the Father was the one who sent the Word into the world to constitute the God-man, such that he should have a human as well as a divine nature possessed of inherent life in order that he might be the source of life to his people (Hodge 1872, II, 392–4). 17

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to the Father, whose rank is greater than his own (10:29; 14:28)’ (Keener 2003, 648). Reading ‘my Father is greater than I (14:28)’ together with Jesus’ statement, ‘Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master; nor is he who is sent greater than he who sent him’ (13:16), it can be seen that the Father is greater in the sense that he was the one who sent the Son into the world, and this fits the context of 14:28 (i.e. it is to the Father that Jesus is going, because he came from the Father) (Thompson 2001, 94). As explained previously, choosing the subordinate functional role (e.g. of being sent) does not imply that the Son is ontologically inferior compared to the Father. In conclusion, none of the arguments based on the above-cited passages that Jesus had false beliefs seems to be conclusive.21 But did Jesus have knowledge of all things? All the four Gospels portray Jesus as having supernatural knowledge (e.g. Matt. 17:24–7, Mark 14:12–16, Luke 22:7–13, John 1:48–9), even omniscience ( John 16:30, 21:17; see further, Section 6.3.3). Nevertheless, a number of New Testament texts have been taken to imply that Jesus’ knowledge was limited, such as Luke’s account that Jesus ‘increased in wisdom’ when growing up (Luke 2:40, 52), which seems to indicate that Jesus acquired knowledge by normal human means. Furthermore, Jesus apparently denied being omniscient when he said ‘about that day or that hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, not even the Son; only the Father’ (Mark 13:32), a statement which is highly embarrassing and therefore likely authentic. Additionally, the Gospels portray that Jesus prayed to God the Father in Gethsemane that the cup of suffering might be taken from him (Matt 26:39, Mark 14:35–6, Luke 22:42). It might be argued that, if this incident is taken to be historical, it would seem to indicate that Jesus did not have God’s certain knowledge that he would be crucified the next day. It might furthermore be asked by the sceptic: assuming that it is a historical fact that Jesus did prophesize that he would suffer and die, as the Gospels portrayed (Mark 8:31, Matt. 16:21, etc.), did Jesus’ prayer to God the Father in Gethsemane for the cup of suffering to be removed imply that Jesus thought that his own prophecies could have been mistaken? If it were so, then it might be objected that there would be a false belief which Jesus had, for it is supposedly the case that in reality none of his prophecies could have been mistaken. In reply, it is not necessarily the case that Jesus thought that his prophecies could be mistaken. Rather, Jesus’ prayer can be understood as expressing the desire to be free from the hour of suffering, yet with a greater willingness to follow the best will of the Almighty Father. It could also be the case that Jesus knew that prophecies can be fulfilled in various ways, and For further discussion, see Section 5.2.2.

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in some cases fulfilment is conditional on other factors (e.g. Jonah 3:4, 10). It could be the case that he had limited awareness of all factors, thus he decided to ask the Father if the cup could be removed. Thus, the prayer in Gethsemane does not entail that Jesus had false beliefs, but it might be interpreted as indicating that Jesus had limited awareness of true beliefs.22 In summary, the Scriptures affirm God’s omniscience. Concerning the knowledge of Jesus, the Gospels’ portrayal that Jesus ‘increased in wisdom’ when growing up, that he denied knowing the day and hour of his second coming, and that in Gethsemane he evinced uncertainty concerning his crucifixion might be taken by the sceptic to indicate that he was limited in his knowledge. Therefore, the sceptic might formulate an argument against the Incarnation as follows: 1. For any person P, it cannot be the case that P is omniscient and P’s knowledge is limited at the same time. 2. Jesus’ knowledge was limited. 3. Being divine entails being omniscient. 4. Therefore, it cannot be the case that Jesus was divine. 2.3. Problems Concerning Divine Omnipotence and Jesus’ Fatigability The Scriptural data concerning omnipotence has been subjected to two different interpretations (Brink 1999, 139–44).The Minimizing Interpretation tends towards the conclusion that God is in fact not presented as all-powerful in the Scripture. In an influential article, philosopher Peter Geach argues that a philosophical and a religious (properly Christian) concept of omnipotence should be distinguished, and he calls the first one omnipotence (which he defines as ‘power to do all things’) and the second almightiness (which he understands as power over all things, and the source of all power for whom there is no frustration or failure). Geach (1973) argues that the philosophical concept of omnipotence is unnecessary for Christianity. By contrast, the Classical Interpretation concludes that the Scriptural data affirms that God is all-powerful. Proponents point out that the Scriptural data includes not only God’s actual reign (i.e. ‘power over’) over humanity and the universe, but also his unlimited capacity for action, as shown by the frequency with which phrases like ‘all things are possible for God’ appear in virtually all The compatibility between limited conscious awareness of true beliefs and divine omniscience will be discussed later in Section 5.2. 22

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layers of the biblical literature – Gen. 18:14, Jer. 32:17, Job 42:2, Matt. 19:26, Mark 14:36, Luke 1:37, Phil. 3:21 etc. (Brink 1999, 139–44). Furthermore, the Scriptures affirm that God does whatever he pleases (Ps. 115:3, 135:6, Dan. 4:35), and this carries with it the sense of freedom from limitations or restraints (Erickson 1998b, 168). All in all, the Classical Interpretation, more than the Minimalist, does justice to the totality of the Scriptural testimony (Brink 1999, 141; contra Geach 1973). Consider now the New Testament’s portrayal of Jesus. The overwhelming impression is that Jesus was someone who did many mighty acts, overcoming diseases (e.g. making the paralysed walk), forces of nature (e.g. calming the wind and the waves) and ‘evil spirits’ (e.g. Mark 2:1–12, 3:1–12, 4:35–40, 5:1–37). It is interesting to note that the portrayal of Jesus doing many ‘miracles’ is not only found in the earliest traditions about Jesus which were preserved in the four Gospels, but also in early non-Christian literature. For example, Josephus referred to Jesus as ‘a doer of “startling deeds”’ (Ant. 18:63). Even the opponents of Christianity, such as Celsus (Origen, Contra Celsum1.28, 68) as well as the rabbinical tradition (b. Sanh 43A), admitted that Jesus had supernatural power; they only disputed the source of that power: for example, Jewish unbelievers thought that Jesus relied on demonic power (Van Voorst 2000, 114–19). In various New Testament passages, Jesus’ mighty acts were said to be done in dependence on God the Father and the Holy Spirit (Issler 2007, 202–13) – e.g. John 5:19, 30; 7:28–9; 8:28–29 for dependence on God the Father; Matt. 12:28, Luke 4:16, 5:17, Acts 2:22, 10:38 for dependence on the Holy Spirit. However, there are also occasions where such dependence is not indicated (e.g. Mark 4:35– 41 par). This indicates the possibility that Jesus could have done some of the mighty acts by his own (divine) power: see especially John 2:1–11, where the miraculous act was said to have revealed his own glory (Keener 2003, 515–16; noting the link to divine glory in Exod. 16:7, Num.14:22 and John 12:41). Nevertheless, the New Testament also portrays that Jesus slept (Mark 4:38, Matt. 8:24), presumably from tiredness. He was wearied when journeying through Samaria ( John 4:3–6), and on the way to the crucifixion, it was recorded that Simon from Cyrene was made to carry his cross (Luke 23:26). Given that it was the normal custom for condemned men to carry their own crosses, it must therefore be assumed that Jesus was breaking down under the weight, so that the soldiers found it necessary to force Simon to aid him (Marshall 1978, 863). To resist sleeping and feeling weary, and to carry one’s own cross are of course logically and metaphysically possible states of affairs, which we would expect an all-powerful being to be able to bring about. The fact that Jesus did not do so, therefore, might be taken by sceptics to indicate that he was a normal human

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being with limited power. Thus, the sceptic might formulate an argument against the Incarnation as follows: 1. For any person P, it cannot be the case that P is all-powerful and has limited power at the same time. 2. Jesus had limited power. 3. Being divine entails being all-powerful. 4. Therefore, it cannot be the case that Jesus was divine. 2.4. Problems Concerning Divine Omnipresence and Jesus’ Spatial Limitation In the Scripture, God’s presence is conceived of in diverse ways. There are texts that speak of God’s transcendence and inaccessibility (e.g. 1 Tim. 6:16); at the same time, the Scripture speaks of God’s immanence and nearness to his creation (e.g. Ps. 135:6, 139:7; Jer. 23:23–4; Acts 17:28) (Lacoste 2005, II, 1153; Brom 1999, 80–81). How could God be both immanent and transcendent? It is significant to note that the texts that speak of God’s immanence primarily refer to his action, his activity. Thus, it may be said that while God is ontologically distinct from the universe and the human race, he is influentially present within this universe (Erickson 1998b, 271). Theologians have long recognized the difficulty the doctrine of omnipresence poses for the Incarnation, for it seems to them that the possession of a physical human body would entail spatial limitation (Erickson 1991, 560–61). On the one hand, the New Testament affirms that Christ holds all things together (Col. 1:17), which seems to imply that he is omnipresent in the sense of being causally active at every point in space. On the other hand, the Gospels portray Jesus as having to travel from place to place, which seems to imply that Jesus was not present at all places at the same time. Quoting the prayer of Solomon – ‘But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Behold, heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, how much less this house which I have built’ (1 Kings 8:27) – Hooker argues that the idea of an incarnate God who is spatially limited on the earth is foreign to Jewish thinking (Hooker 1993, 88–9). Islamic apologists have likewise attacked the Christian idea of Incarnation based on the difficulties with omnipresence. For example, Abu ‘Isa argues that the Incarnation ‘made the Word into a restricted, mobile physical body which can move from a position or occupy it’. Concerning those Christians who claim that the Word inhered in the body, he argues that if this

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occurred in the way that is understood concerning the inhering of physical bodies in physical bodies, then they would have affirmed that the divine Word was a small, contained physical body which inhered in the flesh, bone, sinew, veins in the blood vessels and passages of food and drink, and where these are found. He thinks that the idea that the divine was carried in the womb of Mary is contrary to the Christians’ acknowledgement that God is not a physical body, and neither is he limited, in one place only, or circumscribed. He asks whether the divine nature grew with the growth of the parts of what was being carried in the womb, and did it increase with the increase of its limbs. He thinks that if the divine nature did not increase and grow with the growth of the parts, then the uniting only involved some of the limbs and parts of the human and not others, and so it was united only with ‘less than a tenth of him in his maturity’ (Thomas 2002, 116–17, 127, 168–9). An argument might be formulated by the sceptic against the Incarnation as follows: 1. For any person P, it cannot be the case that P is omnipresent and not omnipresent at the same time. 2. Jesus was not omnipresent. 3. Being divine entails being omnipresent. 4. Therefore, it cannot be the case that Jesus was divine. 2.5. Conclusion In this chapter, I have laid out the problems concerning divine omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence. In the next chapter, I shall assess the solutions which have been proposed to address these problems.

Chapter 3

The Need for a New Solution to Problems Concerning Omniscience, Omnipotence and Omnipresence

3.1 Introduction With respect to the problems concerning omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence explained in Chapter 2, I have argued in Section 1.3 that proposed solutions such as the reduplication strategy, relative identity, divine mystery etc. are inadequate, and that the Christian has to provide a possible and defensible model of the Incarnation in order to show how concepts like omniscience and apparent limitation in knowledge can be applied to Jesus in such a way that at least some of the contents of these concepts can be spelt out and that no contradiction results. The possibilities include: 1. Affirm that the incarnate Logos was omniscient when he apparently evinced ignorance, in which case either 1.1. he had more than one consciousness – the ignorance only affected his human consciousness but did not affect his divine consciousness, which remained omniscient; or 1.2. he had one consciousness. 2. Deny that the incarnate Logos was omniscient when he apparently evinced ignorance, and deny that being divine entails being omniscient. In the literature, the approach which denies that Jesus was omniscient is taken by a particular form of Kenotic Model (specifically Ontological Kenoticism), while 1.1 is taken by the Two Consciousnesses Model and 1.2 is taken by the Divine Subconscious Model. These three models are the most widely discussed solutions in recent literature, and they will be assessed in turn.

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3.2. Kenotic Model 3.2.1. Brief Exposition Kenotic Christology refers to a distinctive model which arose in the context of the heightening of historical critical methodology during the nineteenth century as an apologetic attempt within the bounds of Chalcedonian orthodoxy to construe the person of Christ in his historical and unitive integrity (Thompson 2006, 76–7). It is the view that, in becoming incarnate, the Logos ‘emptied himself ’ (ekenosen) of certain divine attributes in order to become truly human (Crisp 2007, 118). Prominent advocates in the nineteenth and early twentieth century include Gottfried Thomasius, Wolfgang Friedrich Gess, Hugh Ross Mackintosh, Charles Gore and P.T. Forsyth. Recent defenders include Brian Hebblethwaite, Stephen Evans, Stephen Davis and Ronald Feenstra. The word kenosis is derived from Phil. 2:7: ‘[Christ] emptied himself (ekenosen)’. (Thompson 2006, 102). The nineteenth-century Kenoticists interpret this ekenosen as a real self-relinquishing, limiting or emptying of divine attributes, powers, prerogatives and/or glory by the pre-existent Logos upon the event of Incarnation. This constituted a different interpretation from that of the inherited exegetical tradition, which interprets the ekenosen as a krypsis or voluntary concealment of divine powers by the pre-existent Logos (Thompson 2006, 74–5). It should be noted that ‘emptied himself ’ does not have to mean ‘emptied himself of something’; rather, it could be a metaphor, meaning something like ‘he made himself nothing’ in becoming human (Fee 2007, 383– 4).1 Hence, this passage should not be taken as warranting the conclusion of Kenotic Christology, though it does not exclude it either. In a useful classification, Crisp (2007, 118–47) proposes that Kenotic Christology can be subdivided into ontological and functional Kenoticism. Ontological Kenoticism can be subdivided into i) ‘strong ontological Kenoticism’, which claims that at the Incarnation the Word relinquishes his divinity altogether (119–20); and ii) standard ontological account, which claims that the Word relinquishes certain divine properties (122).2 Fee prefers the metaphorical interpretation on the basis of the parallel structure of the two sentences in verses 6–8, which suggests that the participles very likely carry the same sense in both instances (verses 6 and 8) – i.e. this is the way Christ emptied himself and humbled himself: by ‘becoming human’ and by ‘becoming obedient’. 2 Crisp (2007, 122, 134) also notes what he calls the standard-plus ontological account, which states that the Logos never resumes divine attributes abdicated at the Incarnation. The question concerning Christ’s glorified state will be addressed in Section 6.3. 1

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By contrast, Functional Kenoticism defends the much weaker claim that the Incarnation involves the Word not exercising certain divine properties (120). These theories will be discussed in turn below. But before this is done, it should be noted that defenders of Kenotic Christology are not always as clear as they might be about whether they are defending an ontological or a merely functional account of the doctrine (Crisp 2007, 144n.43). For example, Gore (1891, 159) seems to be affirming a functional kenosis by speaking of Christ as not exercising divine attributes such as omniscience; but others have observed that Gore wavers between a theory of divine abandonment and self-limitation (Torrance 2001, 212–13).3 Furthermore, some theologians appear at times to count certain Christological positions as Kenotic, but these positions are actually closer to other Christological models and are not true versions of Kenoticism (Crisp 2007, 121–2).4 With the greater historical distance from its ‘classic’ expression, the term Kenoticism is able to bear a notable revision to meaning, and it is now applied to various Christological projects which differ significantly from the intent and strictures of its nineteenth-century advocates (Thompson 2006, 102). Let us begin our discussion of the Kenotic accounts classified by Crisp, starting with the most extreme version. Strong ontological account is classically proposed by Gess (1856, 304–5), who suggests that the Logos ceased to be divine when he became a human at the Incarnation, and then took up his divinity at the ascension. The problem with this view is that it asserts that a mere human (i.e. the incarnated Logos) who did not possess a divine nature actually became truly divine and enthroned as God at some point in time (i.e. at the ascension). This amounts to the enthronement of a second god, which contradicts the deepest logic of Jewish monotheism (Yeago 1997, 91–2) that Jesus himself evidently held (Dunn 2004, 104–12). Furthermore, this view jeopardizes the efficacy of the salvation which the Logos had come to accomplish. As Barth argues, if in Christ God is not wholly God, then ‘everything that we may say about the A more consistent Functional Kenoticist is Frank Weston .Weston states that the Kenotic position is not satisfactory, but the Kenotic position which he rejects is a position which affirms that the Logos abandoned his divine properties at the Incarnation, i.e. Ontological Kenoticism. By contrast, Weston affirms that the Logos remained in possession of his powers at the Incarnation, but in the sphere of the Incarnation exercised a law of ‘selfrestraint’ the measure of which was the growing capacity of the human nature to receive, assimilate and manifest divine power (Weston 1914, 150, 153, 169, 173). See also Forsyth (1961, 307–8), who suggests that the Son of God did not renounce, but rather retracted the divine attributes from being actual to being potential, setting aside the style of a God and took on the style of a servant. 4 Crisp cites Richard Sturch as an example; cf. Sturch (1991, 255, 259). 3

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reconciliation of the world made by God in this humiliated One is left hanging in the air’ (Barth 1956–75 vol.4, 179–80, 183). The standard ontological account, which claims that the Logos relinquishes certain divine properties, is classically proposed by Thomasius. Thompson observes that, according to this view, what the Logos gave up was not what is essential to deity, but a divesting of the divine mode of being, and thereby of his glory (which consists of attributes such as omnipotence, omniscience and omnipresence). The divine glory arises only in God’s relationship to the world and therefore, since being related to the world is not essential to God, possessing divine glory is inessential to God (Thompson 2006, 48, 70). A similar proposal has been defended recently by Davis. Davis argues that whole kenotic scheme depends on there not being any essential divine properties which no human being can have and on there not being any essential human properties which no divine being can have, and that looking at the Incarnation of Christ is one fruitful (maybe the best) way of discovering which properties of God and human beings are essential and which are accidental. He suggests that properties like omnipotence, omniscience etc. are essential properties not of being divine but of being divine simpliciter (i.e. being divine without also being human), and asserts that what Christians want to say about Jesus Christ is that he was truly human but not merely human, truly divine but not divine simpliciter. Davis also suggests that perhaps omnipotence, omniscience etc. are common divine properties, but not essential divine properties. Thus, Davis proposes that the Logos emptied himself, during the period of Jesus’ earthly life, of those properties that normally characterize divinity but which are inconsistent with humanity (Davis 2006, 175–88; Forrest 2000, 130–31). Functionalist Kenoticism affirms that, in becoming incarnate, the Logos did not abdicate any of his attributes, but merely restricted the exercise of certain of his attributes (Crisp 2007, 139–40). Having defined Functional Kenoticism this way, Crisp goes on to cite as an example the view (defended by recent advocates of Kenoticism) that perhaps what is essential to God is having the properties of being omniscience-unless-freely-and-temporarily-choosing-not- to-beotherwise, omnipotent-unless-freely-and-temporarily-choosing- not-to-beotherwise etc. Crisp observes that the ingenious thing about this non-standard analysis of divine properties is that the Logos can surrender, for example, the exercise of omnipotence and still possesses all essential divine properties. Unlike the ontological account of Kenoticism, it is not that the Logos abdicates or surrenders certain of his divine properties in the Incarnation. He retains these

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properties, but does not exercise them for the duration of the Incarnation (Crisp 2007, 145–6).5 Evans notes that it might be objected that this non-standard analysis of divine properties may have an artificial ‘cooked-up’ feel to it. It seems ad hoc, and not as ‘perfect’ as omnipotence simpliciter, omniscience simpliciter, etc. In response, Evans argues that a coherent account of omnipotence entails the power to limit omnipotence, but if God limits himself this would not be a relinquishing of omnipotence. Evans argues that when (for example) God expressed the intention to bless Abraham’s descendants, he was no longer free to disregard Abraham’s descendants. Nevertheless, this limitation is not like the case of a later parliament whose power has been limited by an earlier parliament. Rather, God’s power is limited by God’s own continuing will to will a particular course of action over time (Evans 2002, 260–61; 2006, 198, 209–12). However, what Evans goes on to say concerning the Incarnation shows that he has understood this non-standard analysis of divine properties as ontological rather than functional kenosis. Evans proposes that the self-limitation of the Logos at the Incarnation is more radical than (say) God expressing the intention to bless Abraham’s descendants. Evans argues that for real kenosis the decision must not be thought of as a continuous decision to restrict the employment of these properties, a decision that can be revoked at any time, as this does not look like a case of ‘emptying’ but rather simply a case of not using a power that one continues to have. He thinks that a Jesus who is omnipotent at every moment, but chooses not to exercise this power, would surely not fit well with the description of Jesus as ‘like us in all respects, apart from sin’. He therefore suggests that ‘Perhaps then a choice not to exercise divine power must be understood not merely as a continuous self-limitation but rather as a kind of “binding” choice. This kind of choice would be a true emptying.’ Hence, Evans goes on to propose that at the Incarnation the Logos gave up his omnipotence, and since this was so he could not use omnipotence to get it back. The consequences, therefore, were not grounded merely in the Logos’ continuing will, but in ‘the hard reality of the situation he has willed to create, once that situation is in place’. Nevertheless, Evans argues that there is a strong analogy between this and the general capacity for God to limit himself: The Logos could foresee the limitations he would be accepting in becoming human and accepted them; he too was bound by his own will, only in this case his omnipotence (and other properties) had been actually given up. Evans argues that an omnipotent divine person would have For another version of Functional Kenoticism which does not use such non-standard analysis of divine attributes, see Erickson (1991, 558–65) (discussed in Section 3.4). 5

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the power to give up omnipotence, thus leading to the kenotic understanding of the proper divine property as ‘being-omnipotent-unless-freely-choosing-tolimit-himself ’. Evans argues that an omnipotent being must similarly be able to limit his knowledge. A decision by God to live as an embodied being would be analogous in some ways to a decision by a human being to undergo a brain operation that would limit his mental functioning in some way. Even a dualist would agree that, in this life at least, our ability to think depends on an intact and healthy brain, and the ways in which we think are shaped by physical states of the brain. Insofar as what is physical is finite, it would seem reasonable to think that what is dependent on the physical is also finite. A decision by God to become incarnate would thus be a decision to assume these limitations, to ‘forget’ the eternal truths he previously knew (Evans 2002, 262–3). 3.2.2. Assessment Ontological Kenoticism provides a very simple and straightforward solution for how Jesus could be divine and yet not omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent at the same time. Moreover, on the Ontological Kenotic view the divine Logos chose to fully share in the human condition with all its limitations; and someone who is in trouble or is suffering will readily appreciate the love that is shown by another person who was willing to ‘come alongside’ in this way and fully share the plight of humans.6 Nevertheless, other scholars have raised objections to this model. The problems with strong Ontological Kenoticism have already been discussed above. The question here is whether the Kenoticism proposed by standard ontological and functional accounts can successfully avoid the implication that the Logos gave up his divinity at the Incarnation. Arguments have been offered for thinking that the Ontological Kenotic reformulation of divine attributes is unsatisfactory. What follows from standard Ontological Kenoticism is that there is a possible world in which a person P exists and he (like baby Jesus) is no more powerful and no more intelligent than an ordinary human being, and yet P is divine even though P is weaker and less intelligent than many other persons (Moreland and Craig 2003, 607–8). This strains credulity, as most people from diverse cultures and religious persuasions would think that the possession of knowledge, for example, is a good thing, a perfection. There is no state of knowledge which, qua knowledge, is bad or merely neutral in value, and it is precisely because knowledge is almost universally regarded as

6

I thank an anonymous reader for highlighting this.

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a good thing that many theologians have derived God’s omniscience from the doctrine that his nature is absolutely perfect (Blumenfeld 1987, 203). Hence, on the understanding of God as the greatest possible being for whom ‘all things are possible’ (Gen. 18:14, Matt. 19:26, Luke 1:37 etc.), many people would (justifiably) think that if a divine person was no longer omniscient and omnipotent, he would no longer be divine. The Ontological Kenoticist might reply that a divine person who could and is willing to give up his knowledge and power for mankind’s salvation is greater and more worthy of worship than one who could not or would not do this.7 In reply, though this issue is highly controversial, I would agree that, being the greatest possible being who possesses omnipotence, a divine person could indeed give up his omnipotence and omniscience if he so wills;8 but the question is whether if he were to do so he would still be divine after giving up his omnipotence and omniscience. The Ontological Kenoticist would insist that he would still be, but, as noted above, many people would share a different intuition. Now human intuitions about divine nature might be unreliable, and we need to consider case by case and assess whether the intuition for each case can be supported or rebutted by further arguments. While the ‘perfect being intuitions’ of a number of ancient philosophers might have ruled out the very possibility of an incarnation, it seems that those particular ‘intuitions’ can be rebutted (see, for example, the discussion of Plato’s view concerning immutability in Section 4.4.3). However, the intuitions against Ontological Kenoticism noted above, such as the possession of knowledge being a perfection, are more difficult to rebut. Moreover, the intuition that the greatness of God’s being is related to the greatness of his knowledge and power has Scriptural support (e.g. Ps.147:4–5). Additionally, it will be shown in Chapters 4 and 5 that sacrificing himself out of love and for the sake of accomplishing salvation for mankind does not necessarily require a divine person to lose his omniscience and omnipotence through the Incarnation. On the Divine Preconscious Model of the Incarnation, for example, the incarnate Logos could accomplish salvation for mankind by genuinely experiencing fatigue, suffering, temptation and death on the Cross without losing his omnipotence and omniscience. Hence a loss of his knowledge and power would have been an unnecessary loss of his greatness.

I thank Professors Stephen Williams and C. Stephen Evans for suggesting this objection. 8 For arguments against the Anselmian view, see Loke 2010. 7

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Concerning the non-standard analysis of divine properties, Craig and Moreland argue that it seems incoherent to say, for example, that Christ had the essential property of omnipotent-except-when-kenotically-incarnate, for if, having relinquished omnipotence, he retained the power to get omnipotence back again, then he never in fact ceased to be omnipotent, since omnipotence is a modal property concerning what one can do. But if he lacked the power to get omnipotence back again, then how is it that he was only temporarily not omnipotent? (Moreland and Craig 2003, 607–8). As noted above, it is for such reason that Evans suggests that ‘being-omnipotentunless-freely-choosing-to-limit-himself ’ should be understood in the context of the Incarnation that the Logos gave up his omnipotence without having the ability to take it back again. Nevertheless, even if these contrived properties are understood this way, they are still not properties in the sense of capacities or qualities but are really statements masquerading as properties, for they are really assertions like ‘Christ remains divine even if he temporarily gives up omniscience’ – which is precisely the issue under dispute (Moreland and Craig 2003, 607–8). This view still faces the problem of whether the Logos, in the state of having given up his omnipotence without having the ability to take it back again, is still divine – i.e. does he still share the essence of God who is the greatest possible being, even though he is weaker, less intelligent and smaller than many other beings. In summary, affirming the aforementioned versions of Standard Ontological Kenoticism and using it as the ‘control’ for the doctrine of God in the ways that these Kenoticists have proposed is highly problematic and hence undesirable. Nevertheless, this does not imply that all forms of Kenoticism are problematic. There might be a form of Functional Kenotic Christology which is not vulnerable to the foregoing criticisms, and which can answer Evans’ concern that a Jesus who is omnipotent at every moment but chooses not to exercise this power would not fit well with the Chalcedonian description of Jesus as ‘like us in all respects, apart from sin’. This form of Functional Kenoticism will be discussed in Section 6.2.

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3.3. Two Consciousnesses Model9 3.3.1. Brief Exposition In a landmark study, Thomas Morris (1986) revived an ‘ancient view’ of the Incarnation which he called the Two Minds view.10 According to this view, the incarnate Logos had two distinct minds and consciousnesses: 1. The divine mind of the Logos encompassing the full scope of omniscience, and which was consciously aware of everything. 2. A human mind that came into existence and grew and developed as the boy Jesus grew and developed, and which was not consciously aware of everything. Morris proposes an asymmetric accessing relation between the two minds: The divine mind contained, but was not contained by, his earthly mind. The divine mind had full and direct access to the human mind, but the human mind did not have such access to the divine mind, but only such access, on occasion, as the divine mind allowed it to have. For this view Morris suggests four kinds of analogy: 1. Two computer programs, one containing but not contained by the other. 2. Dream phenomenon: The dreamer is having a dream with a large cast of characters. The dreamer himself is one of those characters, perceiving the internal environs of the dream and taking part in its action ‘from within’. But at the same time, the dreamer ‘as sleeper’ is somehow aware, in what could be called an overarching level of consciousness, that it is just a dream that is going on, in which he is playing a role as one of the characters. 3. The postulation of twentieth-century psychology that the subconscious mind stands in an asymmetric accessing relation to the conscious mind. 4. Cases of brain hemisphere commissurotomy, multiple personality and hypnosis, where it seems that a single individual human being has two or more ranges of consciousness. While some have identified each discrete The Two Consciousnesses Model has also been called ‘the two minds model’, ‘the split mind model’ and the ‘inclusion model’ in the literature. The reason for choosing ‘Two Consciousnesses Model’ is that the term ‘two consciousnesses’ brings out what is distinctive about this model in comparison with the model which I will defend in the next chapter. 10 Morris argues that hints of this view can be found in the writings of Gregory of Nyssa, Gregory Nazianzen and Cyril of Alexandria (Morris 1986, 102n.20). Morris’ work has been influential; others who have more or less followed his model include Grudem (1994), Feinberg (1997) and Richards (2001). 9

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range of consciousness as a person, Morris thinks that this is implausible, arguing that if one troubling aberrant personality is eliminated therapeutically from the behavioural repertoire of someone afflicted with multiple personalities, the therapist surely need not see the effect of her work as the killing of a person (Morris 1986, 103–5). Richard Swinburne has proposed a ‘Divided Mind model’ which also implies that Christ had two consciousnesses. He utilizes Freud’s theory of how an agent can have two systems of belief to some extent independent of each other. In performing some actions, the agent is acting on one system of belief and not guided by beliefs of the other system, and conversely. Although all his beliefs are accessible – they would not be his beliefs unless he had privileged access to them – he refuses to admit to his consciousness beliefs relevant to his action, on which he is not acting. Swinburne gives the following analogies: 1. A mother may refuse to acknowledge to herself a belief that her son is dead. When asked if she believes that he is dead, she says ‘No’, and this is an honest reply, for it is guided by those beliefs of which she is conscious. 2. We can sometimes perform at once two quite separate tasks – for example, having a conversation with someone and writing a letter to someone else – in directing which quite distinct beliefs are involved. Swinburne suggests that a divine individual could, in becoming incarnate and acquiring a human belief-acquisition system, keep the resulting inclinations to beliefs to some extent separate from his divine knowledge system, resulting in a divided mind in which the beliefs of both parts are consciously acknowledged (Swinburne 1994, 201–3; 2003, 51–2). 3.3.2. Assessment The Two Consciousnesses Model provides the required metaphysics for the reduplication strategy described in Section 1.3, and it has a wide appeal among philosophers and theologians who prefer using this traditional strategy to address the problems concerning omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence. Alongside philosophers of religion such as Morris and Swinburne, a significant number of theologians – such as Gerald O’Collins (1995, 246–7), Oliver Crisp (2011), Richard Sturch (1991, ch.10) and Richard Cross (2008a) – have also done much work on defending versions of the Two Consciousnesses Model.

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Nevertheless, the main problem with this model has not been adequately addressed, and this concerns Christ’s self-consciousness. Bayne notes that ‘Neither Swinburne nor Morris provides an account of Christ’s self-consciousness, or “I” thoughts.’ Bayne observes that one would assume that Christ’s ‘I’ thoughts had the same referent irrespective of the consciousnesses in which they were tokened, and surely it would be possible for Christ to think of himself (as himself ) in either of his consciousnesses (Bayne 2001, 136). Thus, the Two Consciousnesses Model would entail that the Logos having his human range of consciousness was consciously aware of himself being consciously unaware of the day of his coming (Mark 13:32). At the same time, the Logos having his divine range of consciousness was aware of himself being consciously aware of the day of his coming. In other words, the Logos would be aware of himself being consciously aware of the day of his coming, and aware of himself being consciously unaware of the day of his coming at the same time. He would have self- consciousness SC1: ‘I am aware of myself being consciously aware of the day of my coming’; and simultaneously self-consciousness SC2: ‘I am aware of myself being consciously unaware of the day of my coming’. A proponent of the Two Consciousnesses Model might argue that the Logos could be aware of two different things simultaneously, just as a person can be at present aware of a computer in front of him/her and of the noise of the traffic simultaneously.11 In response, awareness of a computer and awareness of the noise of the traffic do not entail contradictory SCs and therefore they can coexist in the same self simultaneously. By contrast, the problem here is that ‘myself being consciously aware’ occurs in SC1 and ‘myself being consciously unaware’ occurs in SC2, and that these two self-consciousnesses are contradictory and therefore cannot exist in the same self simultaneously. To say that there are two contradictory selfconsciousnesses simultaneously is to say there are two selves. It might be objected that one could avoid two simultaneous and contradictory self-consciousnesses by saying ‘The Logos is aware of himself being consciously unaware of the day of his coming in his human nature, and aware of himself being consciously aware of the day of his coming in his divine nature at one-and-thesame time.’ The objector might argue that with the reduplicative qualifications in italics, the contradiction is resolved, and that on this view there would be one subject with two ranges of consciousness (or perhaps two minds that token the one consciousness of the Logos), hence it is not the case that there are two selves. However, this view seems to amount to postulating three consciousnesses:

I thank Richard Sturch for raising this line of thought in private correspondence.

11

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1. The human consciousness of his human nature in which the Logos might say ‘I am not aware of myself being consciously aware of the day of my coming.’ 2. The divine consciousness of his divine nature in which the Logos might say ‘I am aware of myself being consciously aware of the day of my coming.’ 3. The subject consciousness of the Logos in which he might say ‘I am aware of myself being consciously unaware of the day of my coming in my human nature, and aware of myself being consciously aware of the day of my coming in my divine nature, at one-and-the-same time.’ This seems to make the problem worse rather than solving it, for now we have three different and contradictory self-consciousnesses – one in the human consciousness, one in the divine consciousness and one in the ‘subject’ – which seems to imply three selves. Another problem with the Two Consciousnesses Model is that it would seem that the human consciousness and the divine consciousness could encounter and address each other simultaneously, thus they could exist in a simultaneous I–Thou relationship to each other. But the possibility of such an I–Thou relationship implies two persons (DeWeese 2007, 133–4).12 Hence, what follows from the Two Consciousnesses Model is that Jesus would be two persons as affirmed by Nestorianism. But what about the analogies proposed by Morris and Swinburne, which suggest that one person can have two consciousnesses? Concerning Morris’ analogies, computer programs are irrelevant to this question as computers are not persons. As for dream phenomena, Morris himself notes that it is possible that ‘in such experiences the dreamer is very rapidly alternating between two perspectives, in which case it would provide no analogy at all’ (Morris 1986, 104). Concerning cases of multiple personality, hypnosis and other dissociative syndromes, the interpretation of these is extremely challenging; and while it is clear that dissociation involves various kinds of representational and access disunities, it is debatable whether it ever involves the simultaneous existence of two separate streams of consciousness in a single subject (Bayne 2009). As for brain hemisphere commissurotomy, even if (and it is a very big if ) this results in two simultaneously conscious minds, based on the reasons given above (the 12 Cf. Richard Cross (2002a, 316), who, following Rahner, thinks that it is favourable to allow that the human Jesus and the Logos could engage in dialogue and conversation. Cross does not offer any reason why this is favourable, and neither does he engage the vexing problem of I–thou relationship that this would entail. There is, of course, no account of the human consciousness of Jesus addressing the divine Logos in the New Testament.

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simultaneous presence of two contradictory self-consciousnesses implies two selves, the possibility of I–thou relationship implies two persons) there are good grounds for agreeing with scholars who think that each discrete range of consciousness would be a person, and thus Morris’ attempts to find an analogue for his model of the Incarnation would fail in any case. Morris does not offer any reason why splitting the brain could not produce two persons (if the splitting of an embryo at an early stage of pregnancy can result in two persons (twins), why can’t the splitting of the brain result in two persons?), and neither does he offer any good reason for thinking why the elimination of a troubling aberrant personality would not be killing a person. In any case the worry seems unnecessary, for there is no convincing evidence of two simultaneously conscious minds after a brain hemisphere commissurotomy: it could very well be the case that consciousness in the split brain switches between hemispheres, and that at any one time the split brain patient has only a single stream of consciousness (Bayne 2009). Swinburne’s analogy that a person can be simultaneously doing different actions guided by different sets of beliefs of which he is consciously aware (e.g. having a conversation with someone and writing a letter to someone else) is not quite analogous to his model, a model which entails Christ having a divided mind in which contradictory beliefs of both parts are simultaneously and consciously acknowledged such that two different self-consciousnesses result (e.g. SC1 and SC2; see above). Morris’ analogy of the subconscious mind standing in an asymmetric accessing relation to the conscious mind and Swinburne’s analogy of a mother who refuses to admit a true belief to her conscious mind are not analogous to the Two Consciousnesses view, for on these analogies there is only one stream of consciousness; there is no two distinct streams of consciousnesses which their views assert. Hence, none of the analogies provide any evidence for the Two Consciousnesses view. Morris’ analogy of the subconscious mind and Swinburne’s analogy of the mother, however, provide analogies for the model which will be discussed in the next section. 3.4. Divine Subconscious Model 3.4.1. Brief Exposition The view that divine omniscience was within the subconscious of the Logos in his incarnate state can be found before the era of modern psychology, and its concept of the subconscious in the writings of the medieval theologian Duns

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Scotus and some Lutheran dogmaticians.13 Interestingly, Sturch notes Scotus’ suggestion that Christ’s soul could not indeed receive all truths at the same time, but could know any item singly, and thus could be aware of any fact he turned his attention to throughout an infinite range of truths. He therefore could have been aware of the time of his return, had he chosen; but he did not so choose.14 Since Scotus postulates that Christ could be aware of any fact he turned his attention to, this would be a Divine Preconscious view which differs from Erickson’s Divine Unconscious view (for an explanation of these views, both of which are versions of the Divine Subconscious Model, see the discussion below). By proposing that divine properties were hidden in the subconscious, the Divine Subconscious Model can be classified as a form of Kryptic Christology (see further Section 6.2). A major proposal of the Divine Subconscious Christology was offered by William Sanday at Oxford University back in 1910, and it is worth looking at this in detail. Based on the works of the psychologist F.W.H. Myers (1843–1901) and the philosopher William James (1842–1910), Sanday proposes that the locus of whatever there is of the divine in man is the ‘subliminal self ’. He suggests that this divine element in its quiescent state is far withdrawn from our contemplation. Nevertheless it is by no means always quiescent, but sends up impulses (e.g. impulses to right action, to prayer, to give thanks, to take hold of God in Christ and cling fast to him) from time to time which produce effects which come within the field of consciousness. As he writes, ‘We feel that all these promptings come from a hidden source within us.’ Sanday suggests that ‘the analogy of our human selves can at least to this extent be transferred to the Incarnate Christ’ (Sanday 1910, 135–65).15 He explains: We have seen what difficulties are involved in the attempt to draw as it were a vertical line between the human nature and the divine nature of Christ, and to say that certain actions of His fall on one side of this line and certain other actions on the other. But these difficulties disappear if, instead of drawing a vertical line, we rather draw a horizontal line between the upper human medium, which is the proper and natural field of all active expression, and those lower deeps which are See the Christological models discussed in Pieper (1951, 165). Duns Scotus, Opus Oxoniense (Ordinatio), I.3, dist.14, q.2, n.20, discussed in Sturch (1991, 27). 15 In a later writing, Sanday notes the criticism that the phrase ‘subliminal consciousness’ is self-contradictory (so far as the state is subliminal it is not conscious), and he writes that this ought to be corrected: ‘the subliminal self is, I should say, all right, but subliminal consciousness is a contradiction’ (Sanday 1911 part II, 64). 13 14

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no less the proper and natural home of whatever is divine. This line is inevitably drawn in the region of the subconscious … The advantage of this way of conceiving of the Person of Christ is that it leaves us free to think of His life on earth as fully and frankly human, without at the same time fixing limits for it which confine it within the measures of the human; … Whatever there was of divine in Him, on its way to outward expression whether in speech or act, passed through, and could not but pass through, the restricting and restraining medium of human consciousness. This consciousness was, as it were, the narrow neck through which alone the divine could come to expression. This involves that only so much of the divine could be expressed as was capable of expression within the forms of humanity. (Sanday 1910, 165–7)

Sanday proposes thinking of the consciousness as a sort of ‘porous material’ stretched entirely across the ‘narrow neck’ and closing the orifice; but the material is so porous that it permits a great deal of that which comes up to pass through, like that of filtering certain particles. ‘In other words, dropping or varying the metaphor, a certain proportion of the hidden contents of human nature enters into consciousness, and through consciousness find expression’ (Sanday 1910, 176). Sanday goes on to describe the Gospels’ portrait of Jesus in these terms: His life on earth presented all the outward appearance of the life of any other contemporary Galilean. His bodily organism discharged the same ordinary functions and ministered to the life of the soul in the same ordinary ways. He had the same sensations of pleasure and pain, of distress and ease, of craving and satisfaction. Impressions received through the senses and emotions awakened by them were recollected and stored up for use by the same wonderful processes by which any one of us becomes the living receptacle of personal experiences. His mind played over all these accumulated memories, sifting, digesting, analysing, extracting, combining, and recombining. Out of such constituent elements, physical, rational, moral, and spiritual, character was formed in Him as in any one of ourselves, though with unwonted care and attention … The Child Jesus, like any other Jewish child, first learnt to think of God on His mother’s knee. But the thought soon took possession of Him as it did not take possession of other Jewish children … The thought of God as His Father grew with His growth … Hence, when the voice came at His Baptism, ‘Thou art My beloved Son, in Thee I am well pleased’, or possibly (as in the Western text of Luke ii. 22) ‘Thou art My Son, this day have I begotten Thee’, Jesus at once knew what it meant; He at once knew that He was to regard Himself as the Messiah of prophecy. (Sanday 1910, 179–81)

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Sanday also describes the divine subliminal self as the source of the latent powers which gave an extraordinary aspect to the whole of Jesus’ ministry (183–5). 3.4.2. Assessment Sanday’s proposal was much discussed after it was published, and while there were a number of appreciative responses, many were highly critical of it (Bumstead 1976). D.M. Baillie (1953, 239) argues that the deeper dimension of the divine ‘eludes psychology altogether, including the psychology of the unconscious’. Additionally, it is objected that Sanday’s theory fails to be convincing because it refers the problems to what was (to a certain extent) an unexplorable region. As Bumstead argues: Any theory of the divine nature of subconscious process is just that. The unconscious, as such, despite our quite valid recognition of its existence, is not something whose contents are totally explicable or known. To assign theological weight to incompletely known contents of a largely unfathomable psychological reality is to obfuscate rather than to elucidate. Its value for apologetics is therefore highly questionable. (Bumstead 1976, 310–11)

Critics also object to Sanday’s use of a spatial metaphor for a non-spatial spiritual relation (Bumstead 1976, 225). H.M. Relton argues that, as our senses cannot perceive spirit, the most that we can do is to describe the effects of spirit and not spirit itself. We may conceive of the divine Spirit as permeating and pervading man’s whole being in the sense of influencing and giving vitality to every part, but not in the sense of being locally attached to any particular organ or residing in any particular locus such as the subliminal self (Relton 1917, 204; cf. Sanday 1911 part II, 65–7). It is also pointed out that at times Sanday speaks of the subconscious as if it were the locus of God’s activities, and at other times as if it were the locus of God. If it is just the former, i.e. if the subconscious of Christ is the region where God’s influence reaches the soul, then he is not qualitatively different from an inspired man. If it is the latter, then it is objected that the humanity of Christ’s being is mitigated, as Christ cannot be said to be fully human so long as his consciousness alone is human and his subconscious is both qualitatively and quantitatively different (Bumstead 1976, 285, 307). It has also been asked ‘whether such a relationship between the two strata of the single consciousness (i.e. between the divine subliminal and human supraliminal levels) gives us any safeguard from a Monophysite mixture’ (Relton 1917, 208). In addition, A.R. Vine observes that:

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The reaction to Sanday’s book was immediate and in general unfavourable … most of those holding to the orthodox positions must have sensed that if Sanday were right in his main contentions, the consequences would look much more like adoptionism, Godhead as impersonal righteous force, and impersonal divinity in the Person of Christ. (Vine 1955, 50)

Others object that Sanday’s Christology contradicts the picture of perfect harmony in the life of the God-Man presented by the Gospel narratives. They argue that New Testament data does not supply us with a purely human consciousness invaded from time to time or even continuously by a divine (sub)consciousness, or a shutting out of all of his divine consciousness during the greater part of his human experience, or any indication of the shock which a merely human consciousness would receive if it were suddenly invaded by a divine (sub)consciousness (Bumstead 1976, 209). Finally, Sanday was criticized for putting too much emphasis on the role of the subconscious with regard to character formation. Opponents argue that the working of the divine in humans should not be confined to a region of our complex being, and that the soundness of mental life is not the result of letting the conscious be controlled by the unconscious, but rather the reverse (Bumstead 1976, 238). Walter Lock complains that Sanday’s model: ignores the fact that the subliminal consciousness is a very mixed storehouse containing things bad and good as well as new and old: it strangely puts the unconscious on a higher level than that which has become conscious and rational, and places the real union of the Divine and Human on a lower level than a deliberate harmony of will and love. (Lock 1921, 101–2)

Despite the criticisms levelled against Sanday’s proposal, a number of theologians and philosophers continue to find the idea of the divine subconscious highly illuminating in showing how the Gospels’ portrayal of the humanity of Jesus is coherent with the affirmation that Jesus was truly divine. In the middle of the twentieth century, W.R. Matthews (1950) proposed a similar Christology to Sanday’s, taking into account contemporary findings concerning the unconscious, telepathy and extrasensory perception. In recent decades, the proposal that divine omniscience (and other divine properties) was within the subconscious of the Logos (the Second Person of the Trinity) in his incarnate state can be found in the writings of Millard Erickson (1991, 1998a), William Lane Craig (Moreland and Craig 2003 ch.29), Tim Bayne (2001, 138–9), Keith Yandell (1994), Garrett DeWeese (2007), Andrew Cullison (2006), and Joseph Jedwab

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(2011). It should be noted, however, that apart from Matthews and Craig, these scholars have not acknowledged Sanday’s work in their published writings, even though the similarities of their proposals with Sanday’s earlier model are evident. Furthermore, all of them have neglected the objections to Sanday’s model in the literature. Additionally, many of their proposals have additional defects of their own, and these defects have not been adequately addressed. To illustrate, I shall discuss the influential proposals by Erickson and Craig. Erickson suggests that the exhaustive knowledge of all truth which the deity Christ possessed (his omniscience) was in his unconscious. He therefore, just like any other human, had to grow in knowledge. He explains: We might say, then, that Jesus still possessed omniscience, but it was within the unconscious part of his personality; he could not bring it back into conscious awareness without the assistance of the Father. An analogy here is a psychologist’s enabling a counselee through the administration of drugs, hypnosis, or other techniques to recall material buried in the subconscious. (Erickson 1998a, 789–90)

Erickson (1991, 548, 551) classifies his view as a species of Kenotic theology.16 Erickson argues that Jesus gave up the independent exercise of his divine attributes, having chosen to live in dependence and functional subordination to the Father. He could exercise his divine powers only in dependence on the Father and in connection with possession of a fully human nature (Erickson 1998a, 789). Erickson stresses that the Logos’ basic powers were not lost, but only the ability to exercise them. He did not give up the qualities of God, but gave up the privilege of exercising them. He suggests that perhaps, at least for part of his life, he even gave up the consciousness that he had such capabilities. The Logo’s knowledge of all things may have been limited in actual exercise by his consciousness being related to a human personality and particularly to a human brain (Erickson 1991, 550, 556). The Logos was still omniscient, but he possessed and exercised knowledge in connection with a human organism that grew gradually in terms of consciousness. Thus, only gradually did his limited human psyche become aware of who he was and what he had come to accomplish (Erickson 1998a, 752). Erickson differentiates his ‘unconscious’ model from a ‘preconscious’ model, observing that ‘The truly unconscious may be recoverable only under the influence of psychoanalysis, drugs, or hypnotism’ (Erickson 1991, 559) (by On Crisp’s classification, this would be a form of Functional Kenoticism.

16

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contrast, the preconscious refers to mental contents that are not currently in consciousness but are accessible to consciousness by directing attention to them) (Colman 2001, 574). Erickson insists, nevertheless, that persons do ‘know’ those things in the unconscious, arguing that they are not facts that persons learn when they come to consciousness, for they were there all along. Therefore, in similar fashion Jesus was omniscient, but was not conscious of all that he knew. Hence, when Jesus professed that he did not know the time of his second coming, he was not pretending (Erickson 1991, 549, 559–60). With regard to difficulties concerning omnipresence, Erickson rejects the understanding of omnipresence in terms of ‘being present everywhere in virtue of knowledge of and power over every spatially located object’, asserting that theologians have generally understood it to mean a genuine presence with all objects. Earlier in the same chapter, however, Erickson defines omnipresence as ‘the divine ability to be everywhere’, instead of the divine state of genuine presence with all objects which he defines later. Based on the definition of omnipresence as ability, Erickson argues that, as God, the Logos had the ability of being everywhere, and this was not lost during the Incarnation. ‘He did, however, limit himself to exercising that power only in connection with the restrictions imposed by a human body, which meant that he could be in only one physical location at a time’ (Erickson 1991, 549, 560–61). Craig has defended a slightly different proposal from Erickson’s, but which also postulates that Jesus had one consciousness with divine properties in his subconscious (Moreland and Craig 2003). Craig discusses Apollinaris’ view that the Logos was the rational soul of Jesus. Apollinaris proposed that the Logos replaced the human mind of Jesus, so that there was in Christ a single person, the Logos, who was united with a human body, much as the soul is united with a body in an ordinary human being. Craig notes that critics argue that Apollinaris’ view was defective, for a complete human nature involves more than a hominid body, so that on Apollinaris’ view the Incarnation was really a matter of the Logos’ assuming not humanity, but mere animality. In response, Craig argues that what Apollinaris may have meant is that the Logos contained perfect human personhood archetypically in his own nature. The result was that in assuming a hominid body the Logos brought to Christ’s animal nature just those properties which would serve to make it a complete human nature. Craig argues that this view draws strong support from the doctrine of man as created in the image of God. He suggests that God already possesses the properties sufficient for human personhood even prior to the Incarnation, lacking only corporeality. In assuming a hominid body, the Logos brought to it all that was necessary for a complete human nature. For this reason, in Christ the one self-conscious subject who

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is the Logos possessed divine and human natures which were both complete. From the fact that Jesus’ soul is not a created substance, it does not follow that Jesus’ human nature is not a created substance. Rather, the Logos by assuming flesh brings into being a new substance, namely Christ’s human nature, which is contingent, created, finite etc. Craig thus refers to his model as a ‘reformulation/ rehabilitation of Apollinarianism’ (Moreland and Craig 2003, 598–9, 606–13). Craig postulates that Jesus’ ‘subliminal’ self is the primary locus of the superhuman elements of the incarnate Logos. Thus, Jesus possessed a normal, human, conscious experience, but it was underlain by a divine subconscious. The Logos allowed only those facets of his person to be part of Christ’s waking consciousness which were compatible with typical human experience, while the bulk of his knowledge and other cognitive perfections, like an iceberg beneath the water’s surface, lay submerged in his subconscious (Moreland and Craig 2003, 610–11). Craig argues that such a model provides a satisfying account of the Jesus we see in the Gospels’ portraits. In his conscious experience, Jesus grew in knowledge and wisdom, just as a human child does. In his waking consciousness, Jesus was actually ignorant of certain facts, though kept from error and often supernaturally illumined by the divine subliminal. Moreover, in his conscious life, Jesus felt physical hurt and fatigue. This explains why Jesus was capable of being perfected through suffering. ‘He, like us, needed to be dependent upon his Father moment by moment in order to live victoriously in a fallen world and to carry out successfully his mission’ (602). Craig affirms that his model implies Monothelitism because the Logos, as the mind of Jesus, has only a single will. The subconscious does not possess a distinct faculty of the will, even though it may influence what one wills in ways that one does not suspect. Craig argues that Dyothelitism, despite its conciliar support, finds no warrant in Scripture. He argues that passages usually used as proof-texts – such as Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane, ‘Nevertheless, not my will but Thine be done’ (Luke 22:42) – do not contemplate a struggle of Jesus’ human will with his divine will (‘he is not, after all, talking to himself !’), but have reference to the interaction between Jesus’ will (‘my will’) and the Father’s will (‘Thine’). Craig argues that it is extraordinarily difficult to preserve the unity of Christ’s person once distinct wills are ascribed to the Logos and to the individual human nature of Christ (Moreland and Craig, 601–2, 611–12). The proposals by Erickson and Craig contain helpful insights concerning the Incarnation, which will be utilized in the subsequent chapters of this book. Nevertheless, they seem to face the following problems.

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Concerning omnipotence and the subconscious Erickson stresses that the Logos’ basic powers were not lost, but only the ability to exercise them. This, however, is incoherent: if the Logos lost the ability to exercise a power, then he had lost his basic power of omnipotence. The most obvious instance of this concerns Jesus’ knowledge. Erickson argues that Jesus’ omniscience was within the unconscious part of his personality. As noted above, Erickson insists that persons do ‘know’ those things in the unconscious as they are not facts that persons learn when they come to consciousness. Nevertheless, the problem with this view is that since a person is unable to access the unconscious part of his personality, it is difficult to conceive in what sense was the Logos still omnipotent after the Incarnation if he could not access his omniscience. Since, on Erickson’s model, Jesus did not have the ability to answer all questions that were posed to him as the answers were in his unconscious, this would imply that Jesus had ceased to be omnipotent. Hence, while Erickson intends to affirm what can be classified as a Functional Kenotic account, his ‘Unconscious Model’ is strictly speaking an Ontological Kenotic account. To maintain that Christ remained omnipotent throughout the Incarnation, one has to speak of Christ being unwilling rather than being unable to access his omniscience. Craig postulates that the superhuman elements of the incarnate Logos lay outside of his ‘waking consciousness’. However, he does not specify whether this is in Jesus’ preconscious or the unconscious (as in Erickson’s account), or both. If it was in the unconscious, then it entails that the Logos lost his omnipotence, as noted above. If it was in the preconscious, then Craig needs to address Erickson’s concern that when Jesus professed that he did not know the time of his second coming he was not pretending. Furthermore, if it was in the preconscious, then Craig needs to provide an account of how Jesus grew in knowledge. Craig asserts that in his conscious experience, Jesus grew in knowledge and wisdom, just as a human child does. However, an important element in the process by which a human child acquires knowledge involves adding new information to his preconscious. If Jesus’ preconscious was omniscient, then how did it acquire new information? Craig’s account does not address these problems. Concerning Jesus’ consciousness Erickson proposes that the Logos’ knowledge of all things may have been limited in actual exercise by his consciousness’ being related to a human personality, and particularly to a human brain. Since the human brain is not yet functional during the early embryonic stage and it switches off consciousness from time to time when sleeping (and the Gospels portray that Jesus slept, e.g. Mark 4:38), this

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would imply that the Logos would not have conscious awareness during certain periods of his incarnate state. Whether this proposal and its implications are consistent with the Logos being divine (i.e. could a person who ceased to possess conscious awareness and gradually became aware of who he was be truly divine?) require elaboration and defence, but Erickson has not provided these. DeWeese, who defends a single-consciousness model similar to Craig’s, affirms that the Logos never sleeps (DeWeese 2007, 146). However, it is difficult to see how, given only one consciousness, Jesus could sleep while the Logos never sleeps. Furthermore, on Erickson’s model, was Jesus’ unconscious likewise limited by the human brain? If yes, then it could not have held the Logos’ omniscience within it, as the human brain is limited in capacity. If not, then where was Jesus’ unconscious located? These issues are not addressed by Erickson. Concerning omnipresence Third, Erickson’s account of the problem concerning omnipresence and Christ’s spatial limitation (and the related issue of whether the Logos in his incarnate state was still holding the universe together) is unsatisfactory. As noted above, Erickson understands omnipresence as the divine ability to be everywhere, but this differs from his later definition of omnipresence as the divine state of genuine presence with all objects. The definition of omnipresence as ability is not satisfactory, for God is not merely able to be everywhere; rather, omnipresence has the idea that everything is in his presence. Erickson’s attempt to provide a solution to Christ’s apparent lack of omnipresence is based on this unsatisfactory definition of omnipresence as ability: the Logos decided not to exercise that ability in his incarnate state. However, to cease to exercise this ability with respect to, say, a person in Greece is to imply that that person had ceased to be in the Logos’ presence. In that scenario, if that person in Greece were to pray to God to be with him and to protect him, he would not be heard by the Logos in his incarnate state in Palestine, and neither could he expect the Logos to be with him and to deliver him. Therefore, Erickson’s model implies that the Logos would have lost his omnipresence (rightly understood) at the Incarnation, despite Erickson’s denial of this implication. Concerning Apollinarianism and Monothelitism The proposals of Erickson and Craig face the question whether, on the assumption that there is an intermediate state,17 Jesus became God simpliciter in The intermediate state refers to the state between physical death and bodily resurrection, where human persons exist in a conscious, disembodied state (Hoekema 1986, 17

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the intermediate state after his death on the Cross, and then took up a human nature again (re-Incarnation?) at his bodily resurrection.18 It is not clear whether their accounts avoid this unwanted implication. Craig affirms that the Logos assumed a hominid body and brought to it all the necessary human properties; that Jesus possessed a normal, human, conscious experience; and that the Logos allowed only those facets of his person to be part of Christ’s waking consciousness which were compatible with typical human experience. Nevertheless, they are not explicit that the human properties of the conscious were created together with a human subconscious at the Incarnation, which is what would be required in order for Jesus to possess a human mind (i.e. to avoid Apollinarianism). Moreover, Craig and DeWeese argue explicitly for Monothelitism, the view that Christ had ‘one will’ (Moreland and Craig, 597–614; DeWeese 2007, 114–55). Hence, they depart from the doctrine that Christ had two wills (Dyothelitism), which was declared by the Sixth Ecumenical Council of the Church (AD 680–81) and affirmed by Orthodox Christians, Roman Catholics and almost all classical Protestant theologians (Crisp 2007, 61). Although DeWeese (2007, 122–5) notes the different metaphysical understandings of personhood and nature that were current at the time of the Sixth Council, in both Craig’s and DeWeese’s accounts a detailed discussion concerning the terminology of ‘will’ as used in the seventh century is lacking. Their efforts to avoid Nestorianism are commendable. Nevertheless, a deeper understanding of the reasons that led to the formulation of the Dyothelite doctrine would be required for a fuller account of the Incarnation. The most significant discussion in the history of Christianity which led to the formulation of Dyothelitism took place in the seventh century between Monothelites such as Theodore of Pharan, Sergius of Constantinople, Honorius of Rome, Pyrrhus, Paul of Constantinople, Peter of Constantinople and Macarius of Antioch, and Dyothelites such as Sophronius, Pope Martin and, most importantly, Maximus the Confessor. Patristic scholars have pointed out that, for Maximus, the faculty of the human will by its nature encapsulates not just the irrational, vital, instinctive and desirous aspect (e.g. the desire for selfpreservation, the desire to eat, to drink, to avoid death etc.), but also the rational, self-determining aspect of the human soul, and that the irrational is subjected to the rational (Bathrellos 2004, 122–6).19 Maximus’ interest in the term ‘will’ 220–22). The existence of an intermediate state has been challenged in the literature, to which substance dualists have offered defence. See Section 4.6. 18 I owe this point to Professor Robert Saucy. 19 See, for example, Maximus, Opusc. 1, 12C–13A; Opusc. 16, 192B, 196A. It should be noted that, for Maximus, absolute consistency of his volitional terminology is not to be

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(thelō) lies in the fact that the Gospels apply this term to Christ’s volitional capacity (Bathrellos 2004, 118). According to the TDNT, thelō has the following range of meanings in the New Testament: 1. to be ready or inclined; 2. desire; 3. intention; 4. resolve, decision or choice (Kittel et al. 1964, 44–62). Andrew Louth, an expert on Maximus’ theology, observes that the terms which the Monothelites used for ‘will’ admit of ambiguity, an ambiguity that, according to Maximus, lay behind the plausibility of their views. ‘Will’ can refer either to a process – willing; or the result – the deed willed. Maximus exposed this ambiguity by drawing a distinction between the natural level and the personal level. So far as the process is concerned, ‘will’ belongs to natural level. But so far as the result is concerned, ‘will’ is an expression of the personal. Maximus argued that in Christ there were two processes but one result, hence there were two wills at the natural level but one will at the personal level (Louth 1996, 56–7). This does not imply that there were three wills in Christ, because ‘will’ at the personal level is not the same as ‘will’ at the natural level, and they should not be confused. Maximus’ concern was to maintain the completeness of the divine nature and the human nature; hence he would insist (against the Monothelites) that there were two wills at the level of the natures. If Christ lacked a human will, this would be a version of Apollinarianism on the level of the wills (Bathrellos 2004, 128; Maximus, Disputatio, 325A). Maximus therefore reasoned that, if Christ was fully divine and fully human, and if neither the divine nature nor the human nature could lack a will, then Christ must have two wills at the level of the natures (call this reasoning the ‘Chalcedonian logic’) (Daley 2008, 265–6; Maximus, Letter 15, 19; Opusc. 4, 7; Disputation with Pyrrhus). By contrast, the seventh-century Monothelites excluded a human ‘will’ from Christ (Bathrellos 2004, 60–98), although it should be noted that their views were sometimes inconsistent and some of them were also prepared to accept some volitional activity associated with Christ’s human nature, though they never named it as ‘will’ (Hovorun 2008, 166). In addition, Maximus also pointed to Scriptural passages which portray that Christ had a divine will (Luke 13:34; John 5:21) (Maximus, Disputatio, 325B–328A; Bathrellos 2004, 139) as well as a human will. Historically, the sayings of Christ which proved critical in Dyothelitism-Monothelitism debates was his prayer in Gethsemane (Mark 14:35), which Maximus interpreted as ‘Not what I as man will, but what you and I as God will’ (O’Collins 2002a, 85). As noted above, Craig interprets this passage as ‘Not what I (God the Son) will, but what you (God the Father) wills’. While this is possible, other Scriptural passages found (Bathrellos 2004, 117).

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that Maximus mentioned are harder to explain away. For example, Mark 7:24 says that Jesus went to the region of Tyre and Sidon and entered a house and did not want anyone to know it, though he could not be hidden. Maximus’ rationale was that the fact that Christ did not manage to pass unnoticed shows that it was by his human will (distinct from his divine will) that he willed to pass unnoticed, because his divine will was omnipotent. Maximus argued that in Christ such acts of his human willing did not coincide with what he willed as God (for if he willed by his omnipotent will to remain hidden, he would have remained hidden) but were different from it, though not opposed to it (Bathrellos 2004, 138–9, 161; Maximus, Disputatio, 320C-324B; 325B–328A). After a long doctrinal and political struggle, Monothelitism was eventually condemned by the Sixth Ecumenical Council because it was judged that Monothelitism implies that one of the natures of Christ was incomplete. However, if ‘will’ is understood as including a self-defining aspect of the soul as defined above, to assert that Christ had two wills would imply that Christ had two self-determining faculties. Having two self-determining faculties seems to imply having two selves, which would divide Christ into two persons. Hence, many theologians (including Craig and DeWeese) have thought the heresy of Nestorianism to be an inescapable implication of Dyothelitism. As Pannenberg argues, ‘With the doctrine of Christ’s two wills … the perception of the concrete vital unity of Jesus was basically lost’ (Pannenberg 1968, 294). On the other hand, to deny Dyothelitism would seem to imply the rejection of the ‘Chalcedonian logic’ as well as the Scriptural support for Dyothelitism. In response to this problem, Bathrellos proposes that the solution is to maintain Dyothelitism and avoid the consequence of Nestorianism by employing the distinction between nature (and natural will) and person perhaps a little more consistently than Maximus sometimes did (Bathrellos 2004, 174). It is important to note here that there are two different ways of interpreting Maximus. The first is to take Maximus as saying that the human will of Christ is moved by the divine will; Louth (1996, 61) and McFarland (2007, 15) appear to favour this interpretation. Among the texts that can be cited in support are these: The Incarnate Word possesses as a human being the natural disposition to will, and this is moved and shaped by the divine will. (Opusc. 3, 48A; translation from Louth 1996, 193) Therefore he ( Jesus) said, Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not mine, but ‘your will be done’; showing, in the shrinking, the determination of the human will shaped and brought to be (in harmony with

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the divine will) in accordance with the interweaving of the natural logos with the mode of the economy. (Opusc. 3, 48C, translation from Louth 1996, 194)

The second is to take Maximus as saying that the human will and the divine will are both moved by the willer, who is the enfleshed Logos. As Maximus writes, ‘[The enfleshed Logos] as God by nature willed the divine and fatherly [deeds] according to nature … and the same again as man by nature willed the human [deeds] according to nature’ (Bathrellos 2004, 182, citing Maximus, Opusc. 7, 77C–80A). The following text (Opusc. 7, 84B–C) also seems to imply that the Logos is the subject of willing both as God and as man (Bathrellos 2004, 182): 20 For it appears that the same as man, who is also God by nature, wills in accordance with the economy that the cup pass, and in this he typifies what is human, as the wise Cyril taught us, so that he might take away all shrinking from death from our nature, and steel and arouse it to a brave assault against it, I mean against death. And again it appears that as God, being also a human being in essence, he wills to fulfil the economy of the Father and work the salvation of us all. (translation from Louth 1996, 188)

Bathrellos notes the difference in meaning and implications of these two interpretations when he argues against the first interpretation as follows: To say that the person of the Logos moves his human will is not the same as saying that the divine nature or the divine will of the Logos moves his human will … If we simply say that it is the divine will which moves the human will, no reference is made to the person of the Logos, who, as man, allows his human will to be moved by the divine will in a self-determining human way, and thus the human will is relegated to a more or less passive instrument of the divine will which moves it. If we want to avoid this, the only option with which we are left is to make the human nature and will the subject of willing which allows the divine will to move it; this, however, would sound Nestorian. (Bathrellos 2004, 169)

He also argues that the first interpretation (that the human will of Christ was moved by the divine will) invalidates a very basic element of Maximus’ Dyothelite

Other texts cited by Bathrellos in support of this interpretation include Opusc. 15, 157C; Opusc. 16, 205C, 208B; Disputatio, 289A–B. 20

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thought, viz. Christ’s soteriologically indispensable human obedience to the Father as illustrated in his prayer in Gethsemane. He writes: Maximus’s claim that Christ obeyed the Father to the point of death, and in so doing offered us a perfect example to imitate by willing whatever God wills, makes sense only if this obedience of Christ to the Father was self-determinedly undertaken by him as man. Only in this case can we be asked to imitate him by personally obeying the divine will of God, as Maximus urges us to do. (Bathrellos 2004, 171, citing, e.g., Disputatio, 305C–D)

Why then did Maximus use the expression ‘the human will of Christ is moved by the divine will?’ Bathrellos thinks that this was due to inconsistency on Maximus’ part. He suggests that Maximus’ main objective when he used this expression seems to have been to nullify the objection raised by some Monothelites, viz. ‘if Christ had two wills, a divine and a human, the latter would be sinfully moving against the divine will’. Another reason might be that Maximus identifies the Logos with his divine nature according to hypostasis and according to nature, which may have made him at times a little careless in distinguishing between the two (Bathrellos 2004, 172 n.410). If the second interpretation (the interpretation favoured by Bathrellos) is adopted, a solution can be offered concerning the problem raised above. Given that it is the ‘willer’ (to use Bathrellos’ terminology for ‘the one who wills’) who moves his will, and that the ‘willer’ in Maximus’ Christology is identified with the enfleshed Logos, it is the enfleshed Logos who moves his human will as well as his divine will. Bathrellos explains that this does not contradict the selfdetermination of the human will. He writes: Let us consider for a minute what happens with us, human persons. We are endowed with a self-determining human will, a self-determining human power of willing, by virtue of which we are able to will in a self-determining manner. It is we as willers who actualize our self-determining power of willing in willing certain things. The case with Christ is similar. The incarnate Logos possesses a self-determining human will in virtue of which he is able to will as man in a selfdetermining way, and thus to actualize the self-determining power of his human will (Bathrellos 2004, 168–9).

He argues that ‘by emphasizing that the Logos as God wills by his divine will and as man obeys the divine will by his human will, the self-determination of the human will is secured’ (174).

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Hence, according to Bathrellos there are two self-determining faculties (the human and divine wills), but only one self (the ‘willer’). This is consistent with Scriptural passages as well as the ‘Chalcedonian logic’ which imply Dyothelitism, and it avoids Nestorianism. 3.5. Conclusion The Ontological Kenotic Model and the Two Consciousnesses Model are beset with serious difficulties: for Ontological Kenoticism, the implication (despite claims by many of its proponents to the contrary) that the Logos ceased to be divine at the Incarnation; for the Two Consciousnesses Model, the implication (despite claims to the contrary) of Nestorianism. Although the Divine Subconscious Model as formulated by Sanday and others also faces problems, it seems that they can be resolved with further modifications of the model. These modifications will be proposed in the following chapters.

Chapter 4

A New Kryptic Christology: The Divine Preconscious Model

4.1. Introduction and Explication of Key Terms In this chapter, I shall develop a new version of the Divine Subconscious Model, which I shall call the Divine Preconscious Model (DPM). As with other versions of Divine Subconscious Model, it is a form of Kryptic Christology. After an explication of key terms in Section 4.1, the model will be stated in 4.2. It will be shown in 4.3 that on this model Jesus had a complete human nature; in particular, the model is not Apollinarian, not Monothelite and not Docetic. It will be shown in 4.4 that on this model Jesus had a complete divine nature, and issues concerning divine simplicity, divine immutability, divine impassibility and divine sovereignty will be addressed. In 4.5, it will be demonstrated that on the concrete nature three-part Christology which DPM affirms, difficulties concerning communicatio idiomatum can be satisfactorily handled. I shall address the problems concerning concrete-parts Christology in 4.6. It will be useful to begin the exposition of DPM with an explication of key terms such as conscious, subconscious, preconscious, personhood, essence and nature. It will be helpful to note here that, for reasons which will be explained later in Section 4.6, DPM assumes substance dualism (the view that the mind is a non-physical entity distinct from the physical body), and DPM postulates that the mind includes the conscious (used here as a noun) and the subconscious. These terms will be explained below. The conscious, subconscious, preconscious and unconscious are wellaccepted notions in psychology and the following definitions of these terms are taken from Colman (2001), an authoritative dictionary of psychology. The conscious is that which, when it is active, exhibits a mental condition characterized by the experience of perceptions, thoughts, feelings, awareness of the external world and, often in humans, self-awareness (Colman 2001, 160). The subconscious is defined as mental contents which exist outside of consciousness (714). These mental contents can include thoughts, desires,

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emotions and even sensations and perceptions, as scientific evidences have indicated that individuals can have these without being in any way aware of them; furthermore, many of these have global connections to other mental states and to behaviour, and rational connections may well be largely independent of consciousness (Rosenthal 2009). The subconscious can be subdivided into the preconscious and the unconscious (used here as a noun). The preconscious is defined as mental contents that are not currently in consciousness but are accessible to consciousness by directing attention to them (Colman 2001, 574). For example, a person might have knowledge of calculus at time t, even though at t he might not be consciously thinking about calculus. His knowledge of calculus can be said to be in his preconscious: when he chooses to direct his attention to it – i.e. when he chooses to consciously think about calculus – he can be aware of it. The preconscious is to be distinguished from the unconscious, which is defined as an aspect of the mind containing repressed instincts and their representative wishes, ideas and images that are not accessible to direct examination; the operation of repression prevents the contents of the unconscious from entering either the conscious or the preconscious (Colman 2001, 766).1 The word ‘person’ has a long and complicated history in discussions of Christian doctrine (Marenbon 2003, 71). ‘Person’ came from the Latin persona, whose origins are traceable to Greek drama, where the prosōpon, or mask, became identified with the role an actor would assume in a given production, and it was introduced into theological discourse during the patristic period to clarify the doctrines of the Trinity and the Incarnation, discussions of which were marred by confusion because of ambiguities in the philosophical and theological terminology (Williams and Bengtsson, 2010; Marenbon 2003, 71). The classic understanding of ‘person’ in medieval theology was given by Boethius (ca. 480–524): ‘an individual substance of a nature endowed with reason’ (naturae rationabilis individua substantia) (Opuscula Sacra V, 3.171–2; see Marenbon 2003, 71). Despite the many centuries of development which It has been observed that the cognitive unconscious revealed by the experiments of modern psychology is different from the dynamic unconscious of classic psychoanalytic theory, its contents being ‘kinder and gentler’ than Freud‘s primitive, infantile, irrational, sexual and aggressive ‘monsters from the Id’. But while there is mounting evidence for the role of automatic processes in cognition, and for the influence of unconscious precepts, memories, knowledge and thoughts, it is a stretch too far to conclude that the bulk of cognitive activity is unconscious, and that consciousness plays only a limited role in thought and action (Kihlstrom 2009). 1

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the term has undergone, there are still some common elements between the use of ‘person’ in the fifth century and the twenty-first century (O’Collins 2002a, 73). Nevertheless, Boethius’ understanding has been criticized for neglecting the dynamic relation of the self to other selves (Torrance 2004, 199–211), while others have argued that static and non-relational features are by no means necessarily required by Aristotelian substance metaphysics (Alston 1999, 179–202).2 On the other hand, personhood cannot be understood as a totally relational matter, for the ontological question ‘what it is about persons that enable them to have such relationships which no other thing is able to have’ needs to be addressed as well.3 Other philosophers emphasize the uniqueness of persons as ‘subjects’. In the modern sense, subjectivity depends primarily on the unity of self-consciousness, interiority, freedom and personal autonomy, and it embraces the moral and religious dimensions, which are part and parcel of the person’s nature as a conscious, intelligent, free, willing subject in relation with others (Williams and Bengtsson, 2010). Thus, the property of being a person has been thought to involve various traits, including (moral) agency, reason or rationality, language or the cognitive skills language may support (such as intentionality and self-consciousness), and the ability to enter into suitable relationship with other persons (Audi 1999, 662). This understanding of personhood addresses the concerns discussed above, and it will be used in this book. A person, therefore, is understood as a subject with various traits such as (moral) agency, reason or rationality, language or the cognitive skills language may support (such as intentionality and self-consciousness), and ability to enter into suitable relationship with other persons.4

Alston also notes that ‘substance’ has a range of meanings in philosophical and Christological discussions throughout the centuries. Hence, in order to minimize confusion I shall avoid using this word. 3 Adapted from Erickson (1998a, 530), who raises it in relation to the image of God. 4 The traits described may be either actual or potential, and what is necessary for personhood is not that these traits are existent properties of the biological organism that is the person’s body (one would surely not wish to say that an adult who is asleep, for example, has ceased being a person), but rather the possession of the potential capacity for such properties and powers (DeWeese 2007, 139–40). From a substance-dualist perspective, one might suggest that this potential capacity resides in a person’s soul, and that this capacity could be manifested if the body is in the right condition (e.g. if the brain is adequately functional, which is not the case for foetuses, for those in a persistent vegetative state, etc.). Observing the distinction between being a person and being able to function as a person, a foetus would be a person because it has the above-mentioned potential capacity in its soul, even if it is not able to function as a person because the body is not in the right condition. 2

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An individual essence is defined as a cluster of properties essential for an individual being the particular entity it is – properties without which it would not exist (Morris 1989, 115). A kind essence is defined as a cluster of properties without which an individual would not belong to the particular natural kind it distinctively exemplifies (Morris 1989, 115). Concerning the term ‘nature’ with respect to God incarnate, this can be understood as either concrete or abstract (Crisp 2007, ch.2). On the concrete nature view, natures are fundamentally concrete particulars: on this view, Christ’s human nature was fundamentally a concrete particular (this view does not deny that this particular had certain human properties). On an abstract nature view, natures are fundamentally properties: on this view, Christ’s human nature was fundamentally a property or a set of properties necessary and sufficient for being human (this view does not deny that Christ had a corporeal body, or that Jesus of Nazareth was a concrete particular) (Crisp 2007, 41–6, 68). The concrete and the abstract nature views can be further subdivided, depending on whether Christ is conceived of as being composed of a number of ‘parts’ (usually two or three) (Crisp 2007, 41–2). Here, it should be noted that the word ‘part’ has many different meanings in ordinary language, and in this book it is used broadly to indicate any portion of a given entity, regardless of whether the portions are material or immaterial, connected or disconnected, can or cannot exist as separate entities, etc.5 So broadly conceived, a part of an entity is simply that which in some way falls short of being the whole of that entity. On the two parts view, Christ was composed of the pre-existent divine particular and a human body, while on the three parts view, Christ was composed of the pre-existent divine particular, a human body, and a human soul distinct from the pre-existent divine particular (Crisp 2007, 41–2). Both the concrete and the abstract nature views can be classified as either consisting of two or three parts, thus yielding the following possibilities: i) concrete nature, two-part Christology; ii) concrete nature, three-part Christology; iii) abstract nature, two-part Christology; or iv) abstract nature, three-part Christology (Crisp 2007, 44–5). For reasons that will be explained below, a concrete nature three-part Christology will be preferred in this monograph. Hence, unless otherwise specified, the term ‘nature’ is to be understood as in accordance with the concrete (not abstract) view from this point onwards.



5

For further discussion, see Varzi (2009, Section 1).

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4.2. The Model Stated Having explicated the key terms, DPM will now be stated. According to this model,6 the Logos (the Second Person of the Trinity) had a mind without a body prior to the Incarnation. At the Incarnation, the mind came to include a consciousness and a preconscious, and certain divine properties such as the knowledge of all truths were possessed by the Logos in the preconscious (this preconscious would become part A of Jesus’ preconscious). This implies that at the Incarnation the Logos no longer had properties such as a conscious awareness of all truths. At the same time, a human preconscious (which would become part B of Jesus’ preconscious) and a human body were created.7 In addition, his consciousness acquired human properties that were also newly created. This acquisition included a certain extent of his consciousness’ capacity to function being made dependent on the brain, resulting in the capacity to experience physical pain, to have sensations through physical organs and to have the desires for food, for sleep, etc. There was no creation of the unconscious, however, for as we have seen in Section 3.4, the possession of the unconscious would entail that the Logos gave up his omnipotence, which is undesirable. The absence of the unconscious would not imply that Jesus’ humanity was incomplete, for even though the possession of the unconscious is common to human nature, there is no adequate reason to think that the possession of the unconscious is essential to the human nature.8 On the contrary, it seems theoretically possible that psychological techniques could be developed in the future to overcome ‘the operation of repression’, such that no region of a human’s mind would be beyond his/her own access, but surely he/she would not thereby be regarded as not truly human then. This theoretical possibility is thus a good reason for thinking that the unconscious is not essential to human nature. Therefore, at the Incarnation the Logos had a consciousness (which included access to the divine preconscious), a preconscious that had two parts (part A having the properties of divinity and part B having the properties of a human preconscious), and a human body. 6 The model stated here has minor modifications in terms of its wording compared to an earlier version presented in Loke (2009a). 7 The creation of the body could involve the use of an ovum from the womb of the Virgin Mary and the creation of a Y Chromosome necessary for the production of a human male (Crisp 2009, 79-80). See further, Chapter 5 note 21. 8 For the distinction between common and essential human properties, see Section 4.3.

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The reason why the model proposes that the Logos had a divine preconscious from the first moment of Incarnation onwards is that this allows the Logos to remain omniscient (see Chapter 5). Since omniscience is a property of the divine nature rather than a property of the human nature, the divine preconscious is postulated of the divine nature rather than of the human mind. The incarnate Logos had a complete human nature9 (and was truly human) in virtue of the aspect of his consciousness which had human properties, the human preconscious (part B of Jesus’ preconscious), and human body. The Logos had a complete divine nature10 (and was truly divine) in virtue of him pre-existing from eternity as the Second Person of the Trinity and in virtue of the aspect of his consciousness having access to the divine preconscious (part A of Jesus’ preconscious), thus continuing to possess all the essential divine properties which he had from eternity. He remained a single person,11 in the sense of having one selfconsciousness and being a single subject of divine and human attributes. Hence, the incarnate Logos was one person with concrete human and divine natures. The incarnate Logos can be said to have three parts (there are different ways in which the parts of the incarnate Christ can be counted; but, as explained in the previous section, I am interacting with Crisp’s scheme in this chapter): 1. The concrete divine nature (this consists of the aspect of his consciousness having access to the divine preconscious, and the divine preconscious). 2. The human body. 3. The ‘human soul’ (where the word ‘soul’ is understood as the immaterial part of the person), distinct but not separate from the divine nature (this ‘human soul’ includes the aspect of his consciousness which had human properties, and the human preconscious). The qualification ‘distinct but not separate’ is important; it implies that, although the ‘human soul’ and the divine nature were not identical, they were not disconnected from As affirmed by Chalcedon’s statement that Jesus was ‘perfect in manhood’ (where ‘perfect’ in the context means ‘complete’ – see Price (2005, II, 204n.50) – and ‘truly man, of a rational soul and body’, and ‘consubstantial with us in respect of the manhood’. Concerning Chalcedon’s ‘like us in all things apart from sin’, which is based on Heb. 4:15, see Section 6.2. 10 This is consistent with the Nicene Creed’s statement that Jesus was ‘consubstantial (Greek homoousion) with the Father’, as well as with Chalcedon’s statement that Jesus was ‘perfect in Godhead’ (where ‘perfect’ in the context means ‘complete’) – see Price (2005, II, 204n.50) – ‘truly God’ and ‘consubstantial with the Father in respect of the Godhead’. For the complex issues concerning the use of the term homoousion at Nicaea, see Ayres (2004, 92–8). 11 As affirmed by Chalcedon’s statement: ‘not parted or divided into two persons, but one and the same Son’. 9

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one another. Rather, the ‘human soul’ and the divine nature were two distinct aspects of the immaterial part of Christ. The immaterial part of Jesus, ie. the one unified soul of Jesus, had two aspects: a human aspect (=a ‘human soul’) and a divine aspect (=the divine nature). The human aspect had all the properties essential to a human soul; the divine aspect had all the properties essential to a divine soul; and these two aspects were distinct from one another – hence there was no tertium quid. Rather, in line with the affirmation that Jesus was truly divine and truly human, his one soul was also truly divine and truly human. Thus, the ‘human soul’ was in actuality a distinct aspect of the soul of Jesus, and the ‘human soul’ had no independent existence apart from the soul of Jesus. This does not imply that the human soul pre-existed the Incarnation. Rather, the ‘soul of Jesus’ pre-existed the Incarnation as the divine Logos, and it is only at the Incarnation that it acquired human properties. Such a ‘part Christology’ agrees with John of Damascus’ statement concerning the Logos post-Incarnation that ‘The whole “he”, then, is perfect God, but not wholly God, because he is not only God but also man. Likewise, the whole “he” is perfect man, but not wholly man, because he is not only man but also God’ (De fide Orthodoxa, 3.1–2, 7). This runs contrary to John Webster’s interpretation of Chalcedon’s ‘without division, without separation’: ‘That is to say, to talk of divinity and humanity is not to distinguish separate aspects of Christ, as if he were part human and part divine, and as if his properties were divisible between divinity and humanity. Jesus Christ is in his entirety divine and in his entirety human’ (Webster 2004, 224). To Webster’s interpretation it can be replied that in the historical context of the council, the phrase ‘without division, without separation’ was used to exclude Nestorianism; the difference of the terms ‘division’ and ‘separation’ reflected the difference in the commonality of terminology used by the Alexandrian Cyril and the Antiochenes to this effect (Sellers 1953, 214–15). There is insufficient justification, therefore, for interpreting these Chalcedonian adverbs as excluding concrete-parts Christology together with Nestorianism. Divine properties such as omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence were exemplified by the divine nature (i.e. the aspect of his consciousness’ having access to the divine preconscious, and the divine preconscious), not by the human nature (i.e. the aspect of his consciousness having human properties, the human preconscious [part B of Jesus’ preconscious] and human body). On the other hand, human properties such as the physicality of the body and capacity to experience physical pain belonged to the part exemplifying human nature, and not to the part exemplifying divine nature. Hence, each nature remained intact

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(there was no generation of a tertium quid) and there was only one person,12 who was both a divine person and a human person at the same time.13 It has been mentioned above that the concrete nature view will be preferred in this book. It is true that Aristotle and almost everyone else up to the fifth century AD (including those who stated the formulae of Chalcedon) understood natures to be universals and not concrete particulars (Swinburne 1994, 211),14 and that the idea of human nature as a concrete particular originates in the sixth century from Leontius of Byzantium, who subsequently influenced John of Damascus, and through John the medieval theologians and the protestant scholastics (Cross 2002a, 2002b).15 Nevertheless, the reason for preferring the As affirmed by Chalcedon’s ‘acknowledged in two nature without confusion, change, division, or separation, the difference of the natures being in no way destroyed by the union, but rather the distinctive character of each nature being preserved and coming together into one person and one hypostasis, not parted or divided into two persons, but one and the same Son’ (translation from Price 2005, II, 204). Concerning the famous Chalcedonian adverbs ‘without confusion, change, division, or separation’, Price observes that they appeared in the council to assure the critics of the Tome of Leo that it did not separate the natures. This means that they were understood to stress the union of the natures and to qualify the force of ‘in two nature’. Here again the emphasis is on unity rather than duality in Christ (Price 2005, II, 204n.53). 13 Cf. Crisp, who argues that, since there is only one subject in the Incarnation, Christ cannot have human personhood because he is a divine person, otherwise Nestorianism would follow. Thus, Christ is fully human but not a human person; rather, Christ is a divine person who has a human nature (Crisp 2009a, 106, 151n.28). But if we understand ‘divine person’ as a person with divine nature and ‘human person’ as a person with human nature, then since Christ was one person with both divine and human natures, he would be a human person and a divine person at the same time without entailing Nestorianism. 14 Concerning Chalcedon’s definition that Christ is ‘the same perfect in Godhead and the same perfect in manhood … one and the same Christ, Son, Lord, Only-begotten, acknowledged in two natures’, Price notes that ‘the effect is to reduce the two natures to two sets of contrasting attributes possessed by the same subject. The same is implied by the way in which in the key clause, “the distinctive character of each nature being preserved and coming together into one person and one hypostasis”, it is not “two natures” that are said to be united but the distinctive character, or features, of Godhead and manhood. The verbal ascription of these attributes to “two natures” has the force of protecting the two sets from mutual contamination; it is not to be understood as attributing them to two distinct beings or two subjects of attribution’ (Price 2005, I, 69–70). 15 Cross (2002b) argues that in his earlier work Contra Eutychianos et Nestorianos Leontius teaches that Christ’s human nature is a universal. However, in his late work the Epilyseis Leontius affirms that Christ’s human nature is an individual, and argues that such a nature fails to be a subsistent on the grounds that it exists in the person of the Word, even though (as shown by recent studies) he does not use the term enhupostatos to talk about his theory of the nature’s non-subsistence (245, 264–5). Cross argues that it is not clear precisely 12

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concrete rather than the abstract nature view is that the concrete nature view allows for contradictory properties to be exemplified by Christ in two different respects: in respect of his divine nature (or qua God) and in respect of his human nature (or qua man). Moreover, as noted previously, the concrete nature view does not deny that the particulars have properties that belong to their kinds. Rather, it is consistent with DPM’s affirmation that the human concrete particular had human properties while the divine concrete particular had divine properties. Hence, the concrete nature view according to DPM retains the idea which the framers of Chalcedon had in mind, viz. Christ had two kind essences, human and divine. The reason for preferring ‘three parts’ rather than ‘two parts’ Christology is that a concrete nature Christology with three parts (i.e. including a human soul distinct from the concrete divine nature, and a human body) would avoid Apollinarianism (see Section 4.3.1) without implying either Ontological Kenoticism or a tertium quid; but this is not the case with a two-part concrete nature Christology.16 Nevertheless, DPM is different from other three-part concrete nature Christologies which propose that Christ had two consciousnesses. These Christologies understand ‘the human soul distinct from the divine nature’ as implying a human consciousness in addition to a divine consciousness. By contrast, on DPM it is not the case that an entity with a human consciousness was taken up by the Logos at the Incarnation.17 Rather, at the Incarnation the one consciousness of the Logos acquired a human aspect in addition to the divine aspect. It should be noted that, similar to Two Consciousnesses Christology, DPM affirms that Christ had two minds: a divine mind (the aspect of his conscious having access to the divine preconscious, and the divine preconscious) and a human mind (the aspect of his conscious having human properties, and a human preconscious). Unlike Two Consciousnesses Christology, however, DPM affirms that Christ had only one consciousness, because the two minds shared one consciousness which had distinct divine and human aspects. It should what motivates Leontius to change his position (250). For the medieval views of Christ’s human nature, see Cross (2002a). 16 Since a two-part concrete nature Christology denies that there is a human mind distinct from the divine concrete nature, one would have to say that the divine concrete nature was a concrete divine part as well as a concrete human mind at the same time in order to avoid Apollinarianism. But to affirm the absence of distinction between the human mind and the divine nature would seem to imply either Ontological Kenoticism (if the divine properties were relinquished), with its problems noted in Section 3.2, or a tertium quid (if the divine properties were not relinquished). 17 Thus, DPM is immune to the charge of Nestorianism and Adoptionism.

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be noted that a single consciousness can have aspects which are distinct but not separate from one another: for example, my visual experience of the computer screen is distinct from my conscious access to my fingers typing the keyboard, but both are aspects of my single unified consciousness at a particular moment. Therefore, in comparison with the somewhat unsatisfactory attempts by other three-part concrete nature Christologists to avoid the implication that a human person was assumed by the Word and maintain the anhypostasia– enhypostasia distinction, DPM avoids this implication and maintains the distinction straightforwardly. This is as follows: the human nature (i.e. the aspect of his consciousness which had human properties, his human preconscious [part B of Jesus’ preconscious], and human body) did not exist as a person independent of its assumption by the Word (anhypostasia), while from the first moment of the Incarnation the human nature existed ‘in’ a particular person (enhypostasia).18 Since according to DPM Christ had only one consciousness and one self-consciousness, DPM avoids the problems with Two-Consciousnesses Christology discussed in Section 3.3.2. With respect to a number of criticisms directed against Sanday’s account discussed in Section 3.4.2, it should be noted that DPM is not susceptible to Relton’s criticism directed against Sanday’s use of spatial metaphors for non-spatial spiritual relations, because these spatial metaphors are not required by DPM. With respect to Baillie’s criticisms concerning psychological models, it can be responded that, as explained in Sections 1.3 and 1.4, the purpose here is not to construct a comprehensive and actual ‘psychology’ of Jesus, but to provide a possible model of the Incarnation that would demonstrate that what the New Testament does say concerning the divinity and humanity of Jesus is coherent. Concerning the objection that the subconscious cannot be fully explored or explicable, it should be noted that, for the purpose of rebutting the sceptic’s charge of incoherence concerning divine omniscience and Jesus’ apparent limitation in knowledge, DPM does not require a full exploration or explication of the subconscious; indeed, no detailed psychological analysis of any aspects of the mind is necessary. Concerning the preconscious, the realization of the basic, obvious, and undeniable fact that not all of our mental contents which are accessible to our consciousness are actually in consciousness at any particular time is all that is required for DPM to postulate it of Jesus as part of a possible model. Hence DPM is immune to the charge of obfuscation which was raised against Sanday’s account.

For the anhypostasia–enhypostasia distinction, see Crisp (2007, 72–89).

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With regard to the criticism that Sanday at times speaks of the subconscious as if it were the locus of God’s activities and at other times as if it were the locus of God, DPM modifies his account such that it postulates that the divine preconscious and the aspect of the conscious having access to the divine subconscious are non-spatial and that these constituted the divine nature of Christ, and that (with respect to Lock’s criticism) under divine influence the preconscious was prevented from containing anything bad. The charge of adoptionism is avoided by postulating that the Logos was pre-existent, and that at the Incarnation the mind of the Logos came to include a consciousness and a preconscious, and certain divine properties such as the knowledge of all truths were possessed by the Logos in the preconscious, while a human body was created. With this modified account, it is evident that it is not the case that Jesus was a mere man upon whom the divine descended; rather, the personhood of Jesus pre-existed as the Logos who took up a human nature at the Incarnation. Since DPM postulates that the person of Jesus had access to his divine preconscious through the divine aspect of his consciousness, the model would also be immune to the following criticisms of Sanday’s Christology, namely: (i) The Godhead was an impersonal righteous force or impersonal divinity in the person of Christ. (ii) The soundness of mental life is not the result of letting the conscious be controlled by the subconscious, but rather the reverse. (iii) His consciousness was suddenly invaded by a divine subconscious against his will. (iv) Too much emphasis is put on the role of the subconscious compared to the conscious with regard to character formation. (v) The working of the divine in humans was confined only to the subconscious aspect of the mind. Additionally, Jesus had two minds: a divine mind (the aspect of his consciousness having access to the divine preconscious, and the divine preconscious) and a human mind (the aspect of his conscious having human properties, and a human preconscious), but only one consciousness and one self-consciousness, because the two minds shared one consciousness which had distinct divine and human aspects. Thus, it is not the case that Jesus’ divinity consisted simply of his ability to access divine secrets by means of his human mind; nor is it the case that the divine nature was manipulated by the human. Rather, Jesus had a divine mind with a conscious aspect by which he could access his divine properties. In virtue

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of his complete divine nature, Jesus would be qualitatively different from a man who is merely inspired by the Spirit. With regard to the worry that the humanity of Christ would be mitigated, DPM postulates that the divine preconscious was not part of his human nature, but was part of his divine nature. Moreover, the concrete divine and human natures were distinct from each other; hence there was no confusion of natures and no ‘Monophysite mixture’, and no attribution of the possession of a divine subconscious to his humanity (see further, Section 4.3.3). 4.3. Complete Human Nature 4.3.1. Not Apollinarian As can be seen, DPM is clearly not Apollinarian, as it affirms that the human properties of the conscious and human preconscious were created at the Incarnation. In comparison with the proposals of Erickson and Craig, according to DPM it is clear that in the intermediate state Jesus did not become God simpliciter, for he still had the conscious that had human properties and a human preconscious in that state, and therefore remained truly God and truly human. 4.3.2 Not Monothelite It might be objected that, by postulating that Jesus had only one consciousness, DPM implies that Jesus had only one will (Monothelitism). In reply, the charge of Monothelitism is unjustified if the will is understood along the lines that Bathrellos has suggested (see Section 3.4.2). DPM is actually consistent with and adds clarity to Bathrellos’ explanation of Dyothelitism as one ‘willer’ and two wills by which the ‘willer’ willed. According to DPM, Jesus had one conscious, he had one self-conscious, and he was one ‘willer’. Christ had a human will because the conscious had human properties that allowed the ‘willer’ to be influenced by desires natural to human nature (e.g. feeling of physical pain), and to act through his human body (e.g. through his hands and feet) and limited human means – e.g. he could not escape being noticed by others (Mark 7:24). Christ had a divine will, in that he had divine desires and determination as when he accessed a part of his divine preconscious (part A2; see Section 5.2.2) and willed according to it. Therefore, the one ‘willer’ had a human self-determining faculty (in virtue of his conscious and part B of his preconscious) and a divine self-determining faculty (in virtue of his conscious having access to part A of his

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preconscious). Because he was one person, all the acts of Christ were the acts of his whole person. Nevertheless some acts were willed and done in accordance with his human properties and his human role (e.g. eating, drinking); some were willed and done in accordance with his divine properties and divine role (e.g. holding the universe together, Col. 1:17); and some were willed and done in accordance with both (e.g. the work of redemption) (Hodge 1872, II, 394–5). This should be compared with Leo’s statement in his famous Tome that ‘each form accomplishes in concert with the other what is appropriate to it, the Word performing what belongs to the Word, and the flesh carrying out what belongs to the flesh’ (translation from Kelly 1977, 337). The problem with Leo’s view is that actions are not of the natures but of the person, and Christ was one person.19 DPM should also be compared with theologian Robert Jenson’s statement that: the one Christ lives his life as God and as a man, divinely and humanly, and his doings and sufferings cannot be sorted out into two differing sets of doings and sufferings … Thus the role played by Jesus in the human story is at once a divine role and a human role. ( Jenson 2005, 67)

The problem with Jenson’s view is that certain roles cannot be attributed to both natures. For example, being the sustainer of the universe (Col. 1:17) cannot be at once a divine role and a human role; it can only be a divine role, not a human role. Additionally, submission to the authority of his parents in his childhood (Luke 2:51) cannot be at once a divine role and a human role; it can only be a human role, not a divine role. Hence, DPM meets the primary motivation for the postulation of two wills by the Sixth Ecumenical Council, viz. to ensure the completeness of the human and divine natures; and it meets the primary concern of the Monothelites, viz. to ensure that there is no division of Christ into two ‘willers’ and two persons. 4.3.3. Not Docetic It might be objected that Jesus could not be genuinely human if he had a divine preconscious. Now DPM does not claim that the divine preconscious and the conscious’ access to the divine preconscious were parts of the human nature, but rather that they constituted the divine nature. Nevertheless, the objection is that, if a person has a divine preconscious, the experiences of the person would Chemnitz, citing Luther and John of Damascus in The Two Natures in Christ, XII, in Ford and Higton (2002, 236). 19

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be very different from that of a human as a result of having such a preconscious. The person would be so affected by the possession of a divine preconscious that he could not be considered as human. Therefore, DPM is unacceptably Docetic. I shall begin my reply to this objection with the following insightful observation made by Thomas Morris. He writes: I do not think critics of the Incarnation usually go wrong by having too exalted a conception of divinity, Rather, I think they most commonly come to judge the Incarnation an impossibility mainly on account of an incorrect, metaphysically flawed conception of humanity … And I believe that the critics of the doctrine have come to hold such a conception of human nature only by missing some fairly simple distinctions and by ignoring some intriguing metaphysical possibilities. (Morris 1989, 115)

Morris goes on to explain the distinction between an individual essence and a kind essence, and he notes that, while an individual can have no more than one individual essence, it does not follow that an individual can have no more than one kind essence. Morris also draws the distinction between common human properties and essential ones. A common human property is one which many or most human beings have, but such a property is not necessarily essential to membership in the kind. For example, the property of living at some time on the surface of the earth is a common property of humans at this moment, but this does not imply that if a person were to be born and live in outer space in the future he would thereby not be human (Morris 1989, 115–17). Common and essential properties, therefore, are not necessarily the same, and one has to be wary of drawing conclusions about the essential properties of humans based on the characteristics of humans that he or she observes around him/her. At this point, the difficulty of drawing up a list of the essential properties of human nature should be noted. What is essential to being human has always been controversial: Plato affirms a tripartite theory of the soul, while Aristotle’s view undermines Plato’s dualism; Upanishadic Hinduism claims that the essential self of a human being is radically connected to all beings, while Buddhism asserts that a person is made up of five skandhas (‘aggregates’ of the material form and mental aspects such as sensations, mental discriminations, mental formations, and consciousness) without any permanent underlying being or self; Marx thinks that the real essence of man is the totality of social relations –‘humans are products of society’; existentialists such as Sartre think that freedom is the key; socio-biologists conceive of humans as products of evolution, with biologically

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determined species-specific patterns of behaviour (Stevenson and Haberman 2009, 3, 31–2, 56–7, 80, 93). Most Christian theologians would affirm the need for divine revelation to help us determine what is human. Various Scriptural passages affirm that human beings exist as creatures of God (Gen. 1:27) and are dependent on God (Neh. 9:6, Acts 17:25, 28); they are beings who can be addressed by God, who can make decisions, who are ultimately responsible to God as their Creator and Ruler, and who possessed the image of God (Gen. 1:26–8, 5:1–3, 9:6) (Hoekema 1986, 5, 11–19, 64–9). In his important study on the Imago Dei, Richard Middleton explains that, understood in its Jewish and ancient Near Eastern context, tselem (the Hebrew word for ‘image’) should be understood as a localized, visible, corporeal representation of the divine. He notes that the point here is not that the image consists in a bodily resemblance between God and humanity, but that the invisible God is imaged by bodily humanity. A virtual consensus among Old Testament scholars concerning the meaning of the Imago Dei in Genesis sees the image of God as the royal function or office of human beings as God’s representatives and agents in the world, given authorized power to share in God’s rule over the earth’s resources and creatures (Middleton 2006, 24–7). Gen. 1:27–8 is also echoed in Ps. 8:6–8, which affirms that God has given humans dominion over the works of the Creator’s hands and has put all things under their feet. While the Old Testament authors may not have had attributes of human beings in mind when they talk about the image of God, the New Testament authors may have hinted at this when they talk about the image of God in relation to Jesus Christ as the perfect image of God (2 Cor. 4:4, Col. 1:15). In this case the possession of the image by humankind can be understood as the potential to be made to become conformed to the image of his Son (Rom. 8:29), in particular to be Christ-like in their attitudes (Phil. 2:5). While earlier theologians affirm that the image of God is to be found primarily in humans’ structural capacities, a number of recent theologians have affirmed that it is the functioning of humans (their worshipping, serving, loving, ruling, etc.) which constitutes the essence of the image.20 In response to this, Hoekema argues that after mankind’s Fall in Genesis 3 humans still bear the image of God, for according to Gen. 9:6 the reason no human being may shed another human’s blood is that a human has a unique value, a value that is not to be attributed to any other of God‘s creatures – namely that he/she is an image-bearer of God. And it is precisely because he/she is such an image-bearer (not was one in the past or might be one in the future) that it is so great a sin to kill him/her. The view that humans still retain the image after the fall also fits better with Ps. 8, which affirms humans’ dominion over the rest of creation (17–18), and also with James 3:9, which forbids the cursing of humans because they are creatures who have been 20

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Hoekema argues well when he writes that the most balanced view would be to hold that the image of God involves both structure and function (Hoekema 1986, 5, 11–19, 64–9).21 The structural aspect highlighted by earlier theologians consist of capacities for: (i) rational powers, which reflects God’s reason; (ii) moral sensitivity, which reflects something of the moral nature of God; (iii) fellowshipping with God, which reflects the fellowship that Father, Son, and Holy Spirit have with each other; (iv) sense of beauty, which reflects the God who scatters beauty profusely in creation; (v) language, which reflects God who speaks. As for the functional aspect, the Scripture describes characteristics such as true knowledge, righteousness, and holiness (Col. 3:10, Eph. 4:24) – characteristics which have been lost in humans after the Fall and which need to be restored. Significantly, the Scripture affirms Jesus Christ as the perfect image of God (2 Cor. 4:4, Col. 1:15), and therefore from looking at Jesus we can learn about what the proper functioning of the image should look like (Hoekema 1986, 21, 70–75). Much more can be said about the image of God, but it is beyond the scope of this chapter to discuss this further. For our purposes here it is important to emphasize that, because Christ is the perfect image, the ideal human, he has to be taken into account when considering the essential characteristics of being human. Anderson points out that the problem of a non-theological anthropology is not that the human person is the starting point (which is unavoidable), but that the human person seeks to have the final word, the decisive judgement, as to the essence of humanity. While a theological anthropology must begin with made in the likeness of God (13–22). Nevertheless, a number of New Testament passages (Rom. 8:29, 2 Cor. 3:18, Col. 3:9–10, Eph. 4:22–4) teach that the image of God must be restored in humans, which implies that there is a sense in which the image has been distorted after the Fall (Hoekema 1986, 28). 21 See also Emil Brunner’s distinction between formal and material aspects of the image of God: he understands the formal aspect as consisting of a formal likeness to God in being ‘subject’, being ‘person’, and having a (limited) freedom that allows him to respond to God and be responsible to him. This aspect is what differentiates man from lower creation, and it cannot be lost as a result of sinful misuse of freedom. The material aspect refers to the realization of this God-given quality – that is, that man should really give the answer which the Creator intends, and that he should reflect Christ, the primal image (Brunner 1952, 56– 8; 1947, 96–7).

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humanity itself, it must also take into account that the Word of God has come to that humanity and, in the midst of that humanity, however distorted and perverse it may be, revealed the ideal form of that which is human. It is then to the humanity of Jesus Christ that we turn as the starting point of theological anthropology (Anderson 1982, 16). Morris argues that it is a perfectly proper procedure for the Christian theologian to develop his conception of what the essential human properties are, with certain presuppositions or controls derived from his doctrine of God and his belief in the reality of the Incarnation (Morris 1989, 115–17). Likewise, Erickson notes that part of the perceived difficulty with the Incarnation comes from our formulating of the understanding of humanity through an empirical examination of humans as we find them. The problem with this methodology is that the concept of humanity drawn from our inductive investigation of existing human beings might not be what humanity essentially is. Rather, we should take the case of Jesus into consideration when we try to understand what is essential to being human (Erickson 1998a, 752–3). Of course, an account of human essence cannot be developed entirely by beginning with the Incarnation, for, as Evans observes, if we did not have some prior understanding of what the term ‘human’ means we could attach no meaning to the claim that Jesus was human. Therefore, we need to have some ‘ready-made’ ideas of human essence before considering the Incarnation. This would include essential properties which have been discussed earlier, such as properties of being a creature of God, and having capacities for rational powers, moral and aesthetic sensitivity, language, making decisions, responsibility, dominion over the earth, and fellowshipping with God. Nevertheless, the point here is that we should also be prepared to learn about the human nature in and through the Incarnation (Evans 2006, 194). Morris draws another important distinction, the distinction between something that is merely x and something that is truly x (e.g. an alligator has all the properties essential to being a physical object – it is truly physical but it is not merely physical as it has properties of animation as well). Morris observes that no orthodox theologian has ever claimed that Jesus was merely human. Rather, the claim is that he was truly human, but also truly divine (Morris 1989, 116–17). The implications of all the above distinctions for the Incarnation are as follows. First, it can be argued that Jesus was one individual essence with two kind essences, human and divine. Second, Christian theologians would argue that we must be wary of forcing our non-Scriptural ideas of what is essential to human essence onto the case of Jesus. It may well be that, while the possession of (and the experiences of

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having) a divine preconscious is clearly not a common property of humans, it is not contrary to the essential property of being human. As an illustration of the danger of ignoring the distinction between common and essential properties, consider Morris’ observation that, in trying to enumerate the properties essential for being human, some theologians have included the property of being sinful; but this is what Christianity have traditionally denied of Christ. Morris points out that the mistake of those theologians is in taking a common property to be an essential one (Morris 1989, 116). Another example of a theologian who makes the mistake of ignoring the kinds of distinctions which Morris draws is John Knox. Knox argues that Christ was truly and normally human, and he asks whether we can speak significantly of the humanity of Christ unless we do regard him as having been ‘a man like other men’. He argues that an affirmation of Jesus’ manhood is an assertion that he was born out of, and into, humanity in the same sense every man is; that he was a son of Adam, as all men are, regardless of what their culture, nation, or race may be. He therefore rejects the idea of preexistence because it distinguishes Jesus’ humanity from ours (Knox 1967, 63–8, 106). In response, it can be argued that beginning of existence and belonging to the organic human process in the ways Knox described are common but not essential to the human nature. The objector might counter by arguing that numerous Scriptural passages assert that Jesus was made like humans (e.g. Heb. 2:14–17, 4:15, 5:2; Rom. 8:3), and he might argue that this implies that the Scriptures affirm that the experiences of Jesus were those that were common to humans. In reply, these passages are not necessarily affirming that Jesus was made, tempted, and suffered in exactly the same way as each human, which (the authors of these passages would have easily realized) is clearly impossible (e.g. Jesus being a man could not have experienced all that a woman experienced – e.g. the experience [and trial] of pregnancy; cf. Gen. 3:16). Rather, what these passages affirm of Jesus in their contexts is that he was made like humans in the religiously significant sense that he was able to experience certain (not necessarily all kinds of ) human desires, limitations, and sufferings, be tempted, and experience death for the sins of others.22 As will be demonstrated below and in Chapter 5, the possession of a divine preconscious does not make these limited and religiously significant 22 To show others by way of example how temptations are to be overcome does not imply that God incarnate would have to be exposed to all kinds of evil desires. Rather, depending on the circumstances, exposure to a few kinds of temptation would be sufficient to illustrate some general principles which are applicable to all kinds of temptation. For the idea of Christ sympathizing with our weaknesses and the exegesis of Heb. 4:15 (probably the verse most often cited by those who were opposed to Docetic tendencies), see Section 6.2.

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areas of commonality impossible; and, in response to Knox, we can speak of the true humanity of Jesus in a religiously significant sense as long as these areas of commonality exist. Hence, the objection is unsuccessful. (One might object that the idea that the divine Son of God could be tempted is in conflict with James 1:13, which says that God cannot be tempted. In response, James 1:13 can be taken to mean that a divine person cannot be tempted being divine simpliciter, and this does not exclude the possibility that he can be tempted if he chooses to take up a human nature which would make experiencing certain human desires and hence temptation possible.) Third, it can be argued that having a divine preconscious would only cause a person to have experiences that are very different from those who are merely human. Therefore, the sceptic can only at most conclude that a person who is merely human cannot possess a divine preconscious. But Christians claim that Jesus was not merely human, even though he was truly human. The possession of a divine preconscious would affect the ‘human nature’ such that it could no longer be considered as merely human. But that does not entail that he would not be truly human. Note that the divine preconscious was not a part of his human nature, but rather was a part additional to his human nature, and in virtue of the possession of this additional part he was not merely human. Thus, DPM affirms that a true human (i.e. a person with a human nature) can have a divine preconscious (with its properties of omniscience, omnipotence, etc.) if he is not merely human. Hence, the charge of Docetism fails, as it is based on an unjustified understanding of what is essential (and not just common) to true (and not just merely) human nature. 4.4. Complete Divine Nature 4.4.1. Constituents of the Divine Nature of Jesus According to DPM, the Logos had a complete divine nature in virtue of him pre-existing from eternity as the Second Person of the Trinity and in virtue of the aspect of his consciousness having access to the divine preconscious (part A of Jesus’ preconscious), thus (as will be explained in greater detail later) continuing to possess all the essential divine properties which he had from eternity. Unlike Ontological Kenoticism (the problems with which have been discussed in Section 3.2), DPM does not affirm that the Logos ceased to possess certain divine properties such as omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence.

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Neither is DPM presenting Jesus as merely an inspired man whose subconscious is acted on by God.23 Rather, Jesus is presented as a person who had full access to divine properties (such as omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipotence; these three properties are discussed in Chapter 5) in his divine preconscious, and hence was truly divine. 4.4.2. Concerning Divine Simplicity It might be objected that positing that the Logos had parts after the Incarnation violates the doctrine of divine simplicity. This doctrine – according to the classical theism of Augustine, Anselm, Aquinas, and their adherents – affirms that God is devoid of any complexity or composition (Vallicella 2008).24 One motivation for this doctrine is to safeguard divine aseity. The argument is that, if God has parts, then God will depend on the parts in the same way that any whole composed of parts depends on its parts (Vallicella 2008). The argument that whatever is composed is caused and therefore not eternal is used by Islamic theologian al-Kindi (ca. 800–870) against the doctrine of the Trinity, which he thinks violates the doctrine of divine simplicity (Adamson 2006, 100). Furthermore, it has been argued that it is a weakness to be corruptible, anything that can be taken apart is corruptible, and that anything made of parts can be taken apart, if not in reality at least in intellectu (Rogers 2000, 19, citing Anselm, Proslogion, 18). Another argument concerns certain abstract entities which are thought to exist necessarily: to affirm divine simplicity (that God=love, God=justice etc.) avoids the difficulties of saying that these abstract entities (love, justice etc.) are created by God or that they exist independently of God (Holmes 2001, 152–3; Feinberg 2001, 326). Other motivations include maintaining the uniqueness of the divine being (unlike creation, God is the only truly simple entity); the limitations of human knowledge and talk of God (e.g. concerning the relations between the divine ‘persons’); and the unity of three divine persons in one being (Ayres 2004, 281–300; Franks 2005). Cf. Nestorius, who would not accept speaking of the Jewish man Jesus as the possessor or agent of divine properties or actions; nor would he accept speaking of the divine Son as the possessor or agent of human properties or actions (Holmes 2005, 83). 24 According to Aquinas, God is incomposite in each of the of the following six ways: (i) he is not composed of extended parts; (ii) he is not composed of substantial form (in virtue of which he is the kind of thing he is) and form receiving matter (in virtue of which he is the particular thing he is); (iii) he is not composed of act and potency; (iv) he is not composed of essence and anything disjoint from that essence; (v) he is not composed of subject and accidents; (vi) he is not composed of essence and existence (Hughes 1989, 3–4). 23

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In reply, postulating that the being of God has parts does not violate divine aseity, because one can deny that there is a dependence of the whole on the parts prior to the Incarnation, since the parts and the whole in this case are uncaused and the parts are not prior to the whole. As noted in Section 4.1, the word ‘part’ can simply mean that which in some way falls short of being the whole of that entity; this does not imply that the parts are caused or that the parts had been put together to make up the whole. While one might argue that anything that has a cause is ‘put together’ by that cause – e.g. to make a physical object, matter must be combined with form (Adamson 2006, 100) – it does not follow that anything that has parts must have a cause. At the Incarnation, the Logos took up an additional part (the concrete human nature), but this part did not make up the divine nature of the Logos, and hence there was no violation of divine aseity. Concerning corruptibility, the parts could be inseparable, and there is no good reason why something that is able to be taken apart only in thought but not in reality is a real weakness. Concerning abstract entities which are thought to exist necessarily, it can be argued that, just as omnipotence does not require the ability to bring about necessary or logically impossible states of affairs (see Section 5.3.1), similarly divine aseity does not require God to control the existence of such necessarily existent abstract entities (Feinberg 2001, 337). As for maintaining the uniqueness of the divine being, the possession of other divine properties such as aseity, omnipotence, omniscience, etc. is already sufficient for the affirmation that God is unlike creation and beyond total comprehension and explication by humans (e.g. it is beyond our comprehension how God can know everything). While the concrete divine nature does not have material parts, this does not imply the absence of immaterial and inseparable parts. The unity of three divine persons can be affirmed by postulating that the Trinity is one soul with three sets of rational faculties (Moreland and Craig 2003, 593–4), without thereby denying that God could have parts. Finally, it should be noted that there is insufficient Scriptural support for the doctrine of simplicity: passages such as ‘God is love’ (1 John 4:8) does not imply that God=love, for the ‘is’ in these passages can be interpreted as the ‘is’ of predication (e.g. God has the attribute of love) rather than the ‘is’ of equivalence (Feinberg 2001, 327–9). Therefore, even if the doctrine of divine simplicity is defensible against various objections,25 the lack of sufficient Scriptural and philosophical motivation for this doctrine implies that there is no adequate reason to reject a part Christology because of this doctrine. For objections, see e.g. Morris (1991, 114–20), Hughes (1989), Plantinga (1980). For defence, see e.g. Vallicella (2008), Brower (2008), Leftow (2006). 25

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4.4.3. Concerning Divine Immutability It might be objected that DPM violates a strong version of the doctrine of divine immutability (SDI), which according to classical theists such as Augustine, Anselm, and Aquinas is understood as affirming that God cannot undergo real or intrinsic change in any respect (Leftow 2002b).26 The reason is because, in postulating that at the Incarnation the divine properties were possessed by the Logos in the preconscious and the conscious acquired human properties, DPM affirms that the Logos underwent real and intrinsic change. In response, first, it should be noted that there are versions of divine immutability which are weaker than SDI, such as affirming that God is unchanging with respect to his character (Feinberg 2001, 264–76, 431–2), but such versions pose no problem for DPM. Second, it can be argued that SDI has insufficient Scriptural or philosophical-theological motivation for it. It has been argued that immutability is in fact the only way to guarantee a true Incarnation, for otherwise one cannot be certain that it is truly God who has become human (Weinandy 1985). However, this argument presupposes that SDI is essential to the divine nature, and it will be shown in what follows that there is insufficient basis to think that this presupposition is justified. Scriptural passages that are often cited as affirming divine immutability include Ps. 102:25–7, Mal. 3:6, and James 1:17. In the first passage, the concern of the psalmist is to demonstrate to his readers that they need not be concerned as they see all that surrounds them deteriorating, because God is not like this (Erickson 1998b, 96). In the second, the context is God’s displeasure with his people, Israel, who have failed to live up to their part of the covenant that he made with them. He reminds them, however, that he is faithful to his covenant (Erickson 1998b, 96). In the third, the terms ‘heavenly lights’ suggest a general reference to astronomical phenomena, particularly to the sun and moon, which were well known for changing in Jewish literature. In comparison with these and with people who fail to receive wisdom because they waver ( James 1:6–8), God does not change, and he actually sends all good things (Davids 1982, 88). In sum, the first passage affirms that God (in respect of his divine nature) does Leftow explains that a change is real if and only if it makes on its own a real difference to the world, while a change is intrinsic to the changing thing if and only if its occurring does not imply the existence of anything ‘outside’ the boundaries of the changing thing. Leftow observes that ‘the arguments which led philosophers to exempt God from real, intrinsic change all had to do with ways involvement in change might (they thought) make God less perfect. It isn’t plausible that merely extrinsic change could make something more or less perfect. I am exactly as impressive a man with a dog on my left as I am without a dog on my left.’ 26

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not undergo deterioration such that his trustworthiness will be affected,27 while the second and third affirm that God’s character does not change. They do not affirm that God cannot undergo any sort of change in other respects (see also Davis 2006, 190–91). Philosophical-theological motivations that have been proposed for SDI include the argument by Greek philosophers who thought that if God, being ultimately good, were to undergo change then it must be for the worst; but God would never change for the worse (Plato, Republic, 2.381). In addition, through his argument from motion Aristotle concludes that for any motion to occur there must be some unmoved mover, i.e. God, who, being fully actual, cannot change because he has no potentiality not already fully realized (Aristotle, Metaphysics 12.5–9). Finally, some theologians have derived SDI from the doctrines of essential divine timelessness and divine simplicity (Leftow 2002b; Weinandy 1985). In reply, the first argument only shows that God cannot become greater or more perfect, not that he cannot change in a way which neither increases nor diminishes his perfection (Leftow 2002b).28 On DPM’s account, the Incarnation took place according to God’s sovereign plan and perfect timing and exemplified According to DPM, even though the human nature of God incarnate can undergo deterioration and die, the divine preconscious does not deteriorate but is always in control of everything and holding the universe together (see Chapter 5). 28 Rogers (2000, 47) objects that ‘if God could leave off having one sort of perfection and adopt another, he would not be the best conceivable either before or after the change, since there would be a perfection he would lack. Nor would he exist a se, for he would be the receiver of some new perfection, not the source of all perfection.’ In reply, it can be argued that the state before the change is perfect in the context of the circumstances that exist ‘before’ but not in the context of ‘after’, while the state after the change is perfect in the context of ‘after’ but not in the context of ‘before’, and hence it is not the case that God lacks a perfection before or after the change. It can be argued that the changes envisaged by DPM took place according to God’s sovereign plan and perfect timing and exemplified God’s perfect goodness and love, and that the changes did not reduce his perfection. As will be shown further in Section 5.2.1, the Logos could have preordained the circumstances before he became dispositionally omniscient, such that those things that should be in his conscious awareness at any time t would be there during that time (see also Yandell 1994, 41). Thus, suppose that the Logos thought of X at time t1 and of Y at t2; the state of thinking about X at t1 is perfect in the context of the circumstances that exist at t1 but not in the context of t2, while the state of thinking about Y is perfect in the context of t2 but not in the context of t1, and hence it is not the case that the Logos lacks a perfection before or after the change. Furthermore, it can be argued that the contexts as well as the decision to undergo changes are determined by God and hence dependent on him, and that whatever is good about the context of the circumstances has its ultimate source in God. Therefore, it is not the case that God’s state of perfection is dependent on something external 27

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his perfect goodness and love, and it will be shown in the rest of this chapter and in Chapter 5 that DPM does not entail a reduction of divine perfection. As for the second argument, it is not obvious that it is true except on the supposition that God is essentially timeless (Sturch 1991, 175–6). The literature on God’s relation with time is huge, and it is beyond the scope of this monograph to evaluate all the arguments in detail. Suffice to note here briefly that there is insufficient Scriptural and philosophical-theological motivation for God’s essential timelessness. Consider first the Scriptural data. While the Scriptures clearly teach that God is eternal, eternity could be conceived of as either existing in time throughout an infinite temporal duration (sempiternity), existing timelessly ‘atemporality’, or as different kinds of hybrid view (e.g. God was timeless sans creation and in time with creation: what this hybrid view implies is that God is not essentially timeless) (Leftow 2005; Moreland and Craig 2003, 511–15). It has been argued that Exod. 3:14, where God says of himself ‘I am who I am’, and the unexpected present tense of the ‘I AM’ of John 8:58 imply divine timelessness. However, it can be replied that ‘I AM’ in itself does not exclude ‘I was’ (compare the unveiling of God’s ‘personal name’ as ‘who is and who was and who is to come’ in Rev. 1:4) (Blocher 2001, 194; Pannenberg 2002, 10–11). It has also been argued that passages which suggest that God has a different perspective on time than we have (e.g. Ps. 90:4, 2 Pet. 3:8) suggest timelessness, but the authors of these passages do not say that timelessness is the reason why God perceives time differently than we do (Feinberg 2001, 262–3). There are other possible reasons, such as God’s clear perspective of his existence eternally. Even among humans, there are varying perceptions of how fast time passes. Other passages that teach God’s eternity (e.g. Gen. 21:33, 1 Tim. 1:17, Isa. 57:15, Heb. 1:10–12, Ps. 90:2) likewise do not favour atemporality over sempiternity (Helm 2001, 31; Feinberg 2001, 257–64). Philosophical-theological motivations for atemporality that have been proposed include maintaining God’s transcendence as the creator of time (Knuuttila 2001, 103). In reply, this motivation is also met by a form of hybrid view – i.e. God exists timelessly sans creation and in time with creation of time along with the universe (Moreland and Craig 2003, 514–15).29 This hybrid view to God himself, and thus there is no violation of aseity. Hence, there is no indefeasible reason to think that change and potentiality necessarily entail imperfection. 29 Against this hybrid view, Leftow (2005, 66) argues that, since being temporal is intrinsic, then while timeless God cannot become temporal, and that this hybrid view would deny that God exists without beginning (Leftow 2010, 281). In reply, what ‘being temporal is intrinsic’ implies is that in the state of timelessness God cannot be in time; but it does not imply that God cannot freely choose to cease from being in the state of timelessness

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also addresses the question ‘why did God not create the universe sooner’ (answer: there is no sooner, as God was timeless sans creation). Another motivation for atemporality is that atemporality is supposedly required for the fullness of divine life (Helm 2010).30 The reasons offered are, first, entities in time are bound by it in that they cannot stop the process of change and therefore of time. Also, if God is in time, there would be segments of his life that are presently inaccessible to him except by memory, which is a restriction of his fullness and self-sufficiency (Helm 2010; Rogers 2000, 21, 56). Additionally, if time passes for God, then he would lose part of his life – i.e. past events of his life (Leftow 2010, 279–80) – and this seems to violate the idea that God is unlimited in his being (Rogers 2000, 21, 56, citing Augustine, Confession XI). In reply, one can affirm that God was not bound by time sans creation, but he freely chose to create time and exist in time (in accordance with the form of hybrid view noted above), and even though he is now in time God can cause all things to freeze in changelessness if he chooses to.31 As for past events of God ceasing to exist, it is not clear that such a ‘lost of part of life’ is really an imperfection, for God is able to will that his past experiences of real events do not fade as ours do, and he has perfect prescience of real future events (Craig 2008b).32 God’s un-limitation should only be predicated of properties the possession of which would account for the greatness of God (Feinberg 2001, 244), and it is questionable whether such a ‘possession of all temporal parts of life’ as envisaged by divine atemporalists is truly such a property. by and with the creation of time. It can be affirmed that, as an omnipotent being God has libertarian freedom, in virtue of which he could initiate motion in the state of timelessness and bring about being from non-being. This hybrid view affirms that where God’s existence in time is concerned, there is a first instant; but this does not imply that God’s existence has a beginning, for God exists timelessly sans his existence in time. 30 Other motivations include resolving the tension between providence and free will, as well as derivation from divine simplicity (Helm 2010). However, concerning providence and free will there is an alternative Ockhamic solution (see Moreland and Craig 2003, 517–24). For divine simplicity, see Section 4.4.2. 31 Although this would not result in timelessness, for the changeless state would necessarily exist later than the temporal events which had already existed up to that changeless state. Changing from a pre-existing temporal state to a timeless state is thus a metaphysical impossibility, and (as will be shown in Section 5.3.1) performing a metaphysically impossible act is not required of omnipotence. 32 Cf. Leftow, who argues that perfect memory of past events and prevision of future events is insufficient for a perfect life, for ‘A continuing hallucination would content nobody … And what would it say about God if it made no difference to Him whether we lived with Him or ceased to exist, as long as his memory and prevision of us was intact?’ (Leftow 2010, 279–80). In reply, the proposal here is that God has perfect memory and prescience of real events, and these real events are not hallucinations but involve real creatures living with him.

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As for the doctrine of divine simplicity, it has already been shown in Section 4.4.2 that there is inadequate biblical and philosophical motivation for it. In summary, the lack of sufficient Scriptural and philosophical-theological motivation for SDI implies that there is no adequate reason to reject a part Christology because of it.33 4.4.4. Concerning Divine Impassibility and Divine Sovereignty The objector might nevertheless press his charges based on the doctrine of divine impassibility, which DPM seems to violate by postulating that the Logos’ conscious states acquired the capacity to be affected by physical states of the nervous system, such as the capacity to experience physical pain, to have sensations through physical organs, and to have desires such as the desire for food, for sleep, etc. Historically, the concern to maintain divine impassibility has been a driving force in Christological debates. The intention to dissolve the tension between divine impassibility and the biblical account of the Incarnation (in which Christ is said to have suffered, particularly on the Cross) is one of the primary motivations for heresies such as Docetism (denying the reality of Christ’s human experiences), Arianism (giving up Christ’s divine status), and Nestorianism (claiming that divine and human experiences have different subjects) (Gavrilyuk 2004, 172–3).DPM avoids these heresies; it is actually consistent with the qualified-impassibility solution proposed by orthodox theologians such as Cyril of Alexandria. While his opponent Nestorius maintained an unqualified divine impassibility, Cyril held to a qualified view, according to which it is impossible that the divine Word experience suffering in his ‘naked divinity’, but he was able to do so in and through the flesh. While the Word remained impassible in his own divine nature throughout the Incarnation, the Word was in a qualified sense passible through his human nature, to the degree to which he made the sufferings of humanity his very own (Gavrilyuk 2004, 158, 171).34 As Cyril writes: God’s Word is, of course, undoubtedly impassible in his own nature and nobody is so mad as to imagine the all-transcending nature capable of suffering; but by very 33 Richard Cross has also argued that defending the coherence of the incarnation is best accomplished by rejecting a strong form of classical theism with its doctrines of divine immutability and timelessness (Cross 2008a, 471). 34 Pro-Nicene theologians such as Athanasius had argued that human nature was an instrument through which the Logos both experienced the sufferings and wrought his miracles (Gavrilyuk 2004, 133).

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reason of the fact that he has become man, making flesh from the Holy Virgin his own, we adhere to the principles of the divine plan and maintain that he who as God transcends suffering, suffered humanly in his flesh. (Cyril, De symbolo, 24, in Gavrilyuk 2004, 161)

Against Nestorius’ objection that that which could not suffer in its own nature could not possibly suffer in any other nature, Cyril developed the Athanasian idea of God’s appropriation of human characteristics. According to Cyril, the Word took up the whole human nature, complete with the rational soul. Cyril underlined that without the human soul the divine Word would be incapable of experiencing such human emotions as sorrow and grief, for to ascribe these emotions directly to the ‘naked divinity’ would be to charge God with powerlessness. At the same time, a mindless and soulless body was equally incapable of feeling these emotions (Gavrilyuk 2004, 161–2). In postulating that a human conscious and a human preconscious were taken up at the Incarnation, DPM is consistent with Cyril’s doctrine of appropriation. DPM would affirm with Cyril that the Logos was passible in the flesh, as it was through the human conscious and human preconscious that the Logos entered into human sufferings in his incarnate state for the salvation of mankind. DPM is therefore not asserting that the divine nature (‘Godhead’) of the Logos is passible, which the Chalcedon’s definition criticizes (Session 5, v.34; see Price 2005, II, 72, 203). Natures, after all, do not suffer; it was the Person who suffered, and he suffered through his human nature to atone for the sins of others. Likewise, the defilement which God Incarnate suffered in respect of his human nature can be understood as part of his atoning suffering for mankind which was ultimately accomplished on the Cross. However, DPM is neutral with regard to the question whether ‘naked divinity’ is passible, and whichever way the answer to this question turns out has no bearing on its coherence.35 Nevertheless, the sceptic might complain about DPM’s postulation that the Logos’ conscious ability to function during the Incarnation was to a certain

It should be noted that there is no adequate biblical basis for the doctrine of divine impassibility. One might argue for divine impassibility based on a strong version of divine immutability, but the support for that doctrine is also inadequate (see Section 4.4.3). The theological motivation for the doctrine of divine impassibility is to preserve divine transcendence (Gavrilyuk 2004, 150). However, many theologians have challenged this motivation recently, and they have also raised various objections against the doctrine. See Moltmann (1974), Fiddes (1988), Fretheim (1999). Impassibilists have offered defence, e.g. Gavrilyuk (2004), Creel (1986), Weinandy (2000). 35

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extent being made dependent on an intact and healthy brain.36 He/she might ask, ‘How can the conscious of the Person who was God, of whom the Scripture says is not served by human hands as if he needed anything (Acts 17:25), be made so dependent on the supply of oxygen, nutrients, etc. to the brain just like humans?’ As Cyril’s opponent Nestorius insists, the Logos always retained his sovereign divine freedom and control over the passions of the body even during the Incarnation (Nestorius, Liber Heraclidis, 1.1.13, 1.2.127–9, 1.2.136; cited in Gavrilyuk 2004, 170), but such sovereign divine freedom and control seems to be surrendered in DPM’s account. In response, it should be noted that according to DPM such dependence on circumstances was the result of the Logos’ voluntary choice to be incarnated, and this is an important difference from the case of humans who have no choice with regard to their state of dependence. Furthermore, as will be shown in greater detail in Chapter 5, according to DPM the Logos retained the ability to access his divine properties at any time during the Incarnation. Hence, in his incarnate state he was ‘dependent’ on the supply of oxygen, nutrients, etc. only insofar as he freely chose to remain in his incarnate state and be obedient to death on the Cross. Nevertheless, the ‘dependence’ was due to his freely chosen functional limitation (see discussion of functional subordination in Section 2.2), which he could have revoked at any moment in virtue of his divine nature. Therefore, ultimately everything depended on his free choice, and hence in this sense the Logos did not depend on anything else but retained his sovereign divine freedom and control. 4.5. Concrete Nature Three-Part Christology and Communicatio Idiomatum On DPM, Christ had two main parts, one of which was (i) the divine nature; the other was the human nature (the concrete human nature consisted of [ii] the human body and [iii] the human soul distinct from the divine nature. Therefore, DPM is a three-part Christology, as explained in Section 4.2. As will be demonstrated below, such a part Christology has the advantage of being able to handle the problematic issue of the communicatio idiomatum. The doctrine of the communicatio idiomatum, or communication of attributes, concerns how apparently contradictory divine and human properties can be predicated of Christ (Crisp 2007, 5). From a very early date patristic As explained in Section 5.3.3, there is no complete dependence, for the Logos incarnate would not be completely unconsciousness under any circumstances. 36

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exegeses observed that the New Testament on one hand attributes divine glory to the man Jesus while on the other human imperfections to the divine Son of God (Pannenberg 1968, 296–7). Early church fathers such as Ignatius also used similar expressions, like ‘the blood of God’, ‘the suffering of my God’, ‘God was conceived by Mary’, etc. (Kelly 1977, 143). The Alexandrian theologians who advocated a ‘Word-flesh’ type of Christology thought primarily of the penetration of the human nature by the divine, while the Antiochene theologians who advocated a ‘Word-man’ type of Christology allowed only a communication of the attributes from both natures to the person common to them, but not to an exchange of attributes between the natures themselves (Grillmeier 1975, part 2, Sections 1 and 2).37 The controversy between these two lines of thought flared up when, against the practice of the Alexandrians, the Antiochene Nestorius did not want to designate Mary as mother of God but only as mother of Christ (Pannenberg 1968, 298–9). It flared up again during the Reformation when Reformed theologians denied the Lutheran view that the human body of Christ possessed divine properties due to its assumption by the divine Logos, a view which justifies the Lutheran doctrine that Christ was bodily present in the Eucharist (Ford and Higton 2002, 230).38 Crisp helpfully distinguishes between different versions of the communicatio. Weak communicatio idiomatum is the attribution of the properties of each of the natures to the person of Christ at the same time, yet without transference of properties between the natures and without confusing or commingling the two natures or the generation of a tertium quid (Crisp 2007, 7–8). This would be the position of the Antiochene and Reformed theologians. The Alexandrian and Lutheran theologians also affirm that there is an attribution of the properties of each of the natures to the person of Christ at the same time (the Lutherans call this Genus Idiomaticum). The proof texts that Lutherans cite include Rom. 1:3, which says that the Lord Jesus was Kelly describes the ‘Word-flesh’ Christology as viewing the incarnation as the union of the Word with human flesh, which makes no allowance for (or at any rate a refusal to take practical account of ) a human soul in Christ, and the ‘Word-man’ type as the idea that the Word united himself with a complete humanity, including a soul as well as a body. These two types have been designated ‘Alexandrian’ and ‘Antiochene’ respectively, and although these labels are not always strictly accurate they have a certain practical convenience (Kelly 1977, 281, 290). 38 The Lutherans cite John of Damascus, who proposes the doctrine of the ‘interpenetration’ of the two natures of Christ (De fide orthodoxa, 3.4, 3.7, 3.21). John suggests that the divine nature ‘imparts to the flesh its own peculiar glories, while abiding itself impassible and without participation in the affections of the flesh’ (Swinburne 1994, 209–10). 37

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made of the seed of David according to the flesh, and 1 Pet. 3:18, which says that Christ was put to death in the flesh (Pieper 1951, 129–238). However, Alexandrian and Lutheran theologians want to affirm something more than this. Some Alexandrians and Lutherans make statements that seem to suggest an unqualified strong communicatio idiomatum, i.e. that there was a real transference of properties between the two natures (Kelly 1977, 312; Crisp 2007, 8–9). The problem with taking this unqualified version seriously is that, if all the properties of the two natures were shared together bi-directionally, this would entail nonsensical consequences such as the divine nature was simultaneously eternal and not eternal, the human nature was not eternal but also eternal, etc. (Crisp 2007, 11–14). Lutheran scholastic theologians have therefore held a qualified (moderate) strong communicatio idiomatum, which maintains that some (e.g. omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence) but not all of the divine attributes were transferred from the divine to the human nature, and that there was no transference from the human to the divine (the Lutherans call this Genus Maiestaticum) (Crisp 2007, 14–17). The transference of omnipresence, however, seems problematic: how is this possible without implying the physical extension of the human nature throughout the universe? Pieper observes that Lutherans distinguish in Christ’s human nature the following modes of subsistence. According to the first mode, Christ’s body occupied space (e.g. the body was in the manger, in the temple, etc.) (Pieper 1951, 176). The second mode (called illocal presence) understands that a thing is in a place but not subjected to the conditions of materiality. According to this mode, the angels and spirits are in places (e.g. in houses, occupying a body, etc.). Also, by this mode the resurrected Jesus was able to vanish out of sight and enter the room when the doors were shut, as the Gospels portray (Luke 24:31, John 20:19). Lutherans also argue that this was true of Jesus’ body even before the resurrection, citing as evidence the Gospels’ portrayal that Jesus vanished out of sight of his enemies (Luke 4:30, John 8:59) (177–9). According to the third mode (called divine or repletive mode of subsistence), something is simultaneously and entirely in all places and fills all places, and still is gauged by no place, or encompassed by no place. Such a mode of presence is attributed of God (e.g. Jer. 23:24). Lutherans taught that only according to this mode does the human nature of Christ share divine omnipresence. They cite as evidences Scriptural passages such as Eph. 4:10, which they interpret as Christ’s human nature filling all things (180–82). The Lutherans’ motivation for proposing that Christ’s human nature shared omnipresence is that this helps them to explain how Christ can be ‘in, with,

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and under’ the bread and wine of the Lord’s Supper, such that these conveyed Christ to the recipients (McGrath and Marks 2004, 11).39 Anything beyond the weak version of the communicatio is denied by the Antiochene and Reformed theologians. It should be noted that passages which are cited by Lutherans as proof texts do not quite prove their case,40 while asserting that the human nature of Christ sharing in the repletive mode of subsistence seems to destroy it.41 On the other hand, the Antiochene and Reformed solution seems to end up dividing Christ into two persons. Pannenberg describes the dilemma of the Reformed-Lutheran dialectic as follows: The Reformed polemic was right in objecting that the Lutheran doctrine of the communication of divine attributes of majesty to Jesus’ human nature called the authenticity of his humanity into question. However, if the consequences of the mutual interpenetration of the natures were not drawn to include the communication of the divine attributes of majesty to Jesus’ human nature, one would be left with a juxtaposition of the two natures as a merely superficial linking up without ultimate unity. (Pannenberg 1968, 301–2)

On DPM, the integrity of the human and divine natures can be preserved while maintaining the unity of the person. To begin, Richard Cross (2008b) observes that a helpful way of addressing the question ‘how could a person possess the contradictory properties of divinity and humanity’ is to think of the contradictory properties as being exemplified by Christ in two different respects: in respect of his divine nature, and in respect of his human nature. A straightforward way by which this strategy can be made to work is to understand the two natures – divine and human – as concrete parts of the incarnate divine person. An analogy is helpful here: there is nothing contradictory in the thought that a lollipop is both red and not-red – not-red in respect of its stick, and red in respect of its edible top. In this instance, the stick and the edible top are two Pieper calls the sacramental presence of Christ in the Lord’s Supper the fourth mode of presence (Pieper 1951, 182). 40 Hoehner comments well when he argues that in its context Eph. 4:10 says that the object of Christ’s ascension was to allow him to enter into a sovereign relationship with the whole world and in that position he has the right to bestow gifts as he wills, so that Christ might fill the universe with the benefits of the work on the Cross and the message of his love by the messengers on whom he has bestowed the gifts (see Eph. 4:7–8, 11). Hoehner therefore denies that this passage refers to the Lutheran doctrine of the ubiquity of Christ’s body (Hoehner 2002, 537–8). 41 Calvin comments that the Lutherans ‘deprive [Christ] of his flesh’ (Calvin, Inst. 4.17.32). 39

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concrete parts of the lollipop (Cross 2008b, 177–8).42 The lollipop analogy illustrates that the same thing (the lollipop) can at the same time have different parts (edible top and stick), each of which exemplifies contradictory properties (red and not-red). Likewise, the same Christ can at the same time have different parts (concrete divine nature and concrete human nature), each of which exemplifies contradictory properties (e.g. non-physicality and physicality). For Christ to exemplify a property (e.g. physicality) in respect of a particular nature (e.g. human nature) is for Christ to have a concrete part (e.g. his concrete human nature, which includes his human body) which exemplifies that property. In this case, the property does not spread to the whole person, but only belongs to a part of the person, just as the property of redness does not spread to the whole lollipop, but only belongs to a part of the lollipop (its edible top). To think of the contradictory properties as being exemplified by Christ in two different respects would not be to deny that Christ was the one subject and propertybearer of all the properties of the complete divine and human natures. On the contrary, just as the lollipop has the properties of redness and non-redness in different respects, and properties of each of these respects are its properties, similarly Christ had the properties of divinity and humanity in two different respects, and the properties of each of these respects were his properties. Concerning parts Christology, it is useful to consider Boethius’ argument that the statement that a thing consists of two parts has two meanings: (i) The two parts are confounded, whether by one nature changing into the other or by both mingling with each other such that the two disappear (e.g. honey and water). (ii) The two parts continue without changing into each other, ‘as when we say that a crown is composed of gold and gems. Here neither is the gold converted into gems nor is the gem turned into gold, but both continue without surrendering their proper form.’ Boethius attributes (i) to Eutyches, while (ii) is the view Boethius affirms (Boethius, Against Eutyches and Nestorius, VII; translation taken from Ford and Higton 2002, 133–4). 42 Cross differentiates ‘in respect of ’ from ‘in virtue of (such-and-such a property)’ which he observes is the old ‘reduplication’ of the scholastics, and which tells us merely why it is that a predicate is ascribed to its subject. Cross argues that appealing to reduplication does not entail that there is a sense in which either property fails to be simpliciter a property of the substance. This would lead to unqualified Christological assertions such as ‘both, Christ is passible, and not the case that Christ is passible’, which is a blatant contradiction.

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DPM agrees with Boethius on this point. DPM affirms that the incarnate Logos was made up of two main concrete parts, one of which (consisting of the aspect of the conscious which had human properties, the human preconscious and the body) exemplified human essence, while the other (consisting of the divine preconscious and the aspect of the conscious having access to the divine preconscious) exemplified divine essence. With this parts Christology, it would be possible to show that the contradictory properties can be attributed coherently to the same person, as per weak communication idiomatum. For example, the person Jesus was not omnipresent in respect of his human nature (his conscious, human preconscious and body), but he was omnipresent in respect of his divine nature (his divine preconscious) (see Section 5.4). His human nature could exist alongside the omnipresence which the person had. But that does not imply that his human nature had the property of omnipresence. Therefore there was no confusion of natures. Similarly, Jesus was partly material in respect of his human nature (his body), but immaterial in respect of his divine nature (the conscious’ access to the divine preconscious, and the divine preconscious).43Also, Jesus was corruptible and mortal in respect of his human nature (his body, the vital functions of which would cease at death; see further, Section 5.3.3), but he was incorruptible and immortal in respect of his divine nature (the conscious’ access to the divine preconscious, and the divine preconscious). Additionally, it can be affirmed that Jesus was created, existed contingently, and had a beginning in respect of his human nature (since his conscious, human preconscious, and body were created by God at the point of Incarnation), but he existed necessarily from eternity in respect of his divine nature.44And so on (see summary in Chapter 7). Hence, according to DPM, there was attribution of properties with respect to two different parts, but there was only one personal subject. There was attribution of experiences to one personal subject (since only persons can have experience; natures in their Senor raises the objection that on a compositional account of the Incarnation God the Son would be partly material, which goes against the traditional view that the Second Person of the Trinity is immaterial (Senor 2007, 58). However, on DPM it is not the case that the Second Person of the Trinity was partly material simpliciter; rather the Second Person of the Trinity was partly material in respect of his human nature (his body) which he had assumed, but remained immaterial in respect of his divine nature. 44 This responds to the objection, raised in Vallicella (2002) and by Wiles in his exchange with McCabe in McCabe (1987), that since Jesus was numerically identical with the Logos who existed necessarily from eternity, he would not be truly human as it is essential to human persons that they exist contingently, have a beginning in time, and are essentially human. 43

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own right cannot; see Section 4.6.2.), but these experiences were experienced through the divine or human natures.45 Because of the oneness of the person, it is legitimate to make statements such as ‘Mary was theotokos’,46 ‘the blood of God’, ‘the Son of God was crucified’, etc. However, these statements should be understood as the person who was the Son of God had such properties and/or experiences through his human nature (i.e. ‘Mary was the woman in whose womb began the existence of the human nature of the person who had a divine nature’;47 the blood of the human nature of the person who had divine nature; the person who was the Son of God was crucified through his human nature, etc.). Since the person who was crucified in his human nature was the same person who possessed a divine nature, his sacrifice on the Cross was sufficient for the atonement of all mankind. 4.6. Addressing the Difficulties Concerning Concrete Parts Christology 4.6.1. Linkage between Concrete Parts: Immaterialist, Materialist and Substance Dualist Accounts of Incarnation But what links the concrete divine and human natures together to form one person? In recent years, a number of theologians and philosophers of religion have argued that considerations based on the doctrine of the Incarnation provide good reasons for thinking that a Christian ought to reject substance dualism, the view that the mind is a non-physical entity distinct from the physical body. For example, in a recent article Marc Hight and Joshua Bohannon (2010) argue that an immaterialist ontology – a metaphysic that denies the existence of material substance – is more consonant with Christian dogma, in particular the doctrine of the Incarnation of Christ. They note that there is a distinct problem raised by the supposition that Christ in his human nature had Cf. Cyril’s attribution of all the human experiences to the divine Son as their one and only personal subject, in reaction to the Antiochene ascription of the human experiences of Christ to the human nature treated as a distinct subject of attribution (Price 2005, I, 64– 5, citing Cyril’s Twelve Anathemas which he appended to his Third Letter to Nestorius of November 430). 46 Hodge argues that Mary as theotokos is justified, for the Scripture itself often designates the person of Christ from the divine nature when the predicate is true only of the human nature. He notes, however, that this form of expression is generally offensive to Protestant ears due to its abuse (Hodge 1872, II, 393). 47 Cf. Chalcedon’s statement ‘from the Virgin Mary the Theotokos in respect of the manhood’. 45

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a material body while in his divine aspect was wholly immaterial. They discuss various possible solutions, such as Eleonore Stump’s reduplicative strategy, and offer several objections to these solutions. Utilizing the philosophy of the famous eighteenth-century Irish immaterialist George Berkeley, they argue that an immaterialist reading of the Incarnation avoids the problem. They state that the goal of their paper ‘is to make plausible the claim that, from the analysis of this one example, there are strong reasons for thinking that if one wants to be a Christian one ought to be an immaterialist’. In another article, materialist Trenton Merricks (2007) argues that a mind-dualist understanding cannot provide an adequate account of the way in which only the body of Jesus belongs to the Logos. He proposes a model which denies that humans have souls, and claims that at the Incarnation the Logos becomes a purely physical body. Here, I shall argue that immaterialist and materialist objections to a substance dualist account of the Incarnation are not compelling. The problem with Hight and Bohannon’s proposal is that it is insufficiently motivated. While their appeal for a theologically and philosophically coherent account of the Incarnation is commendable, I do not think that such an account requires immaterialism. Consider first their objections to the reduplicative strategy. They note that Stump invokes scholastic ontologies which use the concepts of prime matter and substantial form, and that she argues that incompatible attributes could be ‘segregated’ from one another by virtue of the fact that they inhere in different natures. They object that the coherence of the reduplicative strategy depends (at least in the case of Stump) on one’s acceptance of a Thomistic view of metaphysics and composition, especially the concepts of substantial form and materia prima, which are mostly alien to audiences today (Hight and Bohannon 2010, 126). An immediate reaction is that their immaterialist metaphysics, according to which ‘the commonsense objects we perceive (e.g., chairs, tables, and stones) are in fact collections of well-ordered sensory ideas’ (Hight and Bohannon 2010, 129), is also mostly alien to audiences today. More substantially, it has been explained previously that one could think of contradictory properties (e.g. immateriality, materiality) as being exemplified by Christ in two different respects (in respect of his divine nature and in respect of his human nature) in a relatively straightforward way, by understanding the two natures as distinct and concrete parts of the incarnate divine person, and that one can make use of analogies based on familiar objects such as a lollipop without invoking the obscure Aquinian view of metaphysics and composition. Hight and Bohannon object that the admission that one of the natures of the Son had a material component engenders the difficulty that it would imply that a part of God was or included an inactive substance, contrary to the orthodox

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understanding of God as an eminently active agent. They also ask, ‘If Christ the Son had a body and bodies are material, then how can the Son be one with God the Father, an immaterial being?’ (127, 141). In reply, it can be argued that the person of the Son had a material component but he had it in respect of his human nature, not in respect of his divine nature. Thus, it is not the case that the material component was a part of God; rather, it was a part of man, which in turn was a part distinct from the Son’s divine part (cf. the lollipop, where the stick and the top are distinct parts) which was united with God the Father. It might be asked, ‘If the Son’s divine part was united with God the Father as well as the Holy Spirit, and the Son’s divine part was united with the human part, then does this not entail that God the Father and the Holy Spirit were also united with the human part, hence entailing the Incarnation of all three divine persons?’ (Cross 2008b, 190). Likewise, Muslim apologist Abu ‘Isa objects that that the limitations resulting from the Incarnation which affect one of the hypostases of the eternal would also apply to the other two hypostases because of their congruence in being one substance (Thomas 2002, 127). One might also ask: if the Holy Spirit has the very same divine nature as the Logos, does the Holy Spirit also have access to the divine preconscious? To the issue Cross raises, he replies that it can be supposed that (sans the Incarnation) each person is a sphere of consciousness of one divine substance. On this view, the substance is not a part of the person; rather, a part of the substance constitutes a person (Cross 2008a, 461). With this insight, it can be postulated that, at the Incarnation, part of the divine substance became a concrete part of Christ, and this part exemplified all the essential divine properties; thus this part would constitute a complete divine nature of Christ. Since only a part of the divine substance was involved, this would not entail the Incarnation of all three divine persons. The ‘part of the divine substance’ that became a concrete part of Christ is different from the part of the divine substance that constituted the Holy Spirit; this part also exemplified all the essential divine properties. The Holy Spirit does not have access to the Logos’ divine preconscious in the same sense as the incarnate Logos, because preconscious is defined as mental contents that are not currently in consciousness but are accessible to consciousness by directing attention to them. Unlike the incarnate Logos, the Holy Spirit is always consciously aware of all truths, and thus there is no ‘directing of attention’. Hence, the divine preconscious of the Logos does not belong to the Holy Spirit. For the relationship between the persons of the Trinity, one can then affirm what Crisp labels as the Weak Person-Perichoresis Thesis: the persons of the Trinity share all their properties in a common divine essence, apart from those properties which serve to individuate each person of the Trinity or express a

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relation between only two persons of the Trinity (Crisp 2007, 31–2).48 Using this, DPM can affirm that the property of being united to the human part, and the properties which resulted from this union (e.g. the property of having a material body, the property of having a limited conscious awareness; see Section 5.2), were some of the properties which belonged only to the Logos. Such properties were not shared by other divine persons, while other properties – including those which are essential to the divine nature such as omniscience, omnipotence, omnipresence, etc. – were shared. Hight and Bohannon also mention the familiar mind–body problem. They write: ‘There is a long tradition going back before Descartes that seriously questions our ability to understand how these components of human nature are related. How is an immaterial mind related to a material body within human nature?’ They go on to assert that we simply do not understand that relation, ‘which is precisely why Christians seriously ought to consider immaterialism’ (Hight and Bohannon 2010, 127, 144). Our lack of understanding of a relation, however, is not a good reason to reject the existence of the relation. As Koons and Bealer point out, physics itself admits lawful relationships among physical entities that are extraordinarily diverse in nature and, in turn, admits relations of causal influence and law-grounded explanation among these entities. Physics allows, moreover, that some of these lawful relationships are brute facts having no further explanations. Likewise, the relationship between mind and body could well be a brute fact having no further explanation (Koons and Bealer 2010, xviii). Finally, Hight and Bohannon (2010, 124) argue that ‘even if one accepted that an immaterial substance could have a material nature, then one must motivate the claim that such a being is nonetheless a unity’. The problem that Hight and Bohannon mention here is one which besets the projects of a number of Christologists. Crisp (2007), for example, has suggested that the two natures of Christ somehow interpenetrate to form one person, yet without confusion or commingling of natures; this is the doctrine of perichoresis, which Crisp qualifies as nature-perichoresis to distinguish it from person-perichoresis which concerns the Trinity (1–3). Crisp proposes that nature-perichoresis involves an asymmetrical relation between the two natures. The divine nature penetrates his human nature without involving the transfer of properties from the divine to the human nature, but the human nature does not penetrate the divine nature. Crisp suggests that, just as the divine nature might Crisp notes that on this version of person-perichoresis the interpenetration of each of the persons of the Trinity by others is limited, but he argues that this is required to avoid jeopardizing the individuation of the persons of the Trinity. 48

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be said to interpenetrate the whole of creation, sustaining it and upholding it at each moment of its continued existence, so also the divine nature of Christ interpenetrates the human nature, upholding and sustaining it in existence. While this implies that these two instances of divine interpenetration are qualitatively the same (19–20), there is nevertheless a significant degree of difference. God could act upon other human beings in the way he acts upon Christ, but Christ’s consciousness of the penetrative presence of God would appear to have been significantly greater than most human beings, and this was also shown by God’s enablement of him to do miracles (25). However, the degree to which a human nature has to be penetrated by the divine nature so as to make them one person would seem to be arbitrary on Crisp’s view. Some theologians and philosophers have gone the opposite direction from Hight and Bohannon by embracing a materialist (rather than immaterialist) model of the Incarnation in order to account for the unity of the person. For example, Trenton Merricks proposes a model which denies that humans have souls, and claims that at the Incarnation the Logos becomes a purely physical body. Merricks argues that a mind-dualist understanding cannot provide an adequate account of the way in which only the body of Jesus belongs to the Logos. He notes that dualists typically assert that the union of soul and body is partly constituted by the soul’s having direct control over the body, and by the body influencing the soul. Merricks objects that this is inadequate, arguing that other divine persons (the Father and the Spirit), being omnipotent, also have direct control over each and every body, and they also could be influenced by these bodies in virtue of having direct and immediate knowledge of everything in and around every body, and having the ability to have their experiences. But surely it does not follow that each person of the Trinity has each and every body. The dualist might reply that while the Father and the Spirit have direct control of each human body, they do not exercise such control. This reply, however, would make embodiment a matter of a soul’s exercising control over a body, which implies that whenever one is not intending bodily actions, one is not embodied. But this cannot be right, for one’s failing to intend bodily action does not render one totally disembodied (Merricks 2007). Nevertheless, the problem with a physicalist account of the Incarnation is that, if the Logos becomes a purely physical entity at the Incarnation, then it would seem to be metaphysically impossible for him to possess divine properties such as having the knowledge of all truths, having the power of omnipotence, etc. as there seems to be a metaphysical limit as to how much information and power a physical body can hold (Sturch 1991, 26). Such a limitation would entail Ontological Kenoticism, according to which the Logos gave up certain

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divine properties. But, as shown in Section 3.2, Ontological Kenoticism is highly problematic. By affirming that the preconscious had divine properties, DPM would require substance dualism, as it would require that the divine preconscious is immaterial. A substance dualist can reply that a physicalist account of the Incarnation is insufficiently motivated. To begin, it should be noted that John 1:14 does not imply that the Word became a purely material entity. First, σὰρξ (usually translated as ‘flesh’) does not necessarily imply a purely physical entity; rather, as in the preceding verse (v.13), σὰρξ represents human nature as distinct from God (Barrett 1978, 164); σὰρξ stands for the whole man (Brown 1966, I, 13), and it is (at least) arguable that for the biblical authors the whole man is a dualistic (and not purely materialistic) entity (Cooper 2001, 2009; cf. Green 2008). Second, as the eminent New Testament scholar C.K. Barrett observes, it is difficult to determine precisely the meaning of ἐγένετο, the word which is often translated as ‘became’. Barrett suggests that ἐγένετο is used in the same sense as in v.6: the Word came on the (human) scene – as flesh, man (Barrett 1978, 165). This is consistent with the traditional view which assumed that ‘became’ ought to be interpreted as ‘manifested in’, ‘present in’, or ‘took on’ flesh (cf. John 4:2 – ‘Christ has come in the flesh’; see also 2 John 7, 1 Tim. 3:16) (Muller 1983, 35) rather than ‘turned into’ flesh. In addition, it is significant to note that a number of eminent philosophers have recently announced ‘the waning of materialism’, arguing that issues such as the mind–body problem (which immaterialists such as Hight and Bohannon also raise) are insufficient justification for rejecting various forms of anti-materialism such as property dualism and substance dualism.49 Merricks himself observes that, given theism (with its non-physical, miracle-working creator God), the objection to dualism that a non-physical entity cannot causally influence the physical ought to be judged uncompelling (Merricks 2007, 284).50 But what about the specific problem which Merricks (as well as Hight and Bohannon) mentions? Is it really the case that the unity of the incarnate It is beyond the scope of this chapter to discuss this issue. For a recent account, see Koons and Bealer (2010, xviii–xix) and the chapters that follow. For further defences of substance dualism against physicalism, see also Moreland (2009), Jedwab (2008, ch.9), Plantinga (2007); cf. Murphy (2006) and Corcoran (2006). For the argument that the authors of Scriptures presuppose (without arguing theoretically for) a dualistic position, see Cooper (2001, 2009); cf. Green (2008). Cooper also points out that this position does not necessarily entail the sundering of the unity of human life, a sundering which would result in evils such as the neglect of the material dimensions of human existence. For a philosophical theological critique of Christian materialism, see Taliaferro and Goetz (2008). 50 For arguments for theism and against naturalism, see Craig and Moreland (2009). 49

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Christ cannot be accounted for if we assume dualism? Not so. It has been noted previously that DPM proposes that at the Incarnation the conscious of the Logos acquired newly created human properties. It can be postulated that the human properties would also include a certain extent of the consciousness’ ability to function during his embodied stage being made dependent on a particular brain (e.g. if certain parts of the brain were sick or injured, then certain aspects of Jesus’ conscious would not be able to function efficiently).51 This dependence would account for the particular brain and body being his. Such dependence was not the case for God the Father and the Holy Spirit, and therefore it is not the case that the Father and Spirit were incarnated. Furthermore, as noted previously, one aspect of the conscious (i.e. the conscious access to the divine preconscious) was part of the divine nature and the other aspect of the conscious was part of the human nature. Therefore, the conscious would serve as that which linked the two parts (human and divine natures) together to form one person. Would the linkage of both natures by the conscious lead to a confusion of natures resulting in a tertium quid? No, for while there was one individual essence which served to designate the unique individual who was Jesus Christ (Moreland and Craig 2003, 606), as noted previously under the discussion on communicatio idiomatum the divine properties and human properties were in respect of distinct parts according to DPM. As will be explained further in Chapter 5, divine properties such as omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence were possessed by the Logos in the part exemplifying the divine essence (i.e. the divine preconscious and the conscious’ access to the divine preconscious). These properties did not exist in the part exemplifying the human essence; unlike Luther, DPM does not assert that the human nature of Christ shared in the divine mode of subsistence. On the other hand, human properties such as the physicality of the body and capacity to experience physical pain belonged to the part exemplifying human essence, and not to the part exemplifying divine essence. Hence, each nature remained intact; there is no generation of a tertium quid. 4.6.2. Addressing a Paradox against Composite Christology In an interesting article in Religious Studies, Robin Le Poidevin (2009) discusses a paradox against a composite Christology. Le Poidevin does not define Although he would not completely cease to be conscious, and hence could always choose to revert to his pre-incarnate state and use his omnipotent power if he chose to. In this way, he retained his omnipotence. See Section 5.3.3. 51

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‘divine nature’ as a divine concrete particular; rather, he uses ‘divine nature’ to refer to the divine part of Christ (178). Thus, his paradox is directed against composite Christology broadly rather than concrete-composite Christology specifically.52 In any case, postulating the ‘divine part’ to be ‘divine concrete particular’ is consistent with the paradox. (As noted in the previous section, DPM postulates that the ‘divine concrete particular’ of Christ refers to a part of the divine substance which is different from the part of the divine substance that constituted the Holy Spirit and the part of the divine substance that constituted the Father; thus there is no Incarnation of all three divine persons.) Le Poidevin formulates the paradox as follows: (a) The pre-incarnate divine nature=the incarnate divine nature. (b) The pre-incarnate divine nature=the Second Person of the Trinity. (c) The Second Person of the Trinity=Christ. From (a), (b) and transitivity: (d) The Second Person of the Trinity=the incarnate divine nature. From (c), (d) and transitivity: (e) Christ=the incarnate divine nature. But (e) is false, as the divine nature is only part of Christ (Le Poidevin 2009, 178). A similar problem has been raised by Thomas Senor (2007) and Thomas Flint (2011), the latter pointing out that the problem is adapted from the wellknown ‘paradox of increase’. A lucid account of this paradox has been given recently by Eric Olson (2006). Suppose that an entity A acquires B as a part, and let C=that which, together with B, made up A after B had become a part of A. The paradox is as follows: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

A acquires B as a part. When A acquires B as a part, A comes to be composed of B and C. C does not acquire B as a part. C exists before B is attached. C coincides mereologically with A before B is attached. No two things can coincide mereologically at the same time. C=A (from 5 and 6). A does not acquire B as a part (from 3 and 7, contrary to the original assumption).

In what follows, I will argue that proponents of concrete-composite Christology can retain the orthodox understanding of Christ by denying premise (b) – i.e. Le Poidevin made this clear to me in private correspondence.

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by denying that the pre-incarnate divine nature=the Second Person of the Trinity – and that this denial can be made by modifying a hylomorphic theory of individuals. To begin, what are Le Poidevin’s reasons for thinking that the pre-incarnate divine nature=the Second Person of the Trinity? He writes: ‘For if the divine nature that becomes incarnate is not the Second Person of the Trinity, then, against orthodoxy, it is not the Son who becomes incarnate. It would also raise difficulties for the Trinity, since it implies four persons, or three persons plus one nature, in one godhead’ (Le Poidevin 2009, 179). In reply, let us assume that Le Poidevin understands ‘becomes incarnate’ as ‘conjoins with a human nature’. The proponent of the concrete-composite account can affirm that the divine nature and the Second Person of the Trinity (the Son) become incarnate (the latter conjoins with the human nature and assumes it as one of his parts; the former does not assume it as one of its parts), but maintain that they are different things.53 One would ask, ‘but how can they be different things?’ An analogy from material coinciding objects would help us see how this can be the case. The typical case is that of a lump of clay and a statue (e.g. David) which the sculptor sculpts the clay into. As Wasserman explains, pursuing the familiar Aristotelian idea that material objects are compounds of matter and form – where forms are conceived of as abstract entities of some sort (e.g. ‘guiding principles’ or ‘universal properties’) – one could say that David and Lump differ because David, but not Lump, has the form Statue as a non-material part. Thus, material coinciding objects can share all of their proper material parts but differ in some non-material aspect.54 Of course, the Son and the divine nature are not material objects. Nevertheless, one can postulate an analogous account for immaterial entities similar to the hylomorphic theory described in Richard Swinburne’s The Christian God. As Swinburne explains, ‘On this theory, individuals are the individuals they are in virtue of the stuff (hyle) of which they are made, and the form or nature or essence (morphe) imposed upon it.’ Swinburne notes that on an Aristotelian view, forms are universals and ordinary physical matter is the only stuff of which individuals which have this-ness are made; but Swinburne suggests that the hylomorphic theory can be applied to an immaterial individual by understanding it in a This move is briefly considered by Le Poidevin (2009, 180). This is discussed in Wasserman (2009). Wasserman’s worry concerning this view is that it gives up the popular idea that things like statues and lumps of clay are wholly material objects. However, this worry is not applicable for immaterial entities like divine nature and divine person, and it is not applicable to a substance dualist view of Christ (see below). 53 54

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more liberal way than the normal Aristotelian way. Thus, one can postulate a different kind of stuff from physical matter (call this different kind of stuff ‘soulstuff ’) or a different kind of form from universals, such as individual essences (‘Maybe there is an essence not just of humanity or being a philosopher, but of Socrates’) (Swinburne 1994, 46–7).55 Therefore, it can be postulated that the ultimate reality of a being which does individuate is a particular restriction on the specific form, and that restriction is the ‘individual essence’. It is the union of the individual essence with stuff that brings into being particular individuals. In the case of Socrates, the essence of Socrates is a particular restriction on the form of humanity – it is a particular way of being human – and its union with stuff gives rise to Socrates. Granting the possibility that the human soul can exist apart from the body, that existence would consist in the instantiation of the form in immaterial soul-stuff (47–9).56 Swinburne eventually concludes that it would be better to say that the hylomorphic theory does not apply to souls, for the reason that ‘A hylemorphic [i.e. hylomorphic] theory has its natural application to inanimate material objects … If we extend it to souls we have to postulate a soul-stuff, whose existence we have no reason to postulate other than to preserve the hylemorphic theory’ (Swinburne 1994, 50). However, in what follows it will be argued that there is an independent reason for postulating the existence of soul-stuff and extending the modified hylomorphic theory to immaterial entities; and the independent reason is that it provides a helpful account of not only how the paradox against a concrete-composite Christology can be solved, but also in general how persons can increase (or decrease) in size. Adapting the hylomorphic account, it can be postulated that, prior to the Incarnation, the divine concrete particular and the Son are i) coincident but ii) differ in some other immaterial aspect. i) The divine concrete particular and the Son are coincident in the sense that they share their ‘type A’ immaterial properties (e.g. aseity, eternity, immateriality) Individual essence is also called haecceity, a term introduced by Duns Scotus for that in virtue of which an individual is the individual that it is: its individuating essence making it this object or person (‘Haecceity’, in Blackburn 2008). 56 Swinburne attributes the view on the ultimate reality of being to Duns Scotus, although he observes that it is disputable that Scotus held a hylomorphic theory. It should also be noted that Swinburne’s idea of instantiation of the form in immaterial soul-stuff assumes substance dualism, but certain versions of hylomorphic theory deny this and affirm that the form just is the soul. There is disagreement among scholars concerning whether Aristotle affirmed or denied substance dualism; see the discussion and literature cited in Robinson (2009). 55

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and that together they exemplify ‘type B’ immaterial properties, type B properties being those that require a conscious agent (omnipotence, omniscience etc.). For the distinction between their sharing of type A immaterial properties and their exemplification of type B immaterial properties together, consider the material analogy of Lump and Statue: Lump and Statue share their weight property by virtue of sharing parts, but Lump is beautiful only by virtue of being informed by Statue.57As explained above, following the terminology of Swinburne’s modified account, I am talking about particular instantiations, not ‘form’ as universals; the statue is a particular instantiation which gives the quality of beauty to the lump. Similarly, type A properties are properties that are shared by the Son and the divine concrete particular by virtue of their sharing parts, whereas type B properties are properties that are only had by the divine concrete particular by virtue of its having the instantiated form of the Son. (After the Incarnation, type B properties would be properties that are only had by the divine concrete particular by virtue of its having part of the instantiated form of the Son; the reason why ‘part of’ is inserted is because at the Incarnation the Son acquired an additional part, i.e. the concrete human nature.) The reason for making the distinction between type A and type B properties is this: concerning type A properties, the divine concrete particular has these properties by virtue of its parts; thus it exemplifies these properties in its own right. Now properties such as omnipotence, omniscience, goodness, etc. require a conscious agent. If the divine concrete particular exemplifies the property of a conscious agent in its own right, then this would result in two conscious agents (the divine concrete particular alongside the Son), which is problematic.58 Therefore, properties such as omnipotence, omniscience, goodness, etc. should not be type A properties, which the divine concrete particular exemplifies in its own right. Rather, they should be type B properties, which the divine concrete particular does not exemplify in its own right, but only by virtue of its having the instantiated form of the Son. On the other hand, the Son simpliciter does not exemplify the type B properties apart from the divine concrete particular (this, in addition to the fact that the divine concrete particular and the Son share their type A properties, explains why the divine concrete particular is divine).59 Rather, the Son with the divine concrete particular exemplifies these type B properties. I thank an anonymous referee for Religious Studies for suggesting this analogy. I thank Le Poidevin for pointing this out to me in private correspondence. 59 In answer to Thomas Flint, who asks with respect to the strategy of utilizing the notion of coincidence to escape the paradox, ‘It’s much harder to understand how the Son could be, in a world where no Incarnation occurs, coincident with a concrete substance … 57 58

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ii) The difference in some other immaterial aspect between the divine concrete particular and the Son is that the Son essentially has the form ‘person’, which includes a particular restriction (the individual essence of the Son), but the divine concrete particular does not by itself have this. This explains why the divine concrete particular is not equivalent to a person.60 This is analogous to saying that the difference in some immaterial aspect between the lump of clay and a statue (e.g. David) is that David, but not Lump, essentially has the form Statue as a non-material part. The ‘individual essence of the Son’ is what grounds the identity of the person pre- and post-Incarnation. Concerning the issue of personal identity through time, there are three main approaches that have been discussed in literature. The first is the somatic approach (the criterion of personal identity through time is the continuity of the same body through time), while the second is the psychological approach – the criterion is the continuity of the mind (the most important element of which is memory) through time.61 The third is called the Simple view, and it has been defended by philosophers such as Thomas Reid, Bishop Butler, and Richard Swinburne. The Simple view affirms that there is always an absolute answer (i.e. either yes or no) to questions about personal identity over time (e.g. ‘Is this the same person?’). This is true of human persons as well, even though empirically the human person changes through time (e.g. having physical attributes that are different from what he had before). What this implies is that there is an enduring ‘I’ which remains the same through change and existing fully now (Swinburne 1984, 3–66; Moreland and Craig 2003, ch.14). In contrast to somatic and psychological views, the Simple view affirms that, although bodily continuity and psychological continuity are fallible evidence of personal identity, personal identity is not constituted by either or even both together (Evans 2002, 270). Many proponents of the Simple view would affirm that what grounds personal identity across time is something immaterial. Somatic and psychological views face great difficulties,62 and one is justified in agreeing with C. Stephen Evans that the Simple view is the strongest by far, and that its current lack of popularity among philosophers is explicable by materialistic prejudice (Evans 2002, 267–71). There are good reasons for distinct from himself. Is this substance … omniscient, omnipotent, and wholly good? If not, how could it qualify as a divine substance?’ (Flint 2011, 75). 60 In answer to Flint (see previous note), who asks ‘Is this substance supposed to be a person? If not, why not?’ (Flint 2011, 75). 61 See the discussion and the literature cited in Olson (2008). 62 It is beyond the scope of this book to discuss the difficulties and the attempted solutions. See Olson (2008).

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thinking, however, that this prejudice is insufficiently motivated (Koons and Bealer 2010, xviii–xix). By proposing that the immaterial ‘individual essence of the Son’ is what grounds the identity of the person pre- and post-Incarnation, the modified hylomorphic account affirms the Simple view. What this modified hylomorphic account implies is that a person (the instantiated ‘form’) can grow bigger or smaller by acquiring or losing parts (e.g. by acquiring a human nature at the Incarnation), but remain numerically the same person because the immaterial individual essence (a particular ‘restriction’ of the instantiated ‘form’) endures through time. Thus, the pre-Incarnate Son and post-Incarnate Christ are numerically the same in virtue of the continuity of the individual essence of the Son. This answers Michael Goulder’s challenge to Incarnationalists, viz. ‘Unless some continuity between the Word and Jesus is being asserted, their doctrine is not a paradox but a mystification, not an apparent contradiction but apparent nonsense’ (Goulder 1979b, 54).With this modified hylomorphic account, we are also in a position to answer William Vallicella’s objection. Vallicella argues that, since God the Son cannot incarnate himself in himself but incarnate himself in another, this implies that the agent and the locus of the Incarnation cannot be identical. Since Jesus is the locus of the Incarnation, God the Son and Jesus cannot be identical (Vallicella 2002, 91). The reply that the modified hylomorphic account would give to this objection is that, since in virtue of the continuity of the individual essence of the person a person at time t1 can possess an additional part at t2 and still remain numerically the same person, God the Son and Jesus are numerically identical because Jesus was simply God the Son incarnating himself by possessing an additional part – i.e. a human nature. We shall now return to an earlier mentioned difficulty which Le Poidevin raises, viz. ‘if the divine nature is not the Second Person of the Trinity, then it implies four persons, or three persons plus one nature, in one godhead’. With the modified hylomorphic theory, it can be replied to Le Poidevin that the postulation that the divine concrete particular does not by itself and apart from the instantiated form of the Son have the ‘individual essence of the Son’ would account for the fact that there are not four persons in one Godhead. Furthermore, since the Son and the divine nature share some divine properties and have other divine properties together, there are not ‘three persons plus one nature in one godhead’, for otherwise we would have ‘double counting’.63 This is adapted from the discussion with respect to material coincident objects in Wasserman (2009): ‘Suppose that Lump weighs 10lbs; David will then weigh 10lbs. as well. 63

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In his account of the paradox of increase, Olson gives some arguments for rejecting the strategy of utilizing the notion of coincidence to escape the paradox. He argues that ‘coincidentalists’ cannot give a satisfactory account of why A but not C can gain parts, and, with respect to persons, why a person is conscious whereas whatever coinciding with him/her is not (if it were, there would be two conscious beings) (Olson 2006, 10–11).The modified hylomorphic account can give an answer: the Son having the individual essence (but the divine concrete particular does not) would account for the fact that, while the two entities (the Son and the divine concrete particular) share many properties together, there are also properties which they do not share together. For example, the Son having the individual essence accounts for why the conjoining of human nature makes the human nature a part of the Son but not a part of the divine concrete particular. The Son having the individual essence also accounts for why the Son is conscious and intelligent, whereas the divine concrete particular coinciding with him is not conscious and intelligent in its own right, but only by virtue of its having the form of the Son. Olson objects further with respect to coincident objects A and C as follows: he considers a proposed solution to the paradox of increase, a solution which postulates that A can acquire new parts because it is an organism or a person or a thing of some other ‘mereologically inconstant’ kind, whereas C cannot change its parts because it is a ‘mass of matter’ or a ‘mereological sum’ or the like. He writes: But this is little help. Suppose we ask what it is about A that makes it an organism rather than a mass of matter, and what it is about C that makes it a mass of matter and not an organism. Ordinarily we expect there to be physical differences between organisms and non-organisms. We think we can tell whether something is an organism by examining it. But there is no such difference between A and C. (Olson 2006, 10–11)

However, Olson’s objection does not work, for one can hold the Simple view of identity described in the third section, according to which A has an immaterial essence of an organism which C does not have, and this makes A an organism and C a mass of matter which (although not an organism) is coincident with an organism. I would argue that there is no physical difference between an So why don’t you get a reading of 20lbs. when you place both on the scale? Answer: because the two objects share the same weight as a result of sharing the same parts. Just as calculating the weight of something by summing the weights of all its parts (e.g. weigh the bricks and the molecules of a wall) will get the wrong result (since some parts will be weighed more than once), weighing David and Lump would involve the same kind of double-counting.’

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organism and the non-organism it is coincident with, but there is physical difference between a ‘non-organism that is coincident with an organism’ and a ‘non-organism that is not coincident with an organism’, and that this physical difference can be examined. In summary, the modified hylomorphic theory provides an illuminating account of how a person can gain (or lose) parts over time but remain numerically identical. Additionally, with this theory it can be shown that concrete nature and person are not the same thing. Hence, the paradox against concrete-composite Christology can be solved. In the next chapter, I shall address the problems concerning omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence.

Chapter 5

Addressing the Problems Concerning Omniscience, Omnipotence and Omnipresence

5.1. Introduction We now return to the problems spelt out earlier in Chapter 2 concerning divine omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence, and assess whether these problems can be resolved with the Divine Preconscious Model (DPM). 5.2. Divine Omniscience and the Incarnation 5.2.1. Understanding Divine Omniscience In Section 2.2, an argument was formulated against the Incarnation as follows: 1. For any person P, it cannot be the case that P is omniscient and P’s knowledge is limited at the same time. 2. Jesus’ knowledge was limited. 3. Being divine entails being omniscient. 4. Therefore, it cannot be the case that Jesus was divine. I shall argue that a proper understanding of divine omniscience together with DPM will resolve the problem as follows: 1’ It could be the case that a person P1 is omniscient in respect of one nature and P1’s knowledge is limited in respect of another nature at the same time.

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2’ It could be the case that Jesus’ knowledge was limited in respect of his human nature, but unlimited in respect of his divine nature.1 4’ It could be the case that Jesus was divine and that his knowledge was limited in respect of his human nature at the same time. There has been much philosophical discussion concerning the concept of omniscience – e.g. whether the extent of omniscience includes things that are supposedly knowable only by acquaintance, whether it includes knowledge of future Libertarian free actions (if such actions exist), etc. – and it is beyond the scope of this chapter to address these issues.2 The following qualification concerning knowledge and divine omniscience, however, is important for our purposes here. The qualification is that, for any person P to possess knowledge of y it is not required that his knowledge of y be consciously held; i.e. it is not required that his knowledge of y be occurrent rather than dispositional. Philosopher Robert Audi explains the distinction between occurrent and dispositional beliefs as follows: What is dispositionally as opposed to occurrently believed is analogous to what is in a computer’s memory but not on its screen: the former needs only be brought to the screen by scrolling a simple retrieval process in order to be used, whereas the latter is before one’s eyes. Compare a dispositionally believed proposition’s needing to be ‘called in’, as in answering a request to be reminded of what one said last week, with an occurrently believed proposition’s being focally in mind, roughly in the sense that one attends to it, as where one has just formulated it to offer as one’s thesis. (Audi 1994, 420)

Thus, for example, a person might have knowledge of calculus at time t, even though at t he might not be consciously thinking about calculus. Note that it is not the case that this person is merely able to know calculus at t; rather, he actually knows calculus at t without being consciously aware of it at t. This knowledge of calculus can be said to be in his preconscious: when he chooses to direct his attention to it, i.e. when he chooses to consciously think about calculus, he can be aware of it. Furthermore, a person might have dispositional 1 It is noteworthy that a long and serious theological tradition (including Augustine, Maximus, John Damascene, Anselm, Aquinas, etc.) felt that it was only right to attribute to Jesus omniscience from the very beginning of the Incarnation (Balthasar 1992, 173–4, 191–2), and DPM belongs to this tradition. 2 See Wierenga (2010) and the sources cited there. Concerning knowledge by acquaintance, see also Nagasawa (2008, 59–64, 71n.21).

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knowledge of y, which for certain reason R he is unwilling to direct his attention to. For example, R could be that consciously thinking about y (e.g. y = ‘my dog died yesterday’) would bring him sad memories. Since having knowledge of y does not require a constant conscious awareness of y, it can be argued that the knowledge of all things by a divine person does not require his constant conscious awareness of all things. It could be the case that a divine person (say, the Logos) chooses to let part of his knowledge be held in his preconscious. Note that the suggestion here is not that the Logos is merely able to know all things: as Eleonore Stump points out, ‘omniscience is not a matter of being able to know everything … it is a matter of actually knowing everything there is to know’ (Stump 2003, 417). Rather, the suggestion is that, just as a person actually knows calculus at t without being consciously aware of it at t, it could be the case that the Logos actually knows all things at t without being consciously aware of all things at t. What this suggestion implies is that the property of eternally having a complete conscious perspective of everything all at once is not essential to divinity.3 Against this, it might be objected that DPM contradicts the Scriptures, for Heb. 4:13 seems to imply that God is always consciously aware of everything.4 In reply, Heb. 4:13 can be interpreted as saying that all things do always lie open to a divine person in the sense that there is no entity x which has the power to resist the divine person being consciously aware of everything about x if he wants to. This does not imply that the divine person must always be consciously aware of everything such that he cannot choose not to be consciously aware of something. It might also be objected that DPM contradicts the view of Augustine and Aquinas, who claim that a divine person sees all things that are in his knowledge together at once.5 In reply, the question that needs to be asked is whether there is any good reason to think that the property of eternally having a complete conscious perspective of everything all at once is essential to divinity. One might answer affirmatively based on a strong notion of divine immutability and divine atemporality: if a divine person does not change at all, then he does not direct his attention from one thing to another. It is true that DPM is inconsistent with this notion, but this is not a problem for DPM unless the defender of this notion can justify its acceptance (see Section 4.4.3). One might also object to DPM by claiming that a mind which is conscious of only a part of all reality at a time is inferior to one which is conscious of all at once, because being conscious of only This view has also been defended by others (e.g. Yandell 1994; Feinberg 2001, 317–18; Cullison 2006). 4 I thank Richard Sturch for raising this objection in private correspondence. 5 Augustine, De Trinitate, XV, 14; Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 14, 7. 3

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a part of reality at a time would miss the ‘big picture’ about reality and result in error, and it would also result in being able to be in control of only a part of reality at a time. In response, if a divine person chooses to limit the extent of his conscious awareness of all things, it does not follow that his knowledge would be incomplete or that he would possess false beliefs. This is because the knowledge of all things would still be in his mind, just not in his consciousness, and there is no good reason why he could not ensure in virtue of his omnipotence that his limited consciousness contains only true beliefs and no erroneous belief. Neither does it follow that his control of all things would be limited if he chooses to limit his conscious awareness. This is because the divine person could exercise control of all things through his preconscious without requiring that his mind be consciously aware of all things. At the point of his Incarnation, the Logos could have ‘programmed’ his preconscious according to his infallible omniscience what actions the preconscious would activate in any situation throughout the universe during those moments when his consciousness was limited, such that his preconscious functioned as an infallible ‘autopilot’. Hence, the Logos could still take care of everything and hold the universe together (Col. 1:17) throughout every moment of his incarnated state, according to his foreordained plan (see further, Section 5.3.3). It might also be objected that on the dispositionally omniscient view there will be some things that a divine person is not aware of at time t, but which are things that must be before his mind at t in order for him to act as he should, e.g. to answer a prayer.6 In reply, the Logos could have programmed his preconscious before he became dispositionally omniscient, such that those things that should be in his conscious awareness at t would be there during that time.7 One might complain that a limited conscious awareness ‘does not seem a rich enough picture of what a full divine consciousness would entail’ (Fatigati 2012, 11). However, it can be argued that the rich experience of unlimited conscious awareness is not essential to divinity; rather, the ability to have such an experience would be good enough, and that on DPM the incarnate Logos retained this ability (see Section 5.3). The giving up of such an experience can be understood as an act of sacrificial love that is done for our sake, which is in line with God’s sovereign plan and exemplified his perfect goodness and love (see Section 4.4.3). Thus this view does not diminish the Son’s divinity, and it is in line with the Scripture that ‘though he [Christ] was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich’ (2 Cor. 8:9; ‘became poor’ can be understood in experiential terms rather than as the giving

6 7

This objection is noted (but not endorsed) in Yandell (1994, 41). Similarly in Yandell (1994, 41).

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up of omniscience, omnipotence etc. which – contrary to Standard Ontological Kenoticists – are arguably essential divine properties; see Sections 3.2 and 6.2). It might be objected that to claim that God limits his conscious awareness would violate the doctrine of divine infinity, which affirms that God is unlimited and that any quality that would entail a limitation is to be denied of him.8 In reply, God’s un-limitation should only be predicated of properties the possession of which would account for his greatness (Feinberg 2001, 244), and it has been argued above that conscious awareness of all truths is not one of them. Hence, there is no indefeasible reason to think that it is essential to divinity that the divine knowledge be contained in the conscious awareness of the divine mind, such that a divine person cannot freely choose to let part of his knowledge be held in a preconscious part of his mind if he so desires. In the absence of such reasons, the view that a divine person can freely choose to let part of that knowledge be held in the preconscious if he so desires would be consistent with his omnipotence. Furthermore, while a divine person’s mental faculties can be thought of as having the ability to be instantaneous in their operations,9 there is no good reason to think that he cannot freely choose to decrease the rate of his mental operations if he so desires. To illustrate, imagine a world-famous mathematician with two daughters, one eight years old and the other three years old. It is evident that he can hold more mathematical formulas in his occurrent knowledge and that his mind can calculate at a faster rate than both of his daughters.10 Out of love for his three-year-old daughter, he tries to teach her 2+2=4. In order to help her understand better, he tries to think like a three-year-old as he teaches. At that moment, he empties his consciousness of those complicated mathematical formulas as he tries to infer from principles to conclusions like a three-year-old, and his mind works slowly alongside hers as he teaches her 2+2=4. Does this imply that, when the mathematician was voluntarily thinking like a three-yearold his knowledge was inferior to his eight-year-old daughter’s? Surely not, for the mathematician still possesses greater knowledge as well as the capacity for For divine infinity, see Rogers (2000, 11). Hoffman and Rosenkrantz (2002, 117). According to the view that I am developing here, the exercise of such operation to bring some truths into awareness would imply that at the moment of exercise not all of God’s knowledge is occurrent. This operation could either involve the recalling of truths or by infallible deduction and inference from knowledge that is occurrent at the time of operation. 10 Compare with Calvin’s idea of accommodation, in which God condescends himself in the act of divine revelation to the human level of understanding, so that humans can know about God and respond to him (see Helm 2004, 184–208). 8 9

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faster mental operation even when he is consciously thinking like a three-yearold. Likewise, it is not the case that the mathematician’s knowledge becomes inferior to that of his daughter’s when he is asleep while she is awake. What this shows is that the quality of a person’s knowledge and mental capabilities at any time t is not necessarily related to his occurrent knowledge and the rate of mental operation at t, but rather to the content of his knowledge as well as his capacity for mental operation at t. 5.2.2. DPM and Divine Omniscience Having clarified how divine omniscience is to be understood, it will now be shown that (premise 2’) it could be the case that Jesus’ knowledge was limited in respect of his human nature, but unlimited in respect of his divine nature. According to DPM, Jesus was omniscient in his incarnated state in respect of his divine preconscious, in that he had the ability to utilize the perfect knowledge which he possessed in part A of his preconscious, which was subdivided into part A1 and part A2. Part A1 was the part of his preconscious which for certain reasons R he was unwilling (but not unable) to direct his attention to. According to the Scriptures, R would be his desire to experience what humans have been experiencing (Heb. 2:14–17, Rom. 8:3), including their experiences of limitation in their conscious awareness of truths.11 With respect to the apparent ignorance of the day of the coming of the Son of Man (Mark 13:32), it should be noted that the Greek word οἶδεν – which is translated as ‘know’ in this passage and also in the parallel passage in Matt. 24:36 – means ‘to have realized, perceived, to know’. It is often used in the New Testament in a general way, e.g. to know a person, to be able to understand/ apprehend/recognize (TDNT vol.5, 116–19). Therefore, in view of its semantic range, in these passages οἶδεν can be legitimately rendered as ‘aware’. Thus, Mark 13:32 can be read as ‘But of that day or hour no one is aware, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but the Father alone.’ This reading fits the context perfectly: the disciples would be hoping that the Son would reveal to them the day, but no one can reveal what he/she is not aware of. This reading would also fit with DPM’s postulation that, in his incarnate state, the Logos restrained himself from using the omniscience: i.e. he prevented himself from bringing his knowledge of all things which he possessed in his preconscious It is not the case, as Brown suggests, that Jesus deliberately manifested limitations in order not to confuse or astound his hearers (Brown 1994, 58). For the issue of pretension, see Section 6.2. 11

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(including the knowledge of the day of the coming of the Son of Man) into conscious awareness, so as to share in our conscious experiences of having limited awareness of truths and also to grow in wisdom (Luke 2:40, 52; see below). One might object that my interpretation would also be consistent with the idea that all the angels also know the day, but they are not aware of the day.12 In reply, this is true; but there is no independent reason to think that any angel knows the day, while there is independent reason (based on the understanding of omniscience as an essential divine property) for thinking that the divine Son knows the day. For our purposes here, it is important to note that such unawareness of the Son can coexist with omniscience in the same person because, as noted previously, omniscience does not require a constant unlimited conscious awareness of all truths known (for a list of other theologians and philosophers who have argued similarly, see Section 3.4.1). Likewise, if the prayer in Gethsemane is interpreted as indicating that Jesus had limited awareness of true beliefs (see Section 2.2), this interpretation would not entail that Jesus was not omniscient. It might be asked, ‘Did the Son know something of which he was not aware (not even when asked about it)’? If being asked did not bring the item to awareness, how could it be that he knew it?’ In reply, the Son knew the item in the sense that he could bring the item into awareness when he was being asked. However, he chose not to do so. Now it is the case that ordinary human beings often cannot control the process whereby dispositional knowledge becomes occurrent knowledge. For example, if we were to be asked ‘who the first president of the United States was’, very often the proposition ‘George Washington was the first president of the United States’ ‘automatically’ becomes occurrent knowledge; that process is often beyond our control. In Jesus’ case, he could have exercised his omnipotence (in respect of his divine nature) to prevent dispositional knowledge from ‘automatically’ becoming occurrent (Cullison 2006, 157–8). Such prevention would not result in Jesus ceasing to be truly human, for even though the general inability to control the process whereby dispositional knowledge becomes occurrent knowledge is common to human nature, there is no adequate reason to think that this inability is essential to the human nature. On the contrary, it seems theoretically possible that psychological techniques could be developed in the future such that this inability could be overcome by someone learning these techniques; but surely then he/she would not thereby be regarded as not truly human. This theoretical possibility is thus a good reason for thinking that this inability is not essential to human nature. Exercising his omnipotence (in respect of his divine nature) to prevent his dispositional I thank Joseph Jedwab for raising this objection.

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knowledge from ‘automatically’ becoming occurrent does not imply that Jesus could not access this dispositional knowledge if he chose to. On the contrary, if Jesus chose to find out about all that he believed, he would become aware of all true beliefs by accessing the whole of his divine preconscious. But he freely chose not to find out, in accordance with the divine plan to experience our limitations. Nevertheless, there was another part of his divine preconscious (part A2) which he was willing to access; this part of his preconscious would account for the moments of supernatural insights that characterized his life as portrayed by the Gospels (e.g. Mark 14:12–16, Luke 22:7–13). As for the growth of Jesus’ wisdom (Luke 2:40, 52), the model suggests that he grew in wisdom by assimilating knowledge into his human conscious and part B of his preconscious (part B of his preconscious being the human preconscious which he was willing to direct his attention to). Even though he had knowledge of all truths in part A of his preconscious, he chose to assimilate knowledge into his conscious and part B of his preconscious by normal human means, so as to be like humans in the way they grow in wisdom and in the way they recall and access information that they possess in their preconscious. Thus, when he was an infant, he did not have conscious awareness of the skills of carpentry, but he had to learn them as humans do. This also explains how Jesus could be taught by God the Father as portrayed by the Scriptures (e.g. John 8:28). One might object that the idea of the divine Christ acquiring knowledge would contradict the Scriptural passages which say that no one can teach God knowledge ( Job 21:22; Isa. 40:14). It might also be objected that for Christ to learn anything whatsoever from other human beings would not befit his dignity as the head of the church, and as the one who came to bring the doctrine of truth to all men (Aquinas, ST III, Q.12 art.3).13 In response, the point of Scriptural passages such as Job 21:22 and Isa. 40:14 is to affirm that divine knowledge is complete such that no one can add to it. This is consistent with DPM, for the knowledge in part A of Jesus’ preconscious was indeed complete, and no one could have added to this knowledge. While it Discussed (but not endorsed) in Galot (1981, 344–6). Aquinas therefore concluded that Jesus acquired knowledge by personal experience, through his contact not with men but with the works of God in the world. Galot observes that medieval Scholasticism developed a doctrine of Christ‘s threefold knowledge. Cf. ST III, Q.9–13): (i) the knowledge enjoyed by the blessed in heaven; (ii) a supernaturally infused knowledge; (iii) acquired knowledge (noted above). Galot notes that there is no basis in the Scriptures for the claim that Jesus enjoyed the beatific vision, and that it is not possible to deduce the necessity of the beatific vision from the hypostatic union: ‘For if a divine person becomes incarnate in order to live an earthly life like all other men, it is not evident why this mortal life should possess a perfection that belongs to human life in its eternal condition’ (Galot 1981, 354–5). 13

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is true that having knowledge in the divine preconscious would allow the Logos to be reminded of things, being reminded of something which one has chosen to store away in preconscious is not adding to the extent of one’s knowledge in that preconscious. Rather, what being reminded implies is the adding to the extent of one’s conscious awareness, and it has been shown previously that a limited conscious awareness (which can be added to) is not contrary to divinity. In short, passages such as Job 21:22 and Isa. 40:14 can be taken to imply the essential completeness of divine knowledge, but not necessarily the essential completeness of divine conscious awareness. It should also be noted that the learning process which Jesus underwent did not add anything to the extent of this knowledge. Rather, it is a process which involved his human conscious and human preconscious part B, i.e. his human (and not divine) nature. It should be noted that, in the context of God’s will for humans, such a learning process does not indicate an imperfection in his human nature. As Galot argues: There is in fact no imperfection involved when a child or an adult learns something from others. To the contrary, a man must know how to learn from others as a member of a society in which there is a mutual teaching-learning relationship. Before assuming his role as Teacher, Christ was a member of the community of men and accepted the conditions of this membership. (Galot 1981, 351)

It should be emphasized that, unlike mere humans who necessarily need to learn in order to acquire knowledge, the case of the Logos-incarnate was different – he voluntarily chose to subject himself such that he could learn like a child, so as to set an example for humans to follow. Hence, his dignity as head of the church and as the bringer of truth to all men is not diminished, but rather enhanced. It might be objected that as an infant the rate of Jesus’ mental operation would have been slower than that of a normal adult; but this seems to imply that a divine person had a mental operation that is inferior to that of humans, and that is unacceptable. In reply, as the scenario involving the world-famous mathematician shows, there is no good reason to think that a divine person cannot freely choose to decrease the rate of his mental operations if he so desires while still retaining the capacity to be the fastest possible thinker, and that the quality of a person’s knowledge and mental capabilities at any time t is related to the content of his knowledge as well as his capacity for mental operation at t. It has also been objected that someone who proceeds from principles to conclusions would not be omniscient at the outset (Wierenga 1989, 37–8). In response, this is not necessarily true, for in the case of Jesus he could have

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already possessed omniscience in his preconscious at the onset. Nevertheless, he chose not to access this knowledge, but rather to proceed from principles to conclusions so as to learn and think like a child. Would such a learning process result in Jesus’ having false beliefs? As observed in Section 2.2, there is no adequate evidence in the New Testament to show that Jesus had false beliefs. It has been argued that one would expect a human consciousness to contain false beliefs (Bayne 2001, 136–8), for experiences involving trial and error are characteristic features of the gradual growth of human understanding (Brown 1985, 259). In reply, one can make a distinction between common and essential properties discussed in Section 4.3, and argue that possessing false beliefs and committing errors are common but not essential to the human nature. If God should arrange the circumstances such that a human person H does not possess false belief or commit error, this would not imply that H has ceased to be human. Furthermore, it is not the case that the learning process would necessarily result in false beliefs. As Swinburne argues: A divine individual could certainly acquire a human body in the sense of a body through which he acts on the world and acquires beliefs about it … He would also, through his sense-organs, acquire some inclinations to hold false beliefs caused by illusion or misinformation striking the ears of his human body. But these inclinations would be overborne by his strongly held true beliefs, which were his through his divine omniscience. (Swinburne 1994, 194)

According to DPM, as noted earlier there was another part of his divine preconscious (part A2) which the Logos was willing to access. It could be that this part of the preconscious also exerts influence on the conscious, and that it includes beliefs that would prevent false beliefs from entering his belief system. For example, it could be the case that this part of his preconscious includes the belief that the Earth rotates around the Sun, such that Jesus would not falsely believe that the Sun rotates around the Earth, even if his parents might have taught him so.14 Thus, Jesus’ divine preconscious could have ensured that Jesus did not suffer from faulty reasoning, memory lapse, false beliefs as a result of being taught incorrectly, etc., such that only true conclusions were reached when Jesus engaged in learning processes. Finally, the sceptic might press further with his objection by arguing that it is highly plausible that God’s knowledge includes matters which human beings In this case, this part of his preconscious would also include the belief that it was a divine purpose not to reveal the truth about the earth’s rotation to humankind at that time. 14

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are intrinsically incapable of having conscious awareness of. If so, these matters would be unconscious rather than preconscious for Jesus, and he would not be omnipotent after all. In response, the defender of DPM affirms that the Second Person could direct his attention to these matters if he chose to, only if he were to do so his conscious would cease to be human. Since he could direct his attention to these matters, these matters would be in the preconscious and not in the unconscious. Ceasing to be human is not a metaphysical problem for him, since the possession of a human nature was not essential to him; rather, the possession of a human nature was the result of his free choice. In conclusion, according to DPM it is not the case that Jesus’ knowledge was limited simpliciter, for he possessed divine omniscience in respect of his divine nature, in virtue of his consciousness having access to his divine preconscious throughout every moment of the Incarnation. In virtue of his omnipotence, however, he was able to compartmentalize and govern the use of this knowledge in such a way that he was able to share in our conscious experiences of having limited awareness of truths, and to have a human preconscious which was limited in its knowledge of truths. Therefore, in this way his knowledge was limited in respect of his human nature, but unlimited in respect of his divine nature. 5.3. Divine Omnipotence and the Incarnation 5.3.1. Understanding Divine Omnipotence In Section 2.3, an argument was formulated as follows: 1. For any person P, it cannot be the case that P is all-powerful and has limited power at the same time. 2. Jesus had limited power. 3. Being divine entails being all-powerful. 4. Therefore, it cannot be the case that Jesus was divine. In this section, it will be argued that a proper understanding of divine omnipotence, together with DPM, will resolve the problem as follows: 1’ It could be the case that a person P1 is all-powerful in respect of one nature and P1 has limited power in respect of another nature at the same time. 2’ It could be the case that Jesus had limited power in respect of his human nature, but was all-powerful in respect of his divine nature.

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4’ It could be the case that Jesus was divine and his power was limited in respect of his human nature at the same time. There has been much philosophical discussion concerning the concept of omnipotence, and it is beyond the scope of this monograph to address these issues.15 The following qualifications concerning omnipotence, however, are important for our purposes here. First, omnipotence does not imply that a maximally powerful being can bring about any state of affairs (including necessary and impossible states of affairs), a view known as ‘Universal Possibilism’ (Hoffman and Rosenkrantz 2006).16 The problem with Universal Possibilism is that its proponent is not affirming anything that God is supposedly able to actualize. To see this, one could ask the Universal Possibilist what he is trying to affirm when he makes the statement ‘God can make it true that x is a shapeless cube.’ In particular, the Universal Possibilist should be asked to explain the words ‘shapeless cube’. It turns out that he is not affirming anything that God is supposedly able to bring about. He will not be able to say what is that which God is supposedly able to actualize, since he will not be able to explain what a ‘shapeless cube’ is. This does not mean that ‘x is a shapeless cube’ is gibberish, for (unlike gibberish) this phrase is syntactically well formed (cf. Geach 1973, 7–20), and the individual words ‘shapeless’ and ‘cube’ have meanings of their own. Nevertheless, using the adjective ‘shapeless’ for ‘cube’ simply cancels each other out, so that it is like writing something and then immediately erasing it (Morris 1991, 67). Morris puts it well when he writes: ‘Logically impossible tasks are not just particularly esoteric and unusually difficult tasks – when you have attempted to describe an act or task and end up with an expression of a logical impossibility, you end up with nothing that can even be a candidate for power ascriptions’ (Morris 1991, 66–7). Second, omnipotence does not require a conscious exercising of the ability. Furthermore, it does not require the ability to be continuously exercised in all the acts that the person performs (Brink 1999, 155; Yandell 1994, 42). Just as a weightlifter can freely choose not to use his powerful muscles to lift up a 5 kg See Flint and Freddoso (1983), Wierenga (1989), Wielenberg (2000), Hoffman and Rosenkrantz (2006), Leftow (2008), Loke (2010). 16 ‘Universal Possibilism’ is famously argued by Descartes, and it continues to have appeal to believers of a more fideistic inclination (Brink 1993, 95; 1999, 148–9). Brink notes that Descartes’ treatment of this is scattered over some eight letters which Descartes wrote to various persons and his Replies to Two Sets of Objections against his Meditations. See also ‘Meditations 1’ from his Meditations on First Philosophy. For philosophers who have defended a similar view recently, see Goldstick (1990) and Conee (1991). 15

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bag in his hands while simultaneously lifting up a 30 kg weight that is tied to his right leg, a divine person can freely choose not to use his divine power to perform certain acts, while simultaneously using it to perform other acts. For example, he can choose not to use his divine power to enable him to walk from Judea to a town in Samaria effortlessly (cf. John 4:3–6), while simultaneously using it in holding the universe together effortlessly. Such a self-imposed restriction of the use of his power in his walk to Samaria does not imply that he has ceased to be omnipotent. 5.3.2. DPM and Divine Omnipotence Hence, with respect to the argument formulated against the Incarnation in Section 2.3, DPM affirms that Jesus was omnipotent in respect of his divine nature, and he utilized his omnipotence in holding all things together (Col. 1:17). As noted previously, the definition of omnipotence does not require a conscious exercising of the ability. The act of holding all things together could be performed by Jesus’ divine preconscious without him being consciously aware of all things (this is explained more fully in Section 5.3.3). Furthermore, as noted previously, having omnipotence does not imply that Jesus could not have freely chosen not to utilize that ability in doing other acts while still retaining his omnipotence. Thus, by freely refraining from utilizing his omnipotence when he carried out certain activities, such as walking to a town in Samaria ( John 4:3–6) and on the way to crucifixion (Luke 23:26), he did these activities by the finite strength of his human body, and thus he could become wearied and fail to carry the cross. One might object by arguing that, necessarily, if a divine person tries to do A, he does A. He cannot try and fail. Therefore, it could not have been the case that God (incarnate) tried to carry his cross but failed and Simon of Cyrene was called in to carry it for him.17 In response, one can qualify the premise that, necessarily, if a divine person tries to do A, he does A. It is true that, necessarily, if a divine person tries to do A by his divine power, he does A. But a divine person could have two sets of power by becoming incarnate: the first set of power which was his divine power (held in his divine preconscious); and the second set of power which was the power inherent in the nerves and muscles of the human body, the energy of which could run out. If he refrained from using the first set of power and instead utilized the second set to carry out certain heavy work, (e.g. lifting up a cross), he could fail to accomplish it and would experience fatigue. It might also be objected that Isa. 40:28, which says that God does not become I thank Jedwab for bringing to my attention this line of objection.

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weary or tired, contradicts the idea that God incarnate could become weary and tired ( John 4:3–6). In response, the point of Isa. 40:28 is that God’s strength is unlimited and his wisdom is unfathomable; and the next verse says that, far from becoming diminished himself, God has an excess of energy to give to those who lack it (Oswalt 1998, 70–73). Hence, this passage can be interpreted as affirming that a divine person does not run out of energy in respect of his divine nature. This, however, does not imply an inability to withhold the use of his divine power (and hence experiencing fatigue); neither does it imply that he could not run out of energy (i.e. become wearied) in respect of his human nature after the Incarnation. To address the worry that a person who is omnipotent at every moment could not be regarded as truly human, it can be postulated that the divine powers of the Logos were possessed by him in his divine preconscious, and that his divine preconscious was not a part of his human nature, but was a part of his divine nature, and that the divine nature and human nature were concrete and distinct parts of Christ, as noted in Chapter 4. Jesus had access to his omnipotence, but that access was in respect of his divine nature, not his human nature. The concrete divine and human natures were distinct from each other; hence there was no confusion of natures, and no attribution of omnipotence to his humanity. In summary, even though Jesus had the ability to accomplish all activities without any difficulty in respect of his divine nature, he chose not to use this ability. His human nature could become wearied, and his consciousness, which according to DPM could be affected by his physical body, could share in the human experiences of fatigue.18 By freely refraining from utilizing his omnipotence when he did many mighty acts and choosing to do these in dependence on God the Father and the Holy Spirit, Jesus set an example for believers to likewise rely on the power of God for their ministries.

Based on his conclusion that there is no passive potency in God, Aquinas (Summa Contra Gentiles, Book 2, ch.25) argues further that God cannot be weary or forgetful (since weariness results from a defect of power, and forgetfulness from defect of knowledge, God having no passive potency and thus cannot change and cannot possibly be subject to either); cannot move, cannot change, cannot fail, cannot be overcome or suffer violence (for these are found only in something having a movable nature); and can neither repent nor be angry or sorrowful (because all these things bespeak passion and defect). In response, it has been pointed out that it is not obvious that the thesis that God is pure Act with no passive potency is true, except on the supposition that God is essentially timeless (Sturch 1991, 175–6), a supposition which has been challenged (see Section 4.4.3). 18

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5.3.3. Divine Omnipotence and Jesus’ Conscious Awareness It might be objected that, since according to DPM Jesus had no awareness of the existence of many kinds of things, e.g. of such things as computers, he could not have consciously chosen to actualize states of affairs that would include the creation of such things. For example, Jesus could not have created computers, since he was not aware that there were such things. Therefore, Jesus would not be omnipotent. In response, it has been demonstrated previously that omnipotence does not entail the ability to do the impossible. Since it is impossible that any being could consciously choose to make something that he is not aware of, the inability of Jesus to consciously choose to create things that he was not aware of does not count against his omnipotence. This does not imply that Jesus could not have created computers, for Jesus could have chosen to access his divine preconscious and be aware of everything (including computers) and created them in an instant. Having the awareness of his ability to access his divine preconscious, he could have chosen to retrieve all the knowledge that he had whenever he wanted and actualize whatever possible states of affairs in an instant. Nevertheless, Jesus could not have consciously chosen to create computers if he had chosen to be unaware of the existence of computers, since given the antecedent such an act would be impossible; and this inability does not count against his omnipotence because the act in question is impossible. Another objection might be raised concerning the issue of omnipotence in relation to the conscious awareness of Jesus. In the New Testament, it is said that Jesus slept (e.g. Mark 4:38). The Scriptures, however, say that God will not slumber or sleep (Ps. 121:3–4). Here, William Temple’s objection to Kenoticism in the form of a rhetorical question ‘what was happening to the rest of the universe during the period of our Lord’s earthly life’ (Temple 1924, 142) applies to DPM as well, since DPM affirms that the conscious of Jesus was the conscious of the Logos. What was happening to the rest of the universe when the Logos was sleeping? In response, concerning Ps. 121:3–4, this passage can be interpreted as referring to YHWH (that ‘YHWH will not sleep’) rather than to any person with the divine nature (‘that any person who is divine will not sleep’). Furthermore, saying that YHWH will not sleep can be interpreted as a poetic way of expressing the idea that YHWH will always take care of his people. The limitation of the Logos’ conscious awareness during the Incarnation (whether asleep or not) according to DPM does not imply that YHWH was not taking care of his people. After all, God the Father and the Holy Spirit were still

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consciously in charge of everything, and in any case they were both not sleeping at any time. The Logos could choose to let other divine persons carry out the work of taking care of his people on his behalf (Evans 2002, 259). Alternatively, one can argue that the limitation of conscious awareness does not imply that the Logos’ control of all things would be limited, or that he would control things ‘blindly’. As noted in Section 4.1 under the discussion of subconscious, mental contents which exist outside of one’s awareness can include thoughts, desires, emotions, sensations, perceptions, and global connections to other mental states and to behaviour (Rosenthal 2009). Thus, it is plausible that the preconscious can have many operations which are largely independent of consciousness. Therefore, it could be the case that the Logos could exercise control of all things through his preconscious without requiring his mind to be consciously aware of all things. As noted earlier, at the point of his Incarnation, the Logos could have ‘programmed’ his preconscious according to his infallible omniscience what actions the preconscious would activate in any situation throughout the universe during those moments when his consciousness was limited, such that his preconscious functioned as an infallible ‘autopilot’ when Jesus was an embryo and when he slept. Again, it should be emphasized that, unlike mere humans who cannot avoid being unconscious at certain points of their lives, the case of the Logos-incarnate was different – he voluntarily chose to subject himself such that his conscious was limited to a certain extent when he was an embryo and that he required sleep. Nevertheless, in virtue of his divine preconscious (which could have functioned as an infallible ‘autopilot’) the Logos could still take care of everything and hold the universe together (Col. 1:17) throughout every moment of his incarnated state, according to his foreordained (not ‘blind’) plan. Therefore, there is no inconsistency with Ps. 121:3–4. One might complain that such an ‘autopilot’ mode would reduce the spontaneity of the divine Logos’ dealings with humans, for it makes it like talking to a machine on the telephone when humans approach him in prayer.19 But it could be the case that, when dealing with humans at a personal level is required, the divine preconscious would ‘automatically’ cause the Logos to have conscious awareness of the person’s prayer the moment he prayed, and the Logos could then either spontaneously choose to utilize the omnipotence in his preconscious part A2 to relate to the person, or ask the Father and the Holy Spirit to spontaneously minister to the person on his behalf. One might raise the worry that, if there were many of such instances of people praying to the Logos, the more the divine I thank Jedwab for pointing out an objection along this line, and for raising the worry below. 19

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preconscious would have ‘automatically’ caused the Logos to have conscious awareness of the person’s prayer, and the less Jesus would have a conscious mental life like that of a human in our present condition. In reply, it is unlikely that there would have been many such instances before Jesus’ resurrection. After all, few (if any) were truly convinced that Jesus was divine before his resurrection. As for post-resurrection, it is possible that the post-resurrection state of humans ( Jesus’ and ours) could include a vastly expanded conscious mental life (see further, Chapter 6), such that these instances would not result in a conscious life very different from that of post-resurrection humans. But did the Logos’ consciousness shut off completely when Jesus was asleep? Since DPM affirms that the Logos’ consciousness was to a certain extent made dependent on the nervous system (in particular, the brain) during his embodied stage – and this was what accounted for Jesus’ body being his (see Section 4.6) – the sceptic might argue that the fact that Jesus slept implies that Jesus’ consciousness was shut off for certain moments each day. Furthermore, assuming that the Incarnation took place in the womb of Mary and that the human body started off as an embryo without the nervous system, this implies that his consciousness would be temporarily ‘switched off ’ until the foetus developed the appropriate nervous system.20 The sceptic would point out that it is problematic, however, to assert that a divine person should totally cease to be consciously aware of everything, for if the Logos was not conscious at certain stages of the Incarnation (i.e. during embryonic stage and when in deep stages of sleep), then in those stages he would be unable to freely choose to do otherwise (e.g. he would be unable to choose to access or not to access his divine preconscious, or choose to regain consciousness or not to regain consciousness), and he would cease to be omnipotent. In reply to the problem, it is true that one cannot have freedom of choice when one is not conscious. Hence, for him to remain omnipotent, the Logos would have to maintain a conscious awareness of his ability to freely choose to access his divine preconscious at all stages of his Incarnation. Since the ability to access his divine preconscious would allow him to access all his abilities, he would remain omnipotent. Only then could it be affirmed that Christ was aware that he was omnipotent, but he did not use all of his omnipotence (cf. Yandell 1994, 36; Feenstra 1989, 136). Moreover, maintaining such a conscious awareness would also imply maintaining his awareness of the existence of his This was what I wrote in Loke (2009a, 56n.32). I now think that this point requires qualification by saying that the conscious was switched off (i.e. limited) in a certain sense but not completely, as explained below. 20

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divine preconscious. Now under normal circumstances a human person H does not have to be consciously aware that H has a preconscious which H can access in order to have the ability to access it, because H only has one preconscious and H is not choosing to restrict himself/herself from any region of his/her preconscious. When H chooses to access his/her preconscious, H ‘automatically’ accesses the only preconscious H has, with or without awareness of the existence of such preconscious. But in the case of the incarnate Logos, DPM postulates that his preconscious had two parts, one human and one divine. He could access the human part anytime, but he had chosen to restrict access to the divine part in accordance with the divine plan. In such a state, if he retained the ability to access this part of his preconscious, he would also have to be aware that access to divine properties in this part was forbidden by the divine plan, which implies he would have to be aware of the existence of a part of his mind which had divine properties, viz. his divine preconscious. But could it be that the Logos was not fully unconscious when Jesus was in Mary’s womb? Here it is useful to begin the discussion by considering Aquinas’ suggestion that, unlike other human beings, Christ could consciously use his free will in the first instant of his conception, such that he, the source of sanctification for others, was sanctified and obtained merit by reason of his own movement of the free will towards God from the first instant of his conception. According to Aquinas, the ability to consciously use his free will from the first instant was in virtue of his foetal body being fully formed at the moment of conception, and this was accomplished by the infinite power of the agent by whom Christ’s body was formed, viz. the Holy Spirit.21 Aquinas’ suggestion that Christ had a fully formed foetal body at the beginning of conception ran into the difficulty that, if it were the case, it seems that the gestation period would have been very different from that of a normal infant. But perhaps Aquinas’ account can be modified so that it will be sufficient for our purposes here. For example, it can be postulated that prior to the Incarnation the Logos decided that his awareness (i) of himself as divine, (ii) of his ability to freely choose to access his divine preconscious, and (iii) of the divine plan to restrict access to a certain part of the divine preconscious was something that he would not set aside from his conscious awareness at the Incarnation, and that such an awareness would be miraculously sustained in his mind throughout the Incarnation. Thus, his single conscious awareness could be ST IIIa, Q.33 art.1, Q.34 art.2 and 3. See Jones (2004, ch.9). Aquinas accepts the virginal conception of Christ, a doctrine which has been challenged by a number of theologians – e.g. Emil Brunner, Wolfhart Pannenberg – to which defenders of this doctrine have responded (see Crisp 2009a, ch.4; Quarles 2010). 21

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miraculously sustained in his mind throughout the Incarnation in this manner, such that he continually maintained the ability to choose whether or not to exercise the rest of his divine powers. His conscious awareness would still be dependent on the body (and this was what accounted for Jesus’ body being his) in the sense that his awareness of many other things would be developed only as the foetus developed the appropriate nervous system. Granted, a miraculous sustained self-consciousness would be very different from the prenatal conditions of other humans, in whom self-consciousness usually develops at an older stage (Koch 2009). However, it should be noted that the Incarnation, after all, was supposed to be a miraculous event; and there is no good reason why, if this event could occur, it cannot occur together with a miraculously sustained consciousness. One might object that Jesus would not be fully human if he had self-consciousness from the very beginning of his human existence. However, this objection can be responded to by making distinctions between common and essential properties, and between merely human and truly human (see Section 4.3), and by arguing that not having self-consciousness from the very beginning of existence is a common, but not an essential, human property, and that Jesus was truly but not merely human. But would not a Jesus who was born having such self-awareness be perceived by people in first-century Palestine to be a very different infant compared to others? Not necessarily. It could be the case that other cognitive skills – such as the ability to communicate in Hebrew, Aramaic or Greek, knowledge of how to feed and take care of himself etc. – were set aside from his conscious awareness such that these would have to be learned (see Section 5.1.2) as he grew up. It should also be noted that being always aware of himself as divine does not imply being always aware of other aspects of his identity such as his identity as the Messiah; nor does it imply an extensive conscious awareness of his mission, the Scripture or theology, or the conscious ability to articulate his awareness of himself as divine. DPM affirms that these other aspects and abilities would have to be learned as he grew up as well. Thus, Jesus would not appear to be very different from other infants: as Brown suggests, Jesus may have had an intuitive conscious awareness of aspects of his nature long before he could give adequate expression to them (Brown 1967, 93–4). His awareness of himself as the divine Son of God, however, was not learned; it was not a development from an initial awareness of himself as someone who was non-divine. As Galot argues; It is unrealistic to think he might, at the age of thirty, suddenly and completely reverse his earlier understanding of who he was. For there is a vast distance between the condition of a mere man and that of the Son of God. Such a psychological

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A Kryptic Model of the Incarnation about-face on his part would be difficult to accept … his psychological development could not have consisted in a transition from awareness of his human identity to the discovery of his divine identity. It had to be a gradual increase and deepening of his human consciousness that he was indeed the Son of God. (Galot 1981, 338)

It might be asked: would not such self-awareness entail that the infant Jesus’ experiences be very different from other infants, such that he would not be truly human? In response, it can be argued that having such awareness that he had all the divine properties at his disposal would only cause the infant Jesus to have experiences that are very different from those who are merely human. Hence, it can only at most be concluded that an infant who is merely human cannot possess such self-awareness. But Christians claim that Jesus was not merely human, even though he was truly human. Hence the objection fails. On the other hand, certain differences of experiences of God incarnate from those of other humans are only to be expected. As Morris (1986, 104) asks, ‘Can we know what it is like to be a God-man? Well, can we know what it is like to be a bat?’ While we can know to a certain extent his experiences as described by the Gospels (e.g. that he hungered, felt tired, was not aware of all truths, etc.), we should not expect all of his experiences to be fully like ours as we are merely human. We should therefore be wary of the danger that our inability to perceive what could have been possible in the case of Jesus is due to our lack of imagination. What about the Gospel narratives which say that Jesus slept? Electroencephalography (EEG) studies have shown that there are different stages of sleep. In the first stage, a person still maintains a certain degree of conscious awareness (Maquet 2009). It could be the case that when Jesus slept, a conscious awareness of the ability to access the divine preconscious was miraculously sustained in him such that he remained omnipotent (as explained above), while his awareness of other things – e.g. that there was a storm going on (Mark 4:38) – was decreased. Again, the postulation that Jesus did not experience fully all stages of sleep would not imply that he was not truly human. On the contrary, if medical advances could allow us to dispense with sleep altogether in the future, this would not imply that we would not be truly human then. There is no adequate reason to think that experiencing fully all stages of sleep is essential and not merely a common property of being human. Finally, it might be objected that, if the Logos’ conscious was dependent on the nervous system as DPM postulated, and that omnipotence requires that he maintains a conscious awareness of his ability to access his divine preconscious, does this not imply that if Jesus were to be knocked unconscious (e.g. by sickness, injury, or death) he would cease to be omnipotent? In reply, it could be the case

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that a metaphysical principle was set up during the Incarnation such that, if Jesus’ brain were to cease from being able to sustain consciousness, his consciousness would ‘float above’ his body and he would not be totally unconscious. In such a state, the body of Jesus would still be his, as Jesus’ consciousness would still be dependent on his body in the sense that, if the brain were to recover, it would ‘float back’ and resume its ‘normal’ state of dependence on the brain.22 5.4. Divine Omnipresence and the Incarnation 5.4.1. Understanding Divine Omnipresence In Section 2.4, an argument was formulated as follows: 1. For any person P, it cannot be the case that P is omnipresent and not omnipresent at the same time. 2. Jesus was not omnipresent. 3. Being divine entails being omnipresent. 4. Therefore, it cannot be the case that Jesus was divine. In what follows, it will be argued that the key to arriving at a satisfactory solution lies in the definition of omnipresence. An adequate definition together with DPM will resolve the problem as follows: 1’ It could be the case that a person P1 is omnipresent in respect of one nature and not omnipresent in respect of another nature at the same time. 2’ It could be the case that Jesus was not omnipresent in respect of his human nature, but was omnipresent in respect of his divine nature. 4’ It could be the case that Jesus was divine and he was not omnipresent in respect of his human nature at the same time. As noted in Section 3.4, Erickson (1991, 560–61) argues that theologians have generally understood omnipresence as a genuine presence with all objects 22 Cf. Merricks (2007, 288n.10): ‘whether one is embodied ought to be a matter of how things actually are, not a matter of how they would be, had things gone differently’. The reason I am giving here, i.e. ‘Jesus’ soul would float back’, is a matter of how things would be; but it is grounded in the state of how things actually are, i.e. a state of dependence such that Jesus’ soul would float back.

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rather than in terms of God’s knowledge and power. This is not accurate. While the term omnipresence conveys an idea of divine ubiquity, in Christianity this ubiquity is not, strictly speaking, defined (Lacoste 2005, II, 1153–5). Furthermore, there has been a strong theological tradition (especially in the medieval theologians following Aquinas) to understand omnipresence analogically as God being present at a place if and only if there is an object that is at that place and God has power over that object and knows what is going on in that object Wierenga (2009). A significant number of contemporary philosophers of religion have likewise followed this tradition. For example, Moreland and Craig (2003, 509–11) have argued that ‘It seems best to say that God literally exists spacelessly but is present at every point in space in the sense that He is cognizant of and causally active at every point in space.’23 Against this understanding, Erickson argues that there is a difference between David’s testimony in Ps. 139:7–12 to God’s presence with him and his testimony regarding God’s knowledge of him in the remainder of the psalm (Erickson 1991, 560–61). But this difference is not surprising, since (according to Morris) omnipresence involves God’s power in addition to omniscience. Erickson also argues (560–61) that Jeremiah sees God as filling the whole of heaven and earth ( Jer. 23:23–4). But what is the nature of this ‘filling’ is precisely the question. In sum, the medieval understanding of omnipresence in terms of God’s knowledge and power with respect to every point in space retains the idea of ubiquity and the idea that ‘everything is in his presence’, and it is not inconsistent with the Scriptures. It is thus a defensible and legitimate understanding of omnipresence. 5.4.2. DPM and Divine Omnipresence It has been noted in Section 5.2 that according to DPM the knowledge of all truths was possessed by Jesus in a certain part of his preconscious. Therefore, he had knowledge of every point in space in his incarnated state. Furthermore, I am not committed to saying that this account is true or the only possible account. I am only saying that it is possibly true. As explained in Chapter 1, all that is required is that I suggest a possible model of the Incarnation, using possible (and defensible) definitions of the divine properties. Since this account is possible and defensible, I can use it for my model. Cf. Hudson, who suggests that, on the strength of recent work in the metaphysics of location relations, some Christian theists may wish to entertain (as an alternative to the theological tradition following Aquinas) that God’s omnipresence involves a non-derivative and literal location relation (Hudson 2008, 212). It should be noted that Hudson does not offer any reason for rejecting this tradition. 23

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it has been noted in Section 5.3 that he retained his omnipotence and that his divine preconscious held all things together (Col. 1:17), which implies that he was causally active at every point in space. It follows that Jesus was omnipresent in virtue of his divine preconscious. If a person in Greece were to pray to the incarnated Logos to protect him, the incarnated Logos would have knowledge of this in his divine preconscious, and the incarnated Logos whose human body was in Palestine could answer this prayer.24 There are two possibilities of how this might happen. 1. The Logos could have foreordained that his divine preconscious would cause him to have conscious awareness of the person’s prayer the moment he prayed, and the Logos could then either choose to utilize the omnipotence in his preconscious part A2 to act on the person such that the person would experience the Logos’ protection, or the Logos could choose to ask the Father or the Holy Spirit to minister to the person on his behalf. 2. The Logos could have foreordained that his divine preconscious could minister to the person the moment he prayed without the Logos’ conscious awareness (i.e. the divine preconscious would function on ‘autopilot’ mode).25 In both scenarios, the person who prayed to the Logos can be said to be in his presence. Indeed, every person, wherever he was, could have access to the incarnated Logos even though the physical body of Jesus was in Palestine, and no one would be able to ‘flee from his presence’ (cf. Ps. 139:7). It should be noted that, while Jesus’ divine preconscious was spaceless and was not limited to his brain or human body, his physical body was limited (localized) to a certain area. And although his conscious was not spatially extended, nevertheless it was localized in the sense that it controlled only the body of Jesus and it obtained sensory input only through the sensory organs of Jesus’ body. Therefore, the conscious and the body of Jesus could be present at only a few points in space (spatial limitation), while in virtue of his divine preconscious Jesus was omnipresent.26 This does not mean that the Logos would choose to minister to people by utilizing his omnipresence in all circumstances. Rather, the Gospels often portray Jesus as choosing to respond to the requests of people by being physically there (e.g. Mark 5:23–4). 25 For ‘autopilot’ mode, see above, Section 5.3.3. The first scenario is preferable as it avoids the problem of ‘lack of spontaneity’ discussed in Section 5.3.3. 26 Thus, the sense in which the Logos is (omni-)present is different from the sense in which the body and conscious are present. This is not a problem since the analogical sense 24

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With this understanding, let us address the objections by Hooker and Abu ‘Isa mentioned in Section 2.4. In response to Hooker’s (1993, 88–9) objection based on the prayer of Solomon (1 Kings 8:27), 1 Kings 8:27 can be interpreted as affirming that an omnipresent God cannot be confined to the earth or to the house which Solomon built. This, however, does not exclude the idea of an incarnate God who is not spatially limited on the earth: that is, it does not exclude the idea of a divine person who, while taking up a spatially limited human nature, remains omnipresent in respect of his divine nature. How God could have taken up a human nature while remaining omnipresent has been demonstrated previously. In response to Abu ‘Isa, the body of Jesus was indeed spatially limited. However, as shown in Chapter 4, the Incarnation does not imply that the Word was transformed into the body, for the Word was not identical with the body; rather, the Word took up the body as one of his parts. The ‘inherence’ of the Word in the body did not occur in the way that is understood concerning the inhering of physical bodies in physical bodies, for the Word did not became fully physical but had a conscious and a preconscious which were non-physical. The certain dependence of the conscious’ functioning on the body accounts for how the Logos possessed the whole body. However, this does not entail that, when the body increased in size or moved, the divine preconscious also increased in size and moved. Rather, when such bodily events occurred, the conscious became dependent on a body which changed its spatial configuration, while the Word retained his omnipresence throughout the Incarnation (even while the body was inside Mary’s womb) in virtue of his divine preconscious. 5.5. Conclusion In conclusion, it has been shown in the last two chapters that DPM does not face problems which beset the other models discussed in Chapter 3, and that it provides a lucid way of showing how divine omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence can be maintained in the one person of Jesus Christ alongside the Scriptures’ portrayal of Jesus’ humanity. However, there are two further difficulties which DPM faces, and these will be discussed in the next chapter.

of omnipresence (noted above) preserves what theists want to say about omnipresence, viz. ‘everything is in God’s presence’.

Chapter 6

Addressing the Difficulties Facing the New Kryptic Christology

6.1. Introduction In this chapter, I address two critical questions facing the Divine Preconscious Model (DPM). First, after a discussion of Kenosis and Kryptic Christology, the issue of whether Jesus was pretending when he evinced certain limitations as portrayed by the Gospels will be considered. Second, the issue of whether such limitations would last forever will be discussed. I shall argue that these two issues pose no insurmountable problems for DPM. 6.2. Kenosis, Krypsis, and the Issue of Pretension It has been noted that Christians have long affirmed the condescension of the ‘Logos’ in the Incarnation, and in this sense the motif of ‘kenosis’ has enjoyed an enduring consensus in the church (Thompson 2006, 74). Nevertheless, not all accounts of kenosis are versions of Kenotic Christology as defined in Section 3.2. Crisp (2007) has argued perceptively that a Krypsis Christology can account for what kenotic Christologies are getting at without their problems. Three particularly significant versions of Krypsis (Greek for ‘hiding’) may be noted. 1. The Lutheran Krypsis Christology, which is related to the kenosis debate in the 1620s between the schools of Giessen and Tübingen. These Lutherans affirm that there is a transference of Christ’s divine properties (including ubiquity) to the human nature (see Section 4.5). The debate concerns whether in the state of humiliation the incarnate Christ’s ubiquitous humanity was merely concealed (krypsis – Tübingen) or actually relinquished of use (kenosis – Giessen) (Thompson 2006, 80n.14). For the sake of clarity, I shall call this the Krypsis A account. 2. There is another version of Krypsis which Crisp explains as follows (I shall call this Krypsis B). There is no restriction on the exercise of the divine properties

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of the Word, but during the period of Jesus’ earthly ministry at least some of the divine properties were not accessible to his human nature (once resurrected, it may be that his human nature had access to certain of these properties) (Crisp 2007, 150–51).1 Crisp notes the difference between this version of Krypsis and Functional Kenoticism. He distinguishes between two functional kenotic accounts: a. The Logos restricted the exercise of (a number of ) his divine attributes in toto for the period of the earthly Incarnation; e.g. he was not exercising his omnipotence at all during the Incarnation (151–2) (I shall call this Total Functional Kenoticism). b. The Logos did not restrict the exercise of his divine attributes except in the person of Christ (151–2) (I shall call this Partial Functional Kenoticism). Both of these accounts affirm that the Logos restricted the use of (a number of ) divine properties in both his divine and human natures during the Incarnation, whereas on the Krypsis B account the Logos did not restrict the use of any divine property but only the access to divine properties the human nature of Christ had during the Incarnation (Crisp 2007, 152). Which category does DPM belong to? Since DPM denies that there was transference of Christ’s divine properties to the human nature (see Section 4.5), it cannot be a classified as a Krypsis A account. Since DPM affirms that the Logos restricted the use of his omniscience, i.e. in refusing to have conscious awareness of truths, it cannot be classified as a Krypsis B account. Since DPM affirms that in his incarnated state the Logos continued to exercise his omnipotence in certain activities, such as holding the universe together (see Section 5.3.3), it cannot be classified as Total Functional Kenoticism. The only category left is Partial Functional Kenoticism. Since according to DPM the Logos did not restrict the exercise of his divine attributes except in the person of Christ, DPM would be classified as Partial Functional Kenoticism. 3. Nevertheless, by affirming that the Logos in his incarnate state continued to possess omniscience and exercise his omnipotence in certain activities such as holding the universe together – and that these were concealed from others, DPM can also be classified as a version of Krypsis that is distinct from Krypsis A and Krypsis B (I shall call this Krypsis C). Such an account makes sense of the notion of self-emptying that is alluded to in the New Testament (Phil. 2:6–11; Mark 13:31–32; Luke 2:52; John Crisp notes that this sort of Krypsis account seems compatible with Morris’s two minds Christology, but it needs not be taken as a version of a two minds Christology (Crisp 2007, 150n.54). 1

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17:4–5; 2 Cor. 8:9; and Heb. 2:9, 14–17, 5:7–9). Stephen Davis, an Ontological Kenotic Christologist, argues that almost every orthodox Christologist admits that such passages show that the Logos gave up certain divine prerogatives like the divine glory in the Incarnation, and he argues that ‘having the divine glory’ is just as much a property as ‘being omnipotent’ or ‘being omniscient’ (Davis 2006, 181, 186–7). However, a proponent of DPM would argue that certain divine prerogatives such as ‘having the divine glory’ could be understood as certain use of divine properties, such as the use of omnipotence: God uses his omnipotence to manifest his divine glory, and he could ‘switch off ’ his divine glory by refraining from using his powers. Therefore, even if divine glory is classified as a divine property, it is only a secondary (and hence non-essential) property – secondary in the sense that it is secondary to the use of primary and essential properties such as omnipotence. Similarly, the property of having conscious awareness of all truths (which according to DPM was given up at the Incarnation) is secondary to the use of the primary and essential property of omniscience. Hence, it is not necessarily the case that these passages imply a giving up of an essential divine property, for these passages are consistent with the giving up of the use of an essential divine property. It has been objected that an affirmation that the Logos restricted the use of certain divine properties while incarnate would depart from the classical account of Christology, which requires that the Logos retained and exercised all his essential divine attributes while incarnate (Crisp 2007, 139–42). Crisp asserts that a theological safeguard to one version of classical Christology is the so-called extra calvinisticum. However, this view as expounded by Calvin is that in his incarnate state the Logos retained divine properties such as immensity and omnipresence, and therefore Christ was not physically confined within the limits of a human person.2 As noted in Chapters 4 and 5, DPM affirms that the Logos retained these properties in virtue of his divine preconscious, and hence DPM would affirm the extra calvinisticum as well. The motivation for the extra calvinisticum and the aspect of classical Christology which Crisp highlights is to preserve the divinity of the Logos so as to affirm a true Incarnation (Helm 2004, 62; Crisp 2007, 142); and, as explained in Chapters 4 and 5, DPM meets this motivation as well. It has also been objected that the Krypsis view has not commended itself historically. As Hick argues: Helm (2004, 58–9), citing Inst. II.13.4, II.14.2, IV.17.30; Commentary on Acts 20; Commentary on John 3:13. Helm notes that the extra calvinisticum is a misnomer, as the idea did not originate with Calvin but can be found in a number of the church fathers. 2

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A Kryptic Model of the Incarnation For an omnipotent God who consciously refrained from using his limitless power, and who was omniscient but pretended to human ignorance, would scarcely count as a human being. He might be declared by stipulative definition to be so; but from an ordinary point of view he would be a superhuman being. The fears and anxieties to which we are subject, the temptations that afflict us, and the mystery of death that faces us, would all be unreal to him, so that he would live in a different world of meaning from we ordinary mortals. It would be impossible to see in him the perfection of our common human nature, towards which we should strive as his disciples. (Hick 1993, 62)

The issue of pretension which Hick raises against the Krypsis view is particular relevant to DPM, for, as noted in Section 3.4.1, it was Erickson’s concern that when Jesus professed that he did not know the time of his coming he was not pretending that apparently led him to prefer a Divine Unconscious rather than a Preconscious model. It has also been observed that it was the concern that ‘a Jesus who is omnipotent at every moment, but chooses not to exercise this power’, would surely not fit well with the description of Jesus as ‘like us in all respects, apart from sin’, which led Evans (2002, 255–6; 2006, 200) to conclude that an Ontological rather than Functional Kenoticism is required for a real kenosis. Similarly, Davis argues that a person who at any time has the ability to be omnipotent, but voluntarily and temporarily decides not to call on that ability, would not be ‘truly human’ (Davis 2006, 186–7). In response, it should first be noted that ‘pretend’ is a loaded word. The relevant definitions given in the Merriam Webster dictionary state it as ‘1: to give a false appearance of being, possessing, or performing; 2a: to make believe; 2b: to claim, represent, or assert falsely’. Would DPM imply that the Jesus of the Gospel narratives was pretending when he ‘increased in wisdom’ when growing up, claimed to be unaware3 of the day and hour of his coming, and evinced uncertainty concerning his crucifixion in Gethsemane? Would it be pretension that he did many of his ‘mighty acts’ in dependence on God the Father and the Holy Spirit rather than on his own power;4 that he slept (Mark 4:38, Matt.8:24), presumably from tiredness; that he was wearied when journeying through Samaria ( John 4:3–6), and on the way to crucifixion he needed Simon from 3 In relation to Hick’s charge that God pretended to be ignorant, Mark 13:32 and Matt. 24:36 do not necessarily imply that Jesus claimed ignorance. As has been noted in Section 5.2, the Greek word οἶδεν in Mark 13:32 and Matt. 24:36 which is translated as ‘know’ can be rendered as ‘be consciously aware’ instead. 4 See, for example, John 5:19, 30, 7:28–9, 8:28–9 for dependence on God the Father; Matt. 12:28, Luke 4:16, 5:17 for dependence on the Holy Spirit.

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Cyrene to carry his cross (Luke 23:26)? Not at all. DPM is consistent with the idea that the Logos knew that it was the Father’s will that he had to experience certain limitations during his incarnate state, and in accordance with functional subordination among the persons of the Trinity (see Section 4.4.4), he freely chose to do so. Of course, given his omnipotence he could freely choose to terminate such experiences at any time. But he continually and freely chose to be in the plan of the Father. And in the context of that plan, according to which he was not supposed to have complete access to his divine preconscious, he truly ‘increased in wisdom’ in the sense of increasing the contents of his human preconscious part B. He truly was not aware of the day and hour of his second coming. He truly experienced uncertainty concerning his crucifixion in Gethsemane as he had chosen to cease being aware of his certain knowledge of this. In the context of restricting his use of omnipotence, he truly had to do many of his ‘mighty acts’ in dependence on God the Father and the Holy Spirit, and he truly experienced fatigue. These states of mind – i.e. the increase in the contents of his human preconscious; the lack of conscious awareness and certainty of some future events; the reliance on other Persons of the Trinity; and the sensation of fatigue – truly occurred in the mind of the Logos. These states of mind were truly experienced by him. It is not the case that the Logos gave a false appearance, make-believed, or claimed, represented, or asserted falsely of having these experiences or performing such acts. To use the analogy of Erickson (1998a), it is like the world’s fastest sprinter being entered in a three-legged race, where he must run with one of his legs tied to a partner. Just as the sprinter could unloose the tie at any time but chooses to restrict himself, so Jesus could have chosen to access his divine preconscious anytime; but he chose to restrict himself. And just as the sprinter was not pretending when he struggled to run with his leg tied, Jesus was not pretending when he faced temptations. What about Hick’s argument that a Kryptic Jesus would scarcely count as a human being? Here, Morris’ useful distinction between common and essential human properties and between merely human and truly human applies. Historically speaking, it is reasonable to think that only an extraordinary Jesus, a Jesus who was (truly but) not merely human, could have caused the first Jewish Christians who knew him personally and intimately to see no inconsistency in worshipping him as God. It should be noted that Heb. 4:15 (‘one has been tempted in all things as we are’), which is cited by Evans as a verse that implies commonality between Jesus and us, does not quite have the implication that Evans thought it had. The following phrase of Heb.4:15, ‘yet without sin’, indicates that the author of Hebrews does not intend to affirm that Jesus had all

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the common kinds of properties and experiences that humans have. Rather, by asserting that Christ was ‘without sin’, the author qualifies the previous phrase by excluding some kinds of properties and experiences in addition to being ‘without sin’ – such as temptations that arise out of sin previously committed (Bruce 1996, 116). Additionally, the ‘like us in all respects’ that the author had in mind may well be trials that were common to Jesus and the readers of Hebrews – such as denunciation, arrest, and abuse (Matt. 26:59–68, 27:26–31 par.; cf. Heb. 10:32–4, 13:13) (Koester 2001, 283).Concerning sympathizing with believers, which is the main point of this verse, sympathy with the believer in his trial does not depend on having absolute commonality of experiences such as the experience of sin, but on the experience of the strength of suffering and temptation to sin which only the sinless can know in its full intensity (Bruce 1996, 116). Nevertheless, it has been shown in previous chapters that there are reasons to believe that Jesus would have shared much of our common experiences, such as the lack of conscious awareness of certain future events and the sensation of fatigue. In this context, and in reply to Hick, the Gospels’ portrayal of Jesus choosing to rely on God the Father and the Holy Spirit to live a victorious life set a perfect example for Christians to strive towards as his disciples. It might be objected that the Kryptic Model defended here is inferior to the Ontological Kenotic Model in the following sense. As noted in Section 3.2.2, the strength of the Ontological Kenotic Model is that on this model the divine Logos chooses to fully share in the human condition with all its limitations, and that someone who is in trouble or is suffering will readily appreciate the love that is shown by another person who is willing to ‘come alongside’ in this way and fully share the plight of humans. This ‘religious power’ of the Ontological Kenotic Model, which is especially relevant to the problem of suffering, might seem to be lacking in the Kryptic view, which could be described like this: the divine Logos does not really relinquish his powers, but only chooses not to exercise them during the Incarnation. Thus, the divine Logos knows at any moment he could call on his ‘superpowers’ that he has in reserve. This might seem to make a huge difference in our ability to identify with Christ.5 I appreciate the religious power of the Kenotic Model. As explained above, on the Kryptic Model I defend, the incarnate Logos was not pretending but did, in times of suffering, experientially share the human condition with all its limitations as well as the plight of humans (e.g. hunger in the desert, pain on the Cross); and thus the Kryptic Model does not diminish our ability to

5

I thank Professor C. Stephen Evans for bringing my attention to this objection.

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identify with Christ. The fact that on the Kryptic Model he knew he could call on his ‘superpowers’ but refused only makes the religious power of the Kryptic Model stronger than Ontological Kenoticism, for on the Kryptic Model we have the additional virtue of Jesus refusing an extra privilege he knew he had in the midst of trial. On the Cross, for example, he could indeed have come down and destroyed his enemies by his omnipotent power, but he refused to do so. This extreme self-restraint on the part of Jesus only makes his endurance of suffering for our sake all the more noble, and has the potential to teach us love and endurance in refusing to strike back at our enemies even though we might have the power to do so. 6.3. Would the Limitation Last Forever? 6.3.1. Preamble A question which DPM as well as all other forms of Divine Subconscious Model and Kenotic Christology faces is whether the limitation of the Logos in his incarnate state lasts forever.6 This issue is particular pressing in view of the fact that Christian theology has traditionally affirmed that Jesus would remain as human from the point of Incarnation till eternity.7 As J.I. Packer explains, the Son was incarnate in order to become the ‘one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus (1 Tim. 2:6)’. This mediatorial messiahship involves three roles, viz. prophet (channel of divine instruction), priest (self-sacrificing intercessor), and king (lord and protector); and these human roles would not end because personal relationships between each believer and Jesus Christ would not end. Furthermore, the visions of eternity in the Book of Revelation clearly assume that Jesus, the Amen, Faithful and True, the First and the Last, will always be to his people all that he is now. Moreover, Christ’s exaltation at his bodily resurrection did not abolish his humanity, but glorified it, and so it will be for us at our glorification (see Rom. 8:17, 29; 1 Cor. 15:42–54; 2 Cor. 3:18, 4:14, 5:1–4; Phil. 3:21). Therefore, Christ’s glorified humanity, which is 6 This is not a problem for the Two Consciousnesses Model, since on this view there is no restriction on the exercise of the divine attributes of the Word in abstraction from the Incarnation (Crisp 2007, 150–51). 7 This doctrine is found in the confessions of the Reformation churches (see e.g. The Heidelberg Catechism questions and answers 46–9 and 78–9). For relevant Scriptural passages, see also Acts 1:9–11; Rev. 22:16.

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the template and link for the glorification that is ours, must go on forever too (Packer 2004, 72). Thus, there are theological reasons for believing that Jesus, who is high priest forever (Heb. 7:17), will possess his human nature forever from the point of Incarnation. Now, since it appears that the limitation of the Logos in all forms of Divine Subconscious and Kenotic accounts is postulated in order that the true humanity of Jesus can be affirmed, the affirmation of his continual Incarnation would seem to imply that this limitation would last forever. However, such a state of continual limitation seems incompatible with the Scriptures’ portrayal of the state of glorification which the Logos entered into at his bodily resurrection. For example, in the high priestly prayer of John 17, Jesus is described as praying to God the Father: ‘Glorify me together with yourself, with the glory which I had with you before the world was’ ( John 17:5). In the setting of this prayer, Jesus, now committed to the Cross, seeks that response of the Father which will bring him to the Father’s side; accordingly, the prayer for glory is for a restoration of that which the Son enjoyed with the Father prior to creation (Beasley-Murray 1987, 297). Since it can be assumed that the prayer of Jesus will be answered, this implies that according to John’s Gospel there is a restoration of the Logos’ preincarnate state at his glorification post-crucifixion, which would seem to imply that any limitation that the Logos assumed at the Incarnation will then end. As Evans explains, the difficulty for all Kenotic accounts could be put in the form of a dilemma. Either the glorified Christ reassumed un-limitation or he did not. If he did not, then these accounts would have an inadequate account of the glorified Christ. If the glorified Christ did reassume un-limitation, then it would appear that there is no reason why God must divest himself of these properties in order to assume a human nature (Evans 2002, 264). It has be shown in Chapter 3 that how the limitation of the Logos is conceived of differs between the Divine Subconscious and Ontological Kenotic accounts; specifically, while Ontological Kenoticism conceives of this limitation as the divesting of certain divine attributes, DPM conceives of it as a restriction of the use of certain divine attributes. Nevertheless, certain solutions to the dilemma which Ontological Kenoticists have offered will also be useful for DPM once they are adapted accordingly, as will be shown below. Two broad solutions to the issue at hand can be offered on behalf of DPM. One is to affirm that the limitation was (or will be) removed at some point in the Logos’ incarnate state (e.g. after the resurrection), but this is nevertheless still consistent with his true humanity. The other is to maintain that the limitation will last forever, but this is nevertheless consistent with his true divinity. These solutions will be discussed in turn.

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6.3.2. The Limitation Was/Will Be Removed First, let us consider the solution that the limitation was/will be removed. It can be argued that the limited state that Christ’s human nature exemplified is essential to pre-resurrection humanity but not post-resurrection humanity. DPM postulates that at the Incarnation the conscious of the Logos acquired a certain dependence on the physical brain, which resulted in a limited conscious awareness. It has been argued in Chapters 4 and 5 that, in order for Christ to be incarnated in a pre-resurrected human body and to share to a certain extent our common experiences, such a limitation would have been required. However, the New Testament picture of the risen Christ includes the claim that Jesus now has a new type of body which has properties that our current bodies do not have. For example, it could suddenly appear in a room with locked doors. Since we do not know very much about such a body, we cannot rule out the possibility that the body which he possesses in his glorified, resurrected state may be compatible with the full use of certain theistic properties (Evans 2002, 265).8 This does not necessarily imply that all the divine properties are held in the human part (i.e. the part that exemplifies the human essence) of Christ, which would have the undesirable consequence of ‘depriving Christ of his flesh’.9 Rather, it could be the case that after the resurrection the human essence can include certain (but not all) divine properties, and that these divine properties are held in both the human and divine parts of Christ, while other divine properties are held in only the divine and not the human part. Hence, both natures remain intact and there is no generation of tertium quid. For example, consider the following scenario. After the resurrection there is an additional extent of conscious awareness which is not limited by the brain, and thus the mind can possess a conscious awareness of all truths at any time. In this case, there would no longer be any human or divine preconscious, and omniscience would be held in both divine and human parts. Nevertheless, other divine properties such as omnipotence and omnipresence are held only in the divine part, such as in a certain (divine) aspect of the conscious which has full access to these properties (as shown in Section 5.4, omniscience alone does not imply omnipresence, hence the omniscience of the human nature does not imply its omnipresence). These properties are not 8 Cf. Gregory of Nyssa, who thinks that after his resurrection and glorification the Logos ‘trans-elemented’ the material body into the divine immutable nature. Like a drop of vinegar that falls into the sea and is wholly absorbed, the humanity loses all its proper qualities and is changed into divinity (Kelly 1977, 299–300). 9 This was Calvin’s (Inst. IV.17.32) criticism against the Lutherans’ claim that the human nature of Christ shared in the repletive mode of subsistence. See Section 4.5.

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held by Christ in the human part: they are not held in the part of the mind that exemplifies the human nature, or in the resurrected body.10 On the other hand, human properties such as the (transformed) physicality of the body – the property of a certain extent of the conscious’ ability being dependent on a particular brain (e.g. if the brain is damaged, then a part of the conscious would not be able to function efficiently; this dependence would continue to account for that particular brain and body being the Logos’)11 – belong to the human part, not the divine part. Hence, each nature remains intact. One might argue that the postulation that the human mind possesses conscious awareness of all truths seems to contradict what is essential to human nature, namely its finitude. The essentiality of this finitude seems to be implied by Ps. 8:3–4, where the psalmist reflects on what is man after pondering on the vastness of the heavens which God had made. It might also be objected that certain passages which contrast the knowledge of God with mankind’s – e.g. 1 Kings 8:39 (‘for you [i.e. God] alone know the hearts of all men’ – contradict the idea that human nature can possess omniscience. In reply, it can be argued that these passages only refer to what is essential to pre-resurrection humanity, the state which we are in now (this implies that other humans can have omniscience post-resurrection, but it does not imply that they will have omniscience post-resurrection). Alternatively, these passages (particularly the second passage) can be interpreted as implying that omniscience is possessed only by a person who has a divine nature, and not by a mere human who does not possess a divine nature. Hence, these passages do not contradict the idea that a person who is human but who also is divine (i.e. truly but not merely human) could possess omniscience in his human nature post-resurrection. It has been objected that Scriptural passages which say that believers will be conformed to the likeness of Jesus when Jesus is revealed (e.g. 1 John 3:2) suggest that the exalted state of Jesus does not include being omniscient and omnipotent, if we take seriously the notion that believers will be ‘like him’ and assume that this does not imply that they will be made omniscient and omnipotent (Evans 2002, 265–6). But Hoekema (1986, 30–31) observes it could be that the conformation spoken of only refers to moral perfection and 10 Cf. Crisp, who suggests that ‘it might be metaphysically possible, for all we know, for a human being to be omnipotent and omniscient’ (Crisp 2007, 135, 149n.53). 11 This does not imply that the resurrected body would require a constant supply of energy through metabolism of nutrients. As Geisler (1989, 122) suggests, ‘While the resurrection body may not have the necessity to eat, it does have the ability to eat. Eating in heaven will be a joy without being a need.’

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(in the case of other passages such as Rom. 8:29 and 1 Cor. 15:49) the nature of the body post-resurrection, rather than conformity in every aspect. It has also been objected that Scriptural passages such as Heb. 2:17 (‘[Christ] had to become like his brothers and sisters in every respect, so that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God’) indicate that Christ will remain limited in his glorified state (Evans 2002, 265–6). However, the following verses – ‘and that he might make atonement for the sins of the people. Because he himself suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted’ (Heb. 2:17b-18) – indicate that Christ ‘had to become like his brothers and sisters’ in the sense that he was able to make atonement by dying physically (cf. Heb. 7:27) and that he was able to suffer and be tempted. This passage does not warrant the conclusion that Christ will be like us totally (which of course is impossible; Christ, being male, could not have become like sisters totally). In conclusion, the view that the limitation will be removed is a defensible solution to the dilemma mentioned above. 6.3.3. The Limitation Will Last Forever Second, let us consider the solution that the limitation will last forever. As shown in Chapter 5, DPM does not postulate any limitation to the Logos’ omnipresence in his incarnate state (whether before or after resurrection); hence passages such as his promise to be with the disciples always (Matt. 28:20) pose no problems, and neither does the passage which speaks of his bestowing of gifts to his disciples in the church (Eph. 4:7–13), as the act of bestowing can be accomplished in virtue of his omnipresence. Concerning the limitation with respect to omniscience and omnipotence, the idea that Jesus would be without conscious awareness of all truths, and limited with regard to his use of omnipotence from the point of Incarnation till eternity, is actually quite acceptable theologically. In fact, such condescension on his part would be an eternal demonstration of his love for mankind through his continuous sharing of mankind’s conscious experience (cf. Evans 2002, 265–6). Such condescension does not imply that the conscious awareness and the strength of the physical body of Jesus could not have been vastly extended at the resurrection; but it implies that they would still remain in some sense finite like those of the believers (cf. Erickson 1991, 576). It should be noted that, even though according to the Scriptures the risen Christ is in some way exalted or glorified, the nature of this glorified state is left somewhat open (Evans 2002, 265–6). Concerning Jesus’ prayer as narrated in John 17:5, this is a prayer for restoration of the glory Christ had with God the Father before the world was; but this does not necessarily imply a restoration

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of a full active use of all divine attributes. It might be objected that an eternal condescension contradicts the portrayal of Jesus’ exalted state post-resurrection in other passages of the Gospel of John. In particular, one might argue that Peter’s reply to Jesus ( John 21:17 –‘Lord, you know all things, you know that I love you’) implies that the resurrected Christ is consciously aware of all things, including Peter’s love for him. In response, it should be noted that according to John’s portrayal the disciples had already confessed that Jesus knew all things even before the resurrection (see John 16:30). The root for the word translated as ‘know’ in these passages ( John 16:30, 21:17) is the same root as the word translated as ‘know’ (οἶδεν) in Mark 13:32; and, as noted in Chapter 5, this word can be rendered as knowledge or conscious awareness (perceive, apprehend, etc.). Thus, the notion that Jesus was not consciously aware of all things (Mark 13:32) and the notion that he knew all truths ( John 16:30, 21:17) are both consistent with the use of this word. It is not clear that the disciples or Peter would have considered the difference between ‘knowledge’ and ‘conscious awareness of truths’ in their usage of the word ‘know’, or that they would have worked out that omniscience does not require conscious awareness of all truths (after all, they were not philosophers or psychologists). Furthermore, the affirmation of Jesus’ omniscience in John’s Gospel is not inconsistent with DPM, because DPM affirms that Jesus always possessed omniscience in his divine preconscious. Additionally, there was a portion of this preconscious (i.e. part A2) which he was willing to access; this part of his preconscious would account for the moments of supernatural insights which would result in the confession of the disciples in John 16:30 and of Peter in 21:17. In short, there is no adequate basis for thinking that John 16:30 and 21:17 refer to conscious awareness rather than knowledge, and it has been shown in Section 5.2 that knowing all things (omniscience) does not entail a conscious awareness of the things known. Hence, there is no adequate basis for thinking that John’s Gospel portrays that the resurrected Christ was consciously aware of all things, and no adequate reason for thinking that the limitation was removed. 6.4. Conclusion In conclusion, both solutions (the limitation was/will be removed but this is nevertheless still consistent with his true humanity, or the limitation will last forever but this is nevertheless consistent with his true divinity) are viable. Hence, as with the issue concerning pretension, the issue concerning whether the limitation will last forever poses no insurmountable problem for DPM.

Chapter 7

Conclusion

The story of the Incarnation is arguably the most incredible story of all. It speaks of the Maker of the universe becoming a child on earth for us. This seems rather implausible to many people. But then again, why should this be too difficult for the Almighty Maker to accomplish, if indeed this Maker exists? Reality is often stranger, more complicated and more wonderful than what we think or imagine. For the last two millennia countless people have wondered how this could be. This book is a little contribution to the discussion. It has been noted in chapter 1 that the historical basis for the traditional view of the Incarnation has been defended in recent literature, and that the tools of philosophy and psychology can be used to explain how believers may speak appropriately of Christ. As explained in that chapter, one must be careful to note the distinction between (A), interpreting what the biblical authors have written and (B), showing that what the biblical authors have written concerning divine and human properties could coexist in Jesus. With regard to (A), one can interpret the biblical authors as saying that God’s knowledge is infinite (e.g. Ps. 147:5) and that Jesus’ human knowledge was apparently limited, e.g. with respect to the day and hour of his second coming (Mark 13:32). With regard to (B), the tools of philosophy and psychology can be used to propose a possible model that would explain how concepts like infinite knowledge and limited human knowledge can be applied to Jesus in such a way that at least some of the contents of these concepts can be spelt out and that no contradiction results. The purpose for providing a model is not to demonstrate that this is what the biblical authors meant; nor is it to demonstrate that this model would be acceptable to first-century Jewish thinking. Nor is it to construct a comprehensive and actual psychology of Jesus, but to rebut the sceptics’ charge of incoherence. For this purpose all that is required is not to provide an actual model of the Incarnation (‘It was like this … ’), but to provide a possible model to show how it is not impossible that the apparently contradictory properties coexist in the same person and then say ‘It could be like this … ’. Additionally, for this purpose it is perfectly legitimate to propose a possible model which the

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biblical authors may not have thought of, as long as the possibility is defensible and is not contradictory to what the biblical authors had said. As explained in Chapter 1, modern knowledge (including knowledge of philosophy, psychology etc.) can be employed in the study of earlier history to fulfil an explanatory function. Here, the explanatory function is to show that it is not logically impossible for a historical individual to be divine and human at the same time. A divine, omnipotent Person, if he exists, could of course accomplish the Incarnation in ways that are beyond the philosophical, psychological, scientific, and technological concepts available in the first or even the twenty-first century, and we should be wary of the danger that our inability to perceive the possibility of the Incarnation might be due to our lack of imagination. In this book, a new Kryptic Christology in the form of a possible model – the Divine Preconscious Model (DPM) – has been proposed. Although it is only a possible and not necessarily the actual model, and better models of the Incarnation might be suggested in the future, the plausibility of the model can be seen when we reflect on the following train of thought. Given that the postulation of two consciousnesses would entail the difficulties that Christ could have two contradictory self-consciousnesses simultaneously and that there could be an I–Thou relationship between these consciousnesses, which implies Nestorianism, Christ could have only one consciousness. Given the difficulty (which besets the Ontological Kenotic Model) of answering whether a divine person would still be divine if he were to give up his omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence (cf. Ps.147:4–5, Luke 1:37, Jer. 23:23–4 etc.), Christ must in some way be in possession of these properties (and this seems more consistent with Scriptural passages such as John 16:30, 21:17; Col. 1:17) but not utilizing them in all the acts that he did while he was in his incarnate state. This is what DPM postulates of Christ. In this monograph, I have responded to various objections to DPM, and argued that it is a defensible model – a model which for all we know a divine omnipotent Person could have chosen to actualize in history. As I am defending a possible model rather than an actual model, I do not have to show that the divine mind is actually similar to the human mind in the way DPM described, but only that it is possibly similar. Theologically, this possibility is consistent with the notion that humans are created in the image of God. Philosophically, no compelling argument has been offered for thinking that an omnipotent God cannot create humans with minds that are similar to His in certain respects. According to DPM, at the Incarnation the mind of the pre-existent eternal Logos came to include the conscious (used as a noun) and the preconscious, and certain divine properties such as omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence

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were possessed by the Logos in the part exemplifying the divine essence (i.e. the divine preconscious and the conscious’ access to the divine preconscious; this divine preconscious would become part A of Jesus’ preconscious). At the same time, a human preconscious (which would become part B of Jesus’ preconscious) and a human body were created. In addition, the conscious acquired human properties that were also newly created. The advantages of DPM over other widely discussed models of the Incarnation are as follows. By postulating that Jesus had only one consciousness, DPM is able to maintain the unity of his person; thus the problem with the Two Consciousnesses Model is avoided. By postulating that the Logos possessed and had access to his divine properties in virtue of his divine preconscious, DPM is able to maintain the divinity of Jesus even while he truly experienced our limitations; thus the problem with Ontological Kenoticism is avoided. Therefore, DPM retains the strengths of the Ontological Kenotic Model in maintaining the unity of consciousness; and it retains the strengths of the Two Consciousnesses Model in maintaining that the Logos possessed omniscience and other divine properties, while avoiding the weaknesses with these models discussed earlier. The following objection might be raised against DPM. One standard criterion for the plausibility of a hypothesis is simplicity. DPM fares poorly here, for it seems to be much more complicated than either the Two Consciousnesses Model or the Ontological Kenotic Model, and at times it seems as if DPM labours with ad hoc additions such as ‘It is possible that … ’.1 In reply, simplicity is a virtue and the charge of being ad hoc is valid only if all other things are equal. In this case it is not the case that all other things are equal, because the Two Consciousnesses Model and the Ontological Kenotic Model have significant problems which disappear on the DPM Kryptic Model. Given this, the additions that DPM makes are not ad hoc, because they help us to make sense of the Incarnation by showing how it could be possible (and the sceptic who makes the strong claim that the Incarnation is not possible would need to bear the burden of proof to exclude possibilities such as the divine preconscious of Jesus functioned as an infallible ‘autopilot’ in holding the universe together [Col. 1:17]). Modifications or better defences of the Two Consciousnesses Model and the Ontological Kenotic Model could be offered in the future, and these might resolve the significant problems that I have mentioned; but until these are done the point that I am making here remains valid. Additionally, it seems that a great level of complexity in the metaphysics is only to be expected given the sheer difficulty of the idea that a person could at the same time be a

1

I thank Professor C. Stephen Evans for bringing my attention to this objection.

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human as well as the Maker of the universe, thus the kind of additions that DPM makes seems warranted. In addition to its advantages over the Two Consciousnesses Model and the Ontological Kenotic Model, DPM answers other difficult questions facing the Divine Subconscious Model which have not been adequately addressed by previous versions of this model. For example, it has been shown that, in order to maintain that the Logos retained his omnipotence, the divine properties should be conceived of as being held in the preconscious rather than in the unconscious. By postulating that the divine preconscious was not part of his human nature but was part of his divine nature, and that the divine nature and human nature were concrete and distinct parts of Christ, DPM avoids a Monophysite mixture. Moreover, DPM avoids Apollinarianism by postulating a human preconscious alongside a divine preconscious; and this, together with the affirmation that human properties of the conscious were created at the Incarnation, implies that Jesus possessed a human mind which was able to grow in knowledge and wisdom just as a human child does. While some recent advocates of the Divine Subconscious Model have denied Dyothelitism, I have demonstrated in Section 4.3.2 that DPM is consistent with the Dyothelitism of Maximus the Confessor. DPM also advances the discussion concerning a host of other difficult metaphysical and theological issues involved in the Incarnation. As shown in Chapter 4, these include problems concerning the natures and parts of Christ; the anhypostasia–enhypostasia distinction; the relationship between the Incarnation and other divine properties such as impassibility; physicalist versus non-physicalist account of the Incarnation; and other problems related to the communicatio idiomatum. With DPM and with a proper understanding of divine properties, the doctrine that Jesus was one person with complete human and divine natures can be coherently affirmed: The Logos had a complete human nature in respect of the aspect of the conscious which had human properties, the human preconscious (part B of Jesus’ preconscious), and human body. The Logos had a complete divine nature in respect of the aspect of the conscious having access to the divine preconscious (part A of Jesus’ preconscious), thus possessing all the essential divine properties. He remained a single person, in the sense of having one self-consciousness and being a single subject of divine and human properties. As explained in Section 4.5, just as a lollipop can be the property-bearer of contradictory properties such as red and not-red in different respects (red in respect of the top, not-red in respect of the stick), the one person of Christ can be the property-bearer of all the contradictory divine and human properties in different respects: in respect of his concrete divine nature and in respect of

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his concrete human nature. The person of the incarnate Christ is necessarily existent, eternal, incorruptible, incorporeal, a-spatial, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent and immortal in respect of his concrete divine nature; and he is contingent, has a beginning, is corruptible, partly or wholly physical, spatially determined, limited in power, knowledge, and presence and subjected to death in respect of his concrete human nature. As noted in earlier chapters, the issue of infinity and finitude can be considered with respect to other divine and human properties, and God’s un-limitation should only be predicated of properties the possession of which would account for his greatness. While DPM is inconsistent with divine simplicity, divine atemporality simpliciter and a strong notion of divine immutability, this is not a problem unless the defender of these notions can justify their acceptance (see discussion in Sections 4.4.2 and 4.4.3). I have explained in Sections 2.2 and 4.4.4 that divine sovereignty does not exclude the possibility that a divine person could—in accordance with his omnipotence and sovereign freedom—freely choose not to use his authority and take up a functionally subordinate role while retaining his sovereign divine freedom and control. I have also explained in Section 4.4.4 that DPM is neutral with regard to the question whether ‘naked divinity’ is passible; but whatever way the answer turns out it does not exclude the possibility that a divine omnipotent person could freely choose—out of his infinite love for us— to take up a human nature which would make experiencing suffering (including defilement) for our sake possible. I have argued in Section 4.3 that divine untemptability ( James 1:13) can be taken to mean that a divine person cannot be tempted being divine simpliciter, and this does not exclude the possibility that he can choose to take up a human nature which would make certain human desires and temptation possible. Divine properties such as being necessarily existent, eternal, incorruptible, incorporeal, a-spatial, and immortal, and human properties such as being contingent, has a beginning, corruptible, partly or wholly physical, spatially determined and subjected to death can be considered as type A properties. As explained in Section 4.6.2, a concrete particular can have such properties by virtue of its parts and exemplifies these properties in its own right. Properties such as being omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent (in the sense I explained in Section 5.4.1),– as well as properties such as goodness, sovereignty, temptability and passibility – require a conscious agent. As explained in Section 4.6.2, these are considered as type B properties which a concrete particular does not exemplify in its own right, but only by virtue of it having part of the form of the person. While Christ’s concrete divine nature exemplified omniscience by virtue of it having part of the form of the person, and Christ’s concrete human nature exemplified limitation in knowledge by virtue of it having part of the form of

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the person, there are no two persons because there is only one consciousness, and the concrete divine nature and the concrete human nature shared this one consciousness. The Son simpliciter does not exemplify the type B properties apart from the divine or human concrete particular; rather, the Son with these concrete particulars exemplifies these type B properties. As explained in Section 5.3, a divine person could have two sets of power by becoming incarnate: the first set of power which was his divine power (held in his divine preconscious); and the second set of power which was the power inherent in the nerves and muscles of the human body, the energy of which could run out. In this sense, a divine person can be omnipotent in respect of his divine nature and be limited in power in respect of his human nature. Likewise, a divine person could have two minds by becoming incarnate: a divine mind (the aspect of the conscious having access to the divine preconscious); and a human mind (the aspect of the conscious which had human properties, and the human preconscious). In this sense, a divine person can be omniscient in respect of his divine nature and be limited in knowledge in respect of his human nature. I have demonstrated in Chapter 5 that such a model can resolve the areas of tension between divine omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence and the humanity of Jesus: Concerning omniscience, I have shown that, for any person to possess knowledge of a certain thing (say, calculus) it is not required that his knowledge of that thing be consciously held continuously, and that the knowledge of all things by a divine person does not require a constant conscious awareness of all things by him. I argue that there is no indefeasible reason to think that it is essential to divinity that the divine knowledge be contained in the conscious awareness of the divine mind, such that a divine person cannot freely choose to let part of that knowledge be held in a preconscious part of his mind if he so desires. According to DPM, this was what happened. At the Incarnation, the Logos chose to let his perfect knowledge of all things be held in his preconscious, and he freely chose not to access the knowledge in a part of his divine preconscious. In virtue of his omnipotence, he was able to compartmentalize and govern the use of this knowledge in such a way that he was able to share in our conscious experiences of having limited awareness of truths, and to have a human preconscious which was limited in its knowledge of truths. Therefore, DPM is able to explain in what sense Jesus’ knowledge could be unlimited in respect of his divine nature, but limited in respect of his human nature. As for the growth of Jesus’ wisdom in his childhood, DPM postulates that he grew in wisdom by assimilating knowledge into his human conscious and his human preconscious, so as to be like humans in the way they grow in wisdom and in the way they recall and

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access information that they hold in their preconscious. Thus, when he was an infant, he did not have conscious awareness of the skills of carpentry, but he had to learn them as humans do. Concerning omnipotence, first, the use of omnipotence does not have to be a conscious activity. Thus, at the point of Incarnation the Logos could have ‘pre-programmed’ his divine preconscious with what actions the preconscious would activate in any situation throughout the universe during those moments when his consciousness was limited. Therefore, his preconscious could have functioned as an infallible ‘autopilot’ and controlled every point in space during the Incarnation. Hence, in virtue of his divine preconscious the Logos could take care of the universe and hold the universe together (cf. Col. 1:17) throughout every moment of his incarnated state, without him being consciously aware of all things. Second, omnipotence does not require the ability to be continuously exercised in all the acts that an omnipotent person performs. Thus, a divine person could have freely refrained from utilizing his omnipotence when he carried out certain activities. I propose that, even though Jesus had the ability to accomplish all activities without any difficulty in respect of his divine nature, he chose not to use this ability; rather, he did these activities by the finite strength of his human body. Thus, his human nature could become wearied, and his consciousness, which according to DPM could be affected by his physical body, could share in the human experiences of fatigue. By freely refraining from utilizing his omnipotence when he did many mighty acts and choosing to do these in dependence on God the Father and the Holy Spirit, Jesus set an example for believers to likewise rely on the power of God for their ministries. Concerning omnipresence, following Aquinas this can be understood analogically in terms of God’s knowledge and power with respect to every point in space. Now it has been noted previously that according to DPM the knowledge of all things was held in the divine preconscious, which implies that the incarnate Logos had knowledge of every point in space in his divine preconscious. Furthermore, it has been noted above that he retained his omnipotence, and that his divine preconscious held all things together, which implies that he was causally active at every point in space. It follows that the incarnate Logos was omnipresent in virtue of his divine preconscious, even while his body was spatially limited and moved from places to places in Palestine at the same time. Although Jesus retained the ability to access his divine preconscious at all times, I demonstrate in Chapter 6 that he was not pretending when he experienced our limitations. Using Erickson’s analogy of the world’s fastest sprinter running with his legs tied, we can say that, just as the sprinter could

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unloose the tie at any time but chooses to restrict himself, so Jesus could have chosen to access his divine preconscious anytime but he chose to restrict himself; and just as the sprinter was not pretending when he struggled to run with his leg tied, Jesus was not pretending when he faced temptations. In that self-restricted state, states of mind such as the lack of conscious awareness of some future events, the sensations of fatigue, etc. truly occurred in the mind of Jesus and were truly experienced by him. Hence, DPM is consistent with Scriptural passages which affirm that Jesus was made like humans in the religiously significant sense that he was able to experience death for our sins and that he was able to experience the desires, limitations, and hence the temptations which humans face. Thus, Jesus was able to serve as an example for others to likewise rely on God in their lives. The Kryptic Model of the Incarnation also enables us to see how Jesus’ self-sacrifice on the Cross has the potential for teaching people to love their enemies by refraining from striking back even though they might have the power to do so. The functional limitation of the divine Logos makes sense of the notion of divine self-emptying in the New Testament (Phil. 2:6–11 etc.), while the possession of divine properties by a Kryptic Jesus is consistent with the New Testament’s portrayal of Jesus as someone who was truly but not merely human. Historically speaking, it is reasonable to think that only such a Jesus could have caused the early Jewish Christians who knew him personally and intimately to see no inconsistency in regarding him as divine. Concerning the duration of limitation, I have shown that either of the two possible solutions (the limitation is removed but this is nevertheless compatible with true humanity in the eternal state, or the limitation will last forever but this is nevertheless compatible with true divinity) are viable, and therefore the issue whether the limitation will last forever poses no insurmountable problem for DPM. In conclusion, a defensible model can be offered for the coherence of the Incarnation, a model which for all we know could have been actualized in history. Though it would continue to fill us with wonder throughout the ages, this most incredible story of all is not impossible after all.

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Index Abiathar 23–4 abstract-nature view 68, 73 Adams, Marilyn McCord 8 adoptionism 3, 53, 73, 75 Alexandrian Christology 4, 71, 93–4 Alston, William 17, 67 an–enhypostasia distinction 74, 152 analytic theology 12 Anselm of Canterbury 13, 16, 43, 84, 86, 114 anthropomorphism 14, 17 Antiochene Christology 4, 71, 93, 95, 98 Apollinarianism 4, 55–6, 58–60, 65, 73, 76, 152 apophatic theology 14, 16 Aquinas, Thomas 17, 84, 86, 114, 115, 120, 126, 130, 134, 155 Arius and Arianism 3, 11, 28–9, 90 atemporality, divine 20, 88–9, 115, 153 Athanasius of Alexandria, 3, 11–12, 90 Augustine of Hippo, 16, 84, 86, 89, 114–15 Barth, Karl 39–40 Bathrellos, D. 11, 21, 59–64, 76 Bauckham, Richard 3, 5–6 Bayne, Tim 47–9, 53, 122 Bock, Darrell 25–7 Bockmuehl, Markus 24 Bonhoeffer, Dietrich 8–9 Borg, Marcus 4 Brown, Raymond 5, 23–4, 26, 29–31, 103, 118, 122, 131 Calvin, John 95, 117, 139, 145 Chalcedonian Christology 5, 19, 38, 44, 60–61, 64, 70–73, 91, 98

communicatio idiomatum 21, 65, 92–7, 104, 152 concrete-nature view 65, 68, 72–4, 92, 112 Craig, William Lane xiii, 5, 7–8, 11, 42, 44, 53–61, 76, 85, 88–9, 103–4, 109, 134 Crisp, Oliver 11–13, 38–41, 46, 54, 59, 68–72, 74, 92–4, 100–102, 130, 137–9, 143, 146 Cross, Richard xiii, 8, 46, 48, 72–3, 90, 95–6, 100 Cyril of Alexandria 45, 62, 71, 90–92, 98 Davidson, Ivor 14, 18 Davis, Stephen xiii, 11, 38, 40, 87, 139–40 DeWeese, Garry 48, 53, 58–9, 61, 67 Docetism 3–4, 65, 77–83, 90 dualism, mind-body 65, 78, 98, 103–4, 107 Dunn, James 7, 28–9, 39 Dyothelitism 11, 19, 21, 56, 59–64, 76–7, 152 Ebionitism 3 Erickson, Millard 18, 30, 34–5, 41, 50, 53–8, 67, 76, 81, 86, 133–4, 140–41, 147, 155 Evans, C. Stephen xiii, 11, 38, 41–4, 81, 109, 128, 140–47, 151 extra calvinisticum 139 Fee, Gordon 7–8, 38 Feenstra, Ronald 38, 129 Flint, Thomas 105, 108–9, 124 Freud, Sigmund 46, 66 Gess, Wolfgang Friedrich 38–40 Goulder, Michael 110

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Gregory Nazianzen 4, 45 Gregory of Nyssa 45, 145 Gunton, Colin 16, 27 haecceity 107, see also individual essence Hebblethwaite, Brian 38 Helm, Paul 88–9, 117, 139 Hick, John 14, 17, 25, 139–42 historical-critical biblical studies 4–8, 23–7, 38, 141, 156 Hodge, Charles 31, 77, 98 Holy Spirit 3, 34, 76, 80, 100–105, 126–8, 130, 135, 140–42, 155 Hurtado, Larry 5 hylomorphism 106–12 immateriality, divine 1, 68, 70, 71, 85, 97–112 immortality, divine 1, 20, 97, 153 immutability, divine 1, 20, 43, 65, 86–91, 115, 145, 153 impassibility, divine 1, 4, 20, 65, 90–93, 152 impeccability 1, 20 incorruptibility, divine 1, 20, 97, 153 individual essence 68, 78, 81, 104, 107, 109–11 infinity, divine 20, 117, 153 interpenetration 93, 95, 101–2 Jedwab, Joseph 53, 103, 119, 125, 128 Jenson, Robert 77 Jesus resurrection 3, 5–7, 58–9, 94, 129, 138, 143–8 self-understanding 5, 25–32, 129–32 sleep 57–8, 129, 132 temptation 21, 43, 82–3, 140–42, 153, 156 John of Damascus 71–2, 77, 93 Kenotic Christology functional 11, 20, 37–40, 44, 127, 137–44, 150–52 ontological 20, 37–44, 102–3, 117, 127, 137–44, 150–52

kind essence 68, 73, 78, 81 kryptic Christology 20, 38, 137–43 Le Poidevin, Robin 104–12 Leftow, Brian 85–9, 124 Leo, Pope 77 Leontius of Byzantium 72–3 Loke, Andrew 7, 20, 69, 124, 129 Louth, Andrew xiii, 60–62 Luther, Martin 77, 93, 104 Lutheran 19–20, 50, 93–5, 104, 137, 145 Marmodoro, Anna xiii, 8, 11 Maximus the Confessor 59–64, 76–7, 114 McGrath, Alister xiii, 3–4, 11–12, 95 McGrath, James 6, 28–30 Moltmann, Jürgen 91 Monophysitism 52, 76–7, 152 Monothelitism 19, 56, 58–65 Moreland, J.P. 8, 11, 42, 44, 53–9, 85, 88–9, 103–4, 109, 134 Morris, Thomas 2, 8, 10, 45–9, 68, 78, 81–2, 85, 124, 132, 134, 138, 141 Mystery 8–9, 14, 19, 37 Nestorianism 4, 20, 48, 59, 61–4, 71–3, 84, 90–93, 96, 98, 150 non-incarnational Christology 4–7 O’Collins, Gerald 2, 5, 11, 46, 60, 67 Omnipotence 10, 12, 13, 17, 19–21, 33–5, 40–44, 57, 61, 83–7, 97, 100–12, 123–33, 138–43, 145–8, 150–56 omniscience 8, 10, 13–16, 23–33, 43–5, 49, 53–4, 57, 70–73, 83–7, 100–12, 113–23, 145–8, 150–56 omnipresence 13, 35–6, 58, 83–7, 100–12, 133–6, 145–8, 150–56 Pannenberg, Wolfhart 5, 19, 61, 88, 93, 95, 130 Paradox 8–11, 104–12 Parousia 24 Perichoresis 100–101

Index Personhood 55, 59, 66–7, 72, 75 Plantinga, Alvin 7, 85, 103 reduplicative strategy 8, 47, 99 relative identity 8, 37 resurrection, see Jesus, resurrection Sanday, William 50–54, 64, 74–5, 14 Schweitzer, Albert 4 self-understanding, Jesus, see Jesus, self-understanding Senor, Thomas 97, 105 simplicity, criterion of 13, 151–2 simplicity, divine 20, 84–5, 87, 89–90, 153 speculation 18–19 Stump, Eleonore xiii, 99, 115 Sturch, Richard xiii, 2, 39, 46–7, 50, 88, 102, 115, 126 subordination, functional1–2, 20, 30–31, 54, 92, 141, 153 Swinburne, Richard 7, 11, 27, 46–9, 72, 93, 106–8, 122

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temptation of Jesus, see Jesus, temptation tertium quid 4, 71–3, 93, 104, 145 three-part Christologies 65, 68, 73–4, 92 Torrance, Alan xiii, 39, 67 Trinity, the 1, 31, 53, 66, 69–70, 83–5, 97, 100–102, 105–6, 110, 141 Two Consciousnesses Model 20, 37, 45–9, 64, 73, 143, 150–52 two-part Christologies 68, 73 Vallicella, William 84–5, 97, 110 Van Inwagen, Peter 8 Vermès, Geza 4 Webster, John 71 Weinandy, Thomas 86–7, 91 Wierenga, Edward 114, 121, 124, 134 Wiles, Maurice 28, 97 Witherington III, Ben 24 Wright, N.T. 5, 7, 25 Yandell, Keith 20, 53, 87, 115–16, 124, 129