The Church and the Problem of Divine Hiddenness: Mirrors of God [1 ed.] 9781003346951, 9781032388212, 9781032388229

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Routledge Studies in Analytic and Systematic Theology

THE CHURCH AND THE PROBLEM OF DIVINE HIDDENNESS MIRRORS OF GOD Derek S. King

The Church and the Problem of Divine Hiddenness

This book offers a theological, and more specifically ecclesiological, response to the philosophical problem of divine hiddenness. It engages with philosopher J. L. Schellenberg’s argument on hiddenness and sets out a theologically rich and fresh response, drawing on the ecclesiological thought of Gregory of Nyssa. With careful attention to Gregory’s work, the book shows how certain ecclesiological problems and themes are critical to the hiddenness argument. It looks to the gathered church (the church as the body of Christ) and the scattered church (the church as the image of God) for relevance to the hiddenness problem. The volume will be of interest to scholars of theology and philosophy, particularly analytic theologians and philosophers of religion. Derek S. King has a PhD in Analytic and Exegetical Theology from the University of St Andrews, U.K. He is a scholar-in-residence at Lewis House (University of Kentucky) and Adjunct Professor of Theology at Houston Baptist University, U.S.A.

Routledge Studies in Analytic and Systematic Theology Series editors: James Turner, Thomas McCall and Jordan Wessling

Impeccability and Temptation Understanding Christ’s Divine and Human Will Edited by Johannes Grössl and Klaus von Stosch Forgiveness and Atonement Christ’s Restorative Justice Jonathan C. Rutledge Theological Perspectives on Free Will Compatibility, Christology, and Community Edited by Aku Visala and Olli-Pekka Vainio The Church and the Problem of Divine Hiddenness Derek S. King Theological Perspectives on Free Will Compatibility, Christology, and Community Edited by Aku Visala, Olli-Pekka Vainio Forsaking the Fall Original Sin and the Possibility of a Nonlapsarian Christianity Daniel H. Spencer For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge. com/Routledge-Studies-in-Analytic-and-Systematic-Theology/book-series/ RSAST

The Church and the Problem of Divine Hiddenness Mirrors of God Derek S. King

First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 Derek S. King The right of Derek S. King to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. 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. Trademark 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 ISBN: 9781032388212 (hbk) ISBN: 9781032388229 (pbk) ISBN: 9781003346951 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003346951 Typeset in Sabon LT Std by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.

Contents

Acknowledgementsvi Abbreviationsviii Introduction1 1 Locating Hiddenness: The Problem of Divine Hiddenness

6

2 Hidden and Revealed: Participation as the Knowledge of God

27

3 Head and Body: The Nature of the Church

50

4 Seeing the Face of Christ: Sensing Christ in Gathered Worship75 5 The Sacramental Life: Experiencing Christ in Baptism and the Eucharist

96

6 Mirrors of God: The Scattered Images of God

117

7 Conclusion: An Ecclesiological Response to Divine Hiddenness

141

Index

156

Acknowledgements

This work was conceived and birthed in community. My initial ruminations on divine hiddenness began at Asbury Theological Seminary during courses with Dr Kevin Kinghorn. His insights were then, and continue to be, a catalyst for my own. Since that time, the amount of people at Asbury, the University of St Andrews, and beyond that have contributed to my thinking on this topic is enormous. A few are especially worthy of praise. Since this book began as a dissertation, those involved in the production of that dissertation have left their indelible marks on it. First, my supervisors Thomas McCall and Andrew Torrance improved this work more than they know. Their encouragement and clear thinking were more influential than can be briefly described. They deserve an extra round of applause for their patience with my fuzzy thinking and constant revisions. A special thanks, too, to my de facto third supervisor, Joshua Cockayne. Although not part of his job, his constant encouragement, constructive comments, and casual conversation in the Baillie Room and, less enjoyably, on video chat were an invaluable part of this finished product. Thanks, too, to my examiners Oliver Crisp and Tom Greggs. Beyond their comments on my dissertation, their work continues to be an inspiration. A special thanks is in order, also, to J. L. Schellenberg. His hiddenness argument inspired my thinking on this topic in the first place. And he very generously read and commented on a (very) early draft of my engagement with his work. Many other professors kindly contributed to my thoughts and work despite not having agreed to supervise me. Those especially deserving of thanks during my time at St Andrews are David Bradshaw, Kevin Diller, Stephen Holmes, T. J. Lang, David Moffitt, Timothy Pawl, Amy Peeler, Michael Rea, Sarah Lane Richie, Christoph Schwoebel, Alan Torrance, Peter Van Inwagen, N. T. Wright, and Phil Ziegler. It would be difficult to overestimate the influence—in and out of the classroom—of my cohort, fellow students, and researchers during my time at St Andrews. These include, but are not limited to, David Bennett, Dennis Bray, Justin Brittain, Hy Chy, Annie Diamond, Justin Duff, Madeline Jackson, Kimbery Kroll, Mitchell Mallory, Christa McKirland, Jared Michaelson, Ryan T. Mullins, Kevin Nordby, Stephanie Nordby, Eloise

Acknowledgements vii Orton, Jason Stigall, Jeremy Rios, Kyung-min Ro, Jonathan Rutledge, Taylor Telford, Koert Verhagen, Jonathan Walton, and Owen Weddle. And a special thanks is in order to those who endured me more than most: Ryan Bollier, Parker Haratine, Preston Hill, David Meadors, and the aforementioned Joshua Cockayne. I am honoured to call them friends. I am indebted to many Kentucky friends as well, who patiently listened to my too often sloppy arguments, especially C. J. Carter, Matt Dampier, Rick Freeman, Nicholas Grounds, Arthur Martin, and Dan Sheffler. Their comments substantially improved this work. And a special thanks to Mr Carter and Mr Freeman for answering my questions about proper grammar. Any remaining grammatical mistakes are fully and entirely their fault. Many of these ideas were first tried out, and greatly improved, during various conferences, including the 2018 Analytic Theology and the TriPersonal God: The Trinitarian Renewal in Analytic Tradition conference at Universite Catholique de Louvain (Belgium), the 2019 Helsinki Analytic Theology Conference (HEAT), and 2019 XVIII Oxford International Conference on Patristic Studies. Thank you to all who attended—especially to Richard Swinburne and Richard Cross who each offered very formative comments during the conference in Belgium. An academic endeavour like this book, however, is never merely academic. I am deeply grateful for members of St. Patrick’s Anglican Church and St Andrews Episcopal Church for their prayers and support during this time. I am thankful, too, for Christian Student Fellowship—especially Brian Marshall and the board—without which this would not have been possible. These communities, and the individuals above, have all contributed to the arguments in this book—not least because they are a lived example of how the Church reveals God’s love. Moreover, a short paragraph of gratitude is an act of grave negligence to those who have poured more work and care into me than I have this finished product—but, alas, it is what I can do here. I am forever grateful for my parents, who were my first, and remain to this day, my theological teachers. I am also grateful to my sister, who is a constant source of encouragement and love. I am thankful, too, for my son, Lewis, who is only a baby but still had to put up with losing dad every now and then. And, finally, for my lovely wife, Bethany, who has patiently endured this process with me with much love, grace, and support—and very generously helped me compile the index of this book (worth the price of the ring alone). I am forever thankful for her. She has little idea how much better this book is because of her.

Abbreviations

All Bibliographic information is included in the Bibliography. For Biblical abbreviations, I follow the style outlined in the Society of Biblical Literature handbook. General ACW BDAG GNO LS NPNF NRSV OFP PG PPS SC ST TDNT VG

Ancient Christian Writers A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature (William Danker) Gregorii Nysseni Opera (Jaeger) An Intermediate Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell & Scott) Nicene and Post Nicene Fathers New Revised Standard Version Origen of Alexandria, On First Principles Patrologia Graeca Popular Patristics Series Sources chrétiennes Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae Theological Dictionary of the New Testament Vigiliae Christianae

Gregory of Nyssa Abbreviations for Gregory’s works follow those provided in the Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa. Abbreviation Latin Title An et res Antirrh Beat Cant Diem lum Eccl Epist Eun

De anima et resurrectione Antirrheticus adversos Apolliarium De beatitudinibus In Canticum canticorum In diem luminem In Ecclesiasten homiliae Epistulae Contra Eunomium

Abbreviations ix Inst Maced Macr Op hom Or cat Or dom Perf Prof Trid spat Tunc et ipse Virg Vit Moys

De instituto Christiano Adversos Macedonianos, De Spiritu Sancto Vita s. Macrinae De hominis opificio Oratio catechetica magna De oration dominica De perfectione De professione Christiana De tridua inter mortem et resurrectionem domini nostril Iesu Christi spatio In illud: Tun et ipse De virginitate De vita moysis

Introduction

The grandaddy of problems for Christian philosophy and apologetics is the Problem of Evil. “Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?” and cognate questions dominate the landscape of doubt in academy and pew. In logical, evidential, and emotional forms, the problem has a long history of troubling believers and nonbelievers alike. Given the vast amount of discussion it has engendered, one is tempted to think it is the problem for any theism that confesses a loving, all-powerful God. Yet, for all the trauma and tragedy our world can produce, the Problem of Divine Hiddenness is perhaps the more insidious problem. For how much easier could we accept horrendous and tragic evils—from tornados to cancer to genocide—if, amid our devastation, we heard the comfort of a divine whisper: “I love you. I am with you. And it will all be okay.” However excruciating the suffering, the silence and obscurity of God is so often the twist of the knife. Pain is difficult to bear; God’s silence feels unbearable and, even more, unbelievable. It is tempting to conflate the Problem of Divine Hiddenness and the Problem of Evil. If God’s silence causes suffering and pain, is divine hiddenness just another form of the Problem of Evil? Perhaps, but we could just as easily claim the inverse: any instance of evil is really an instance of hiddenness. When we see suffering in the world, is our first reaction not, “where was God?” Despite similarity and overlap, the problems are best left conceptually distinct. We can conceive of pain and suffering without hiddenness. The comforting divine whisper during tragedy, for example, would leave us with some version of the Problem of Evil but not the Problem of Hiddenness. Conversely, the Problem of Divine Hiddenness is conceivable apart from the Problem of Evil. In a world without pain or suffering, or in a world in which every person was healthy and happy, God’s hiddenness would still vex and frustrate. Even as a subset of the Problem of Evil, divine hiddenness still raises a distinct problem in need of a distinct solution. The aim of this book is to offer a response to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. Any response to the problem must be aware of several issues. For example, is this a response a complete or partial explanation of divine DOI: 10.4324/9781003346951-1

2  Introduction hiddenness? Is this response intended to ease the emotional burden of hiddenness for those that experience it or solve the intellectual problem alone? Is this response a “defence” or “theodicy?” These questions, and more, will be addressed later. But one critical feature of my response worth covering at the outset is that it is a theological response. One may initially be sceptical that a theological response is warranted since the Problem of Divine Hiddenness is typically understood as a philosophical problem. A comprehensive exploration of the distinction between the disciplines of theology and philosophy need not detain us here, but one distinction is that theology is performed in faith and assumes God’s revelation is true and reliable.1 And yet before this response gets off the ground, it raises a question-begging worry. If the Problem of Divine Hiddenness is employed as an argument against God’s existence, then does a theological response—by assuming God has revealed—not assume the conclusion of a hiddenness argument to be false from the outset? The point is well taken. But there is no way around it: our fundamental assumptions about revelation will necessarily shape the structure of our arguments. For if God has revealed himself, then that revelation is surely the best evidence we have for God’s existence and the most reliable source of truth about who God is, what he wants for us, and, therefore, where God is found. 2 We cannot justly complain of God’s hiddenness if we refuse his revelation. Bracketing out revelation is just as question-begging as assuming it. Although our fundamental stance towards revelation is critical, it does not just assume an arbitrary, presuppositional choice about the reliability of revelation. In fact, by appealing to divine revelation to explain divine hiddenness, this book shows that God’s revelation has explanatory power for divine hiddenness. The question-begging worry aside, there remain good reasons for addressing this problem from explicitly theological premises. For example, the Problem of Divine Hiddenness is only a problem if God is hidden—or if God’s relative hiddenness cannot be understood in the wider context of God’s purposes in the world. To determine this, however, one needs some account or conception of God. One option is to adopt the vague, general God of “theism.” But insofar as that conception either conflicts with or lacks features of the Christian God in ways relevant to the hiddenness argument, Christians need not be troubled by the hiddenness argument. If nothing else, a theological treatment of hiddenness puts a face, flesh, and blood on God so that the extent of the hiddenness problem can be determined for a particular conception of God and not a general conception. Assuming a theological response is warranted, the question remains of how to construct such a response. Several theological doctrines are potentially relevant to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness, not least topics within divine revelation, Christology, and Pneumatology. Indeed, this book makes use of all of these doctrines, to some extent. Nonetheless, this book offers an ecclesiological response by centring on the nature and role of the Church in knowing God. Initial ruminations on the power of the Church to

Introduction 3 respond to this argument grew out of observation. In Christian community, it is common for nonbelievers to come to faith not as a result of apologetics or theophany, but immersion into the community of believers. Faith or belief in God often turns out to be what C. S. Lewis called the “good infection,” spreading from one believer to another.3 The force of such a response came more clearly into view from research on the theology of Gregory of Nyssa. Gregory’s distinct approach to certain ecclesiological themes helps illuminate how the Church is relevant to divine hiddenness. This is not to suggest that the ecclesiological themes addressed in this book are strictly “Gregorian” nor that Gregory would have responded to Schellenberg in this way. Indeed, the ecclesiological themes surveyed here are, first and foremost, Scriptural themes and Gregory does not have “divine hiddenness” in mind when expounding them. But Gregory is nonetheless a good guide and his thinking is central to the arguments of this book. To orient the reader to the book’s argument, the following is a brief outline of each chapter. An ecclesiological response argues that the Church is a response to the problem of divine hiddenness because she helps explain why God is hidden in the way he is. She helps explain this because she is revelatory of God—or is how God is making himself known to all people—­ including nonbelievers. Chapter 1 introduces and defines the problem, especially as articulated by philosopher J. L. Schellenberg. After assessing Schellenberg’s argument and various responses to it, I locate the ecclesiological response within the existing literature. Chapter 2 offers an initial theological assessment of Schellenberg’s argument by identifying potential theological challenges for the argument and by charting an alternative way of conceiving of knowing God. In contrast to Schellenberg’s conception of knowing God, Gregory of Nyssa conceives of knowing God by participation in him. This, I suggest, is a critical reformulation for the hiddenness discussion. Chapter 3 depicts the Church as the Scriptural image of the Body of Christ. The Church is, that is, both “many members” and “one body.” The chapter explores how this image applies to the agency of the Church. In conversation with modern philosophical work on group agency, this chapter argues that the Church’s agency is best understood as Christ’s agency through the Church. The Church is, on this view, a manifestation of Christ’s presence in the world. Obvious problems arise with this conclusion, however. In particular, the Problem of Sin in the Church undermines the claim that the Church manifests Christ’s presence. More than being a problem for an ecclesiological response in theory, it is especially problematic in practice because it demonstrates the need for discerning Christ’s activity in the Church. The Problem of Discernment, then, is the greater problem for my argument, because without discernment of Christ in the Church the nonbeliever remains without recourse to finding God. Toward meeting this challenge, the remainder of the book explores how three roles of the Church—or ways the Church is present in the world—are especially useful

4  Introduction for discerning Christ’s activity through the Church: the Church Gathered Inclusive, the Church Gathered Exclusive, and the Church Scattered. Chapter 4 centres on the Church Gathered Inclusive or how Christ is present in the liturgy. In liturgical actions like communal prayers, the sermon, reading of Scripture, etc., the liturgy is a way we know and relate to God. Chapter 5 centres on the Church Gathered Exclusive or how Christ is present through the sacraments.4 The exclusivity, or availability only for some, of the sacraments is controversial and underdetermined, but the chapter outlines specific circumstances in which a nonbeliever could receive the sacraments and, through them, know and relate to God. For these reasons, the Church Gathered, in both the Inclusive and Exclusive mode, is a way God is revealing himself to nonbelievers. Chapter 6 centres on the Church Scattered or individuals reshaped in the image of God. As individuals in the Church, the “many members” are restored in the image of God. As image-bearers, they have both a representative responsibility and a representational capacity. They are, that is, mediators of divine revelation. In these three roles of the Church, God is operating through the Church to reveal himself to the world. The concluding chapter, Chapter 7, clearly states the ecclesiological response to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. It argues that, in her nature and roles, the Church is a primary means by which God is making himself known to the world. Insofar as he is hidden, he is hidden because the ongoing presence of Christ in the Church is how God desires to be known. Because of Christ’s ongoing presence in the Church and God’s desire to be known through her, the Church is a satisfactory response to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness.

Notes 1 Elsewhere, I defend the claim that theology is necessarily distinct from philosophy by adopting a “faith-methodology.” See Derek King, “How to Tell Jerusalem from Athens: How a Faith-Methodology Distinguishes Theology from Philosophy,” Theology in Scotland 27, no. 1 (August 4, 2020): 25–36, https:// doi.org/10.15664/tis.v27i1.2100. 2 This book uses masculine pronouns to refer to God. This footnote explains why and defends the practice. First, it is worth stating clearly: except in the incarnate Christ, God is not, biologically or otherwise, male. Nonetheless, the New Testament and the theological tradition—two sources to which I remain faithful—use masculine pronouns for God. However, this does not settle the matter. The languages in these authorities (in the West, mostly Greek, Latin, French, or German) use gendered nouns that do not necessarily correspond to masculinity or femininity. For example, the Greek word ψυχή is a feminine noun translated “soul” or “life.” It adopts feminine articles, adjectives, and pronouns, but the “femininity” is grammatical. That is, Jesus presumably does not mean to imply his very soul or life is somehow female. The rub is that English pronouns typically do connote masculinity and femininity beyond the grammatical. This presents a challenge for English translators. So, when Jesus says, “I lay down my ψυχήν” (John 10:17) should the following pronoun—αὐτήν, a feminine

Introduction 5 pronoun—­be translated “… but I lay her down of my own accord” or “… but I lay it down of my own accord” (John 10:18)? The former matches the gender of the Greek but makes for misleading or confusing English because the English feminine pronoun is gendered in a way the Greek pronoun is not. So, translators typically prefer “it” (e.g., NRSV, NET, ESV, NIV). In short, just because the New Testament uses a particular gendered pronoun does not necessarily mean it is the best way to render it in English. There is no perfect solution to this problem. On the one hand, English masculine pronouns risk confusing God with maleness, which raises both theological and pastoral concerns. On the other hand, English masculine or feminine pronouns typically connote personhood. God/Godself or itself risks depersonalizing God and often makes for clunky and unclear writing. The decisive issue for me is that that the descriptor “Father” for God is nonnegotiable. Like the masculine pronoun, the word Father connotes maleness in English (and, I assume, in other languages). Of course, God is still not male and Scripture also uses motherhood as an apt description for God’s relationship to us (e.g., Isaiah 49:15). Still, since I am committed to retaining Fatherhood language, avoiding the masculine pronoun seems hollow—and, I found, often led to unclarity when in conversation with Scripture and the tradition. The practice of this book is to follow the Greek pronoun usage from the New Testament for the following words: God (he/him/ himself), Father (he/him/himself), Son (he/him/himself), Spirit (it/itself), and Church (she/her/herself). I am aware of the problems with this formulation, not least of which calling the Spirit “it” risks de-personalization. However, English translations simply are imperfect. The best I can do is make clear that my use of English pronouns for these words should be recognized for what they are: references to the Greek that, except in the incarnate Jesus, do not carry the gendered connotations of the English pronoun. 3 C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York, NY: HarperCollins, 2001), 172. 4 A later chapter will clarify what is meant by “inclusive” and “exclusive.”

1

Locating Hiddenness The Problem of Divine Hiddenness

How long will you hide your face from me? (Psalm 13:1)

What is the Problem of Divine Hiddenness? Talk of divine hiddenness— or divine absence or silence—does not always assume that there is a problem. Some theologians seem to understand hiddenness as the flip side of the divine revelation coin, or just an attribute or feature of God.1 Divine hiddenness is a problem, however, when it motivates potential worries, confusions, or inconsistencies about the nature of God. The motivation of certain worries, confusions, or inconsistencies typically requires other beliefs or claims about God. If I believe that God is a cosmic hermit, his hiddenness is not a problem because it reflects my beliefs about the nature of God. The problem comes when we claim that God is hidden, but also that he is good, loving, or interested in relating to us. Paired with those claims, divine hiddenness could become a problem. This chapter shall say more about the nature of the problem and locate the response of this book into existing literature on divine hiddenness. A fundamental distinction in the Problem of Divine Hiddenness lies between what we can call experienced hiddenness and intellectual hiddenness. 2 Experienced hiddenness is a first-person, felt reality. It is a problem because confusion or frustration arises in the face of God’s absence or silence when certain beliefs about God—like “God exists” and “God loves me”—suggest God should be more present. An example is the Psalmist who cries to God, “How long will you hide your face from me?” (Psalm 13:1; NRSV).3 Intellectual hiddenness is a problem because it identifies, from a third-person perspective, a conceptual difficulty or inconsistency between certain claims about God, like God is loving, and God’s relative hiddenness. One version of intellectual hiddenness is commensurate with the Problem of Evil: God’s hiddenness here refers to God’s absence amid tragedy, suffering, or evil.4 Another version finds a problem with divine hiddenness simpliciter. In this second version, God’s hiddenness is a problem DOI: 10.4324/9781003346951-2

Locating Hiddenness 7 even without suffering or evil. In a hypothetical utopia entirely devoid of all suffering, for example, a loving God’s absence from his creation would remain perplexing.5 Because of the nature of the intellectual and experienced problems of hiddenness, the arguments of this book shall primarily engage the intellectual problem. The best response to experienced hiddenness—as with experienced evil—is typically not an argument. Even so, the arguments of this book put forth a response to the intellectual problem that, as should become clear, is relevant to the experienced problem, too. It puts forth, that is, tangible spaces for experiencing God, even if, of course, the arguments do not guarantee the resolution to anyone’s experienced hiddenness. Nonetheless, the intellectual problem of hiddenness, and the second version in particular, is the problem to which this book responds. Hereafter, hiddenness refers to this version of the intellectual problem. A forceful defender of the Problem of Divine Hiddenness is J. L. Schellenberg. His argument against God’s existence from divine hiddenness, various responses to it, and how my response relates to it is the focus of the remainder of this chapter.

An Intellectual Problem: Schellenberg and Hiddenness Divine hiddenness is not a new problem, but J. L. Schellenberg’s argument represents a new direction for it.6 Although the argument has undergone various, relatively minor, alterations since his initial formulation, the recent version of Schellenberg’s formal argument is as follows7: 1 If God exists, then God is perfectly loving toward such finite persons as there may be. [Premise] 2 If God is perfectly loving toward such finite persons as there may be, then for any capable finite person S and time t, God is at t open to being in a positively meaningful and reciprocal conscious relationship (a personal relationship) with S at t. [Premise] 3 If God exists, then for any capable finite person S and time t, God is at t open to being in a personal relationship with S at t. [1, 2 by Hypothetical Syllogism] 4 If for any capable finite person S and time t, God is at t open to being in a personal relationship with S at t, then for any capable finite person S and time t, it is not the case that S is at t nonresistantly in a state of nonbelief in relation to the proposition that God exists. [Premise] 5 If God exists, then for any capable finite person S and time t, it is not the case that S is at t nonresistantly in a state of nonbelief in relation to the proposition that God exists. [3, 4 by Hypothetical Syllogism] 6 There is at least one capable finite person S and time t such that S is or was at t nonresistantly in a state of nonbelief in relation to the proposition that God exists. [Premise] 7 It is not the case that God exists. [5, 6 by Modus Tollens]8

8  Locating Hiddenness The argument is formally valid. Its soundness depends especially on how Schellenberg understands two foundational concepts: perfect love and nonresistant nonbelief. Before assessing any responses, it is worth clarifying what he means by each. Perfect Love The foundational premise of Schellenberg’s argument is that God loves persons and that love is perfect. His view of love is “broadly in line” with Eleonore Stump’s Thomistic view of love.9 Love involves “two interconnected desires” in the lover: “the good of the beloved” and “union with the beloved.”10 If God loves persons, then, he will pursue their good and union with them. There could be different ways of understanding what a union with God entails, but Schellenberg emphasizes the pursuit of relationship.11 At a minimum, a lover seeks a “personal relationship,” or “a conscious and reciprocal relationship … allowing for a deep sharing” with the beloved.12 In short, insofar as God loves us “God seeks to be personally related to us.”13 Of course, this does not guarantee that such a relationship will obtain, but it does mean, Schellenberg thinks, that God is at least open to a relationship with us. By open to relationship, he means that God will not, through “actions or omissions,” make it “impossible” for us to participate in a relationship with him.14 At a minimum, love demands that God is open to relationship. In other words, without openness to relationship, there is no love. God’s love is also perfect. This means it is without lack, both in the sense of being the best or deepest kind of love and in the sense of being directed at every possible person at every possible time. Yet even this kind of love could have limitations. Suppose a human person, Beth, was perfectly loving in this sense: her love is the deepest love and directed at every possible person at every possible time. Still, Beth’s spatial and temporal limitations confine her love to a relatively small subset of the human species with whom Beth comes into contact. So, God’s love is perfect, but also not spatially or temporally limited. Whereas for Beth every possible person at every possible time means relatively few persons at a relatively small number of times, for God every possible person at every possible time means every person at every time. Paired with Schellenberg’s view of love, the perfect love of God entails that God is at least open to a relationship with every person at every time. Nonresistant Nonbelief Schellenberg’s empirical claim is that there is at least one case of nonresistant nonbelief. His is a doxastic problem of hiddenness because it locates the problem at a lack of belief in God’s existence.15 Nonbelief, for Schellenberg, describes a state some persons are in with respect to

Locating Hiddenness 9 God and nonresistant describes the way they are in that state. In this sense, belief is a propositional attitude.16 Nonbelief, which Schellenberg’s argument is after, is reflected in the statement, “I do not believe that p,” but this is not necessarily the same thing as “I believe that not-p.” All disbelief is nonbelief (“I believe that not-p” entails “I do not believe that p”) but not all nonbelief is disbelief. To illustrate the difference, consider my dog, Thorin Barkenshield. Until reading this, you were in a state of nonbelief with respect to Thorin because you failed to believe that he exists. However, perhaps upon reading this, you formed a belief that I do have a dog called Thorin. In fact, I do not. I invented him for the purpose of this example. Upon learning this, your nonbelief or belief in Thorin has presumably turned to disbelief (perhaps in more ways than one). So, Schellenberg’s nonbeliever can refer to someone who disbelieves in God (i.e., does not believe that God exists), but it can also refer to the agnostic, or one who simply lacks belief in God. Nonbelief on its own, however, does not do the work Schellenberg needs his nonbelievers to do. A nonbeliever, after all, could just obstinately refuse to believe in God despite the evidence, and there is not much God could do about that. God could hardly be blamed and, certainly, his love should not be questioned based on such cases. Schellenberg, then, refers to nonresistant believers. Nonresistance describes how a person is in a state of nonbelief. For him, a person A is in a state of nonresistant nonbelief with respect to B only if A’s “nonbelief in relation to the proposition that B exists” is not brought about by resistance.17 Resistance (or nonresistance) is therefore a “cognitive condition.”18 Perhaps you initially resisted belief in my fictional dog Thorin because you have read other things I have written with similar examples or you have an aversion to dogs named after dwarves. Whatever the reason(s), you are resistant if your evaluation of the evidence is negatively influenced by reasons other than the evidence. Presumably, you have no such reasons with respect to Thorin, both prior to reading this chapter and after it, so you are a nonresistant nonbeliever with respect to Thorin. In Schellenberg’s hiddenness argument, a nonresistant nonbeliever is a person who “nonresistantly fails to believe that God exists.”19 Although the nonresistant nonbeliever “fails” to believe that God exists, this is not the same as culpability or fault for nonbelief. Schellenberg contends belief “is involuntary in the sense that one cannot choose to believe something at a time just by trying to.”20 For example, I believe a large oak tree stands just outside my window, but I could not choose to believe otherwise even if offered unlimited money or my life was threatened. I could say I believe otherwise but I could not actually do so. If this is true, a nonresistant nonbeliever is not at fault for their nonbelief.21 Nonresistant nonbelievers simply lack sufficient evidence to form a belief and so are inculpable for their lack of belief. The existence of nonresistant nonbelief has a good deal of intuitive support. Most people at least know a nonbeliever who claims, and

10  Locating Hiddenness at least appears, to be nonresistant in their nonbelief. While he allows that some persons may be resistant in their nonbelief, Schellenberg maintains there is at least one nonresistant nonbeliever. With the concepts of perfect love and nonresistant nonbelief in place, it is easier to see the force of Schellenberg’s argument. The argument proposes an inconsistency between the existence of nonresistant nonbelief and a perfectly loving God. Since belief is required for a personal relationship, 22 a nonresistant nonbeliever cannot relate to God, even though God presumably could provide the belief necessary for such a relationship to obtain. This means that, through action or omission, God is doing something (i.e., not providing sufficient evidence for his existence to the nonresistant nonbeliever) that makes it impossible for the nonbeliever to be in a relationship with him. On Schellenberg’s reckoning, this means God is not open to a relationship with that nonbeliever at this time. If that is so, then God is not perfectly loving. Therefore, according to the argument, either God is not perfectly loving or nonresistant nonbelief does not exist.

Responses to the Argument The possibly vulnerable premises of Schellenberg’s argument are (1), (2), (4), and (6). Accordingly, responses to Schellenberg tend to group into one of the following strategies: deny that God is perfectly loving (reject 1); deny that perfect love requires openness to relationship (reject 2); show how the existence of a perfectly loving God is compatible with the existence of nonresistant nonbelief (reject 4); deny the existence of nonresistant nonbelief (reject 6); sceptical Theism (reject the conclusion). There is variation within each strategy, including the scope or aim of the strategy.23 This section summarizes each strategy and briefly explores the successes (and failures) of each. Deny that God Is Perfectly Loving (Reject 1) Few theists deny that God is perfectly loving. Opting for this strategy does not require that one deny that God is perfectly loving tout court, but that one deny that God is perfectly loving in the specific way Schellenberg imagines. Schellenberg’s account of love, despite much overlap with the Christian view of God’s love, is rooted in a particular understanding of how we infer God’s attributes. He says we know divine attributes by “extrapolation from our own similar attributes plus ultimization.”24 Michael Rea points out, however, that such an ultimization project is, at best, theologically controversial. He argues that divine transcendence (DT), or “whatever intrinsic attribute of God explains the fact that intrinsic substantive predications of God or of the divine nature that express non-revealed concepts are, at best, analogical,” is a traditional theological doctrine that guards against the kind of move Schellenberg makes. 25

Locating Hiddenness 11 On DT, “we have no fully transparent, non-revealed concept of any intrinsic attribute of God”26 and therefore must have a “humility about expectations” for how God’s attributes manifest themselves. 27 Rooted in traditional thinking about God, DT is intended to recognize the limits of our language to describe God and his attributes. It makes Schellenberg’s ultimization project a difficult one to sustain. Rea’s recourse to DT exposes a flaw in Schellenberg’s formulation, but it also reveals a more fundamental issue: that Schellenberg’s argument sometimes strays from theological conceptions of God. It is, of course, Schellenberg’s prerogative to adopt such conceptions, but he can hardly blame Christians for being unconvinced if the conception of God he uses for his argument is a god Christians do not believe in. Despite the force of Rea’s emphasis on DT, Schellenberg has a rebuttal. He admits that there are potential difficulties in using ordinary language for God and he stops short of saying that God’s love and human love are equivalent. Despite the difficulties and potential incongruencies, “that does not mean the notion [of human love] is inapplicable.”28 Indeed, support for these claims are found (among other places) in the Christian Scriptures, where God’s love is compared to parental love. 29 Schellenberg concludes that divine and human love involve the same concept: “for either when one speaks of ‘what it is for God to be loving’ one is referring to our concept of love or not.”30 In her review of Rea’s book, Michelle Panchuk clearly and finely makes the point: “the problem is not the existence of limits on divine love, but a failure to meet some minimum requirement.”31 She adds, Perhaps it is better to say that God is shloving toward us, where shloving refers to whatever transcendent attribute is analogous to human love … Perhaps it is more than finite, fallen humans deserve. Perhaps we can raise no legitimate complaints against God for not loving us. Still, shlove isn’t what many hoped for (especially those who have been deeply harmed as a result of seeking God), and to our human eyes it may pale in the light of the love we sometimes receive from the finite, fallen humans.32 A strength of Schellenberg’s argument, after all, is that he appeals only to a minimal requirement (i.e., openness to relationship) to which we would hold any human lover. If God fails to meet minimal requirements, then it is worth considering whether it is helpful to call God loving. In short, “the concept of love is our concept. There is no escaping this.”33 God’s love might be different than human love, but it is never less than human love. Ultimately, Rea’s DT response does raise a challenge for Schellenberg’s argument. Even if Schellenberg insists that human love is applicable to divine love, and the minimal requirements for love apply to both divine and human persons, the Christian tradition has always insisted that our

12  Locating Hiddenness predications of God—even a basic predication like “God is a person”—are analogical. If God’s personhood and love are analogical, then it is difficult to see how Schellenberg can be certain God fails to meet minimal requirements of love—or even what those requirements are, for God. For example, divine openness to relationship may be similar to human openness at points, but it may significantly diverge, too. Nonetheless, the response of this book shall assume that God is perfectly loving in the way Schellenberg suggests, namely, that God is open to relationship with every person and that openness is similar to how other persons are open to relationship. After all, Schellenberg is right that Scripture and the Christian tradition reflect a concern with something like what Schellenberg calls a “personal relationship.” He points to prayer as an example of a relational action that mirrors similar actions of a human relationship.34 Like human personal relationships, divine personal relationships exhibit qualities of “reciprocal activity … and interaction.”35 So, it is reasonable to think that God is indeed open to and, more than that, eagerly interested in personally relating to every person on account of his love. Deny that Perfect Love Requires Openness to Relationship (Reject 2) This strategy aims to sever any necessary connection between God’s love and openness to personal relationship. For example, Mark Murphy argues that the “love framework” of divine action, exemplified in Schellenberg, is flawed.36 As Murphy understands it, a “framework of divine action is that of a structure of norms that apply to divine action necessarily.”37 On Schellenberg’s love framework, God is necessarily motivated to act according to a specific, unitive kind of love. Murphy does not deny that God is necessarily loving or that God loves us, but he adds: “it is not at all clear what reasons for action we can appeal to in order to explain why God must will and act in univolent ways.”38 Because “God’s seeking out a relationship with us is something done entirely for our sake, for our flourishing,” it is not “something that God necessarily does, even conditionally on the existence of personal beings like us.”39 Michael Rea and Ebrahim Azadegan are similarly suspicious that God’s love works in such a necessary way. Azadegan contends that God’s is agape, not eros, love, which is “generous” and “spontaneous”40 and so does not “entail any personal relationship whatsoever.”41 On his view, God’s love is like rain, falling indiscriminately and not requiring reciprocity.42 To Azedegan, Schellenberg replies that relationship with God is not only a good in itself, but would also be good for creatures and, therefore, agape would be moved to make relationship available for all creatures.43 Michael Rea’s suspicion about necessity is based in God’s personhood. Rea reminds us that, if God is a person, then God has a personality, and that should tune our expectations about

Locating Hiddenness 13 how he will behave. God is not a cosmic vending machine, algorithmically spitting out the best possible scenario, but God has “interests and desires distinct from and not necessarily orientated around those of others, projects that further those interests and desires, and a personality that is at least partly expressive of them.”44 Schellenberg rejoins that “the point is well taken,” but that it does not require hiddenness.45 Rea raises an important, and too often forgotten, point that ought to adjust our expectations about how God interacts with us, but, as Rea and Schellenberg seem to agree, the point is not enough to explain divine hiddenness altogether.46 Another example of this strategy is Joshua Blanchard’s attempt to argue that, even if God’s love requires openness to relationship, it does not require openness to personal relationship. He maintains “God does not only, or even primarily, desire and participate in relationships with individuals qua individuals. But that is not because God is non-relational or non-loving. Rather, God is also related to and loves communities, e.g. Israel (or the Church).”47 On Blanchard’s view, God’s perfect love and the existence of some individual nonresistant nonbelievers are compatible because God’s love is primarily directed at communities as a whole. Even if Blanchard is right that God’s love is community-directed, one wonders why perfectly love would not be directed at both communities and individuals. The testimony of Scripture does, as Blanchard notes, portray God relating to communities (like Israel or the Church), but it also portrays God relating to individuals (like Abraham or the Apostle Paul). The responses in this strategy each, from their own angle, add important contributions to the literature, but, as standalone responses to Schellenberg, do not succeed in showing Schellenberg’s hiddenness problem to be misconceived. Whatever we might say about what God’s love requires, the Christian tradition has typically affirmed that God is interested in relationship with all individuals. Show that the Existence of a Perfectly Loving God Is Compatible with the Existence of Nonresistant Nonbelief (Reject 4) This is the most popular and versatile response to Schellenberg’s argument and, as such, there are many variations of it. It often involves a weighing of goods, in which one judges some other good to outweigh the bad of hiddenness. In other words, hiddenness is a necessary evil.48 Examples of goods posited in this strategy include creaturely freedom49 or the limitation of moral culpability. 50 Paul K. Moser’s work also includes a calculation of goods, albeit with a different goal. Rather than a specific response to Schellenberg, Moser’s larger project is “a sustained critique of standard philosophical methodology concerning inquiry into God’s reality,”51 or what he calls “reorienting religious epistemology.”52 While he could be interpreted as denying the existence of nonresistant nonbelief, 53

14  Locating Hiddenness he is primarily concerned with us avoiding “cognitive idolatry,” or pursuing knowledge of God incorrectly. 54 Knowing God is not a philosopher’s response to evidence, he argues, which would reduce knowing God to a “spectator sport.”55 Instead, God desires that we know him with a “filial knowledge,” or knowing God “as one’s authoritative and loving Father to whom one yields as God’s child in response to a perfectly authoritative and loving call to repentance and fellowship.”56 God’s hiddenness is not itself a good thing, but it is for our benefit. The good of relating to God in a filial way, that is, outweighs any negative that not knowing God propositionally could bring. Although Stephen Davis shares Moser’s Christian beliefs, he asks of Moser: “what about the case of the sincere agnostic?”57 His colleague Robert, he explains, appears to genuinely desire filial knowledge of God, but believes that God does not exist for lack of evidence. Davis admits Robert could be deceiving himself but adds “it would be difficult for me to come up with a non-question begging argument that convicts Robert of the charge.”58 For Davis, examples like Robert are a problem for Moser’s response. Another version of this strategy that could help make more sense of cases like Robert’s is an appeal to God’s relationship with nonbelievers. Ted Poston and Trent Dougherty distinguish between de dicto belief, or “the endorsement of some proposition that is preceded by a thatclause,” and de re belief, or “belief of a thing or an individual that it has some feature even if the de re believer does not recognize the subject under some specific description.”59 For example, one could believe de dicto that Mark Twain is a great author but believe de re that Samuel Clemens is a great author without knowing that Samuel Clemens is Mark Twain. 60 They suggest that de re belief is all that is needed for a nonbeliever to relate to God. So, God could relate to a sincere agnostic, like Robert, without Robert’s de dicto belief that God exists. While Poston and Doughterty put their finger on an important point, it is difficult to see why God would choose only to relate to some nonbelievers in this way. Even if it possible for the nonbeliever to relate to God, surely that relationship falls well short of Schellenberg’s ideal of personal relationship. At least, merely de re belief is less than we would hope for in loving, human relationships. Like the de re response, a sanjuanist (follows St. John of the Cross)61 or Kierkegaardian (follows Søren Kierkegaard)62 approach emphasizes God’s loving activity within hiddenness. This response considers how, in a “dark night of the soul” or through “divine weaning,” God’s purposeful withdrawal is for the sake of greater intimacy. God’s hiddenness is therefore the necessary catalyst for a kind of purgative experience that turns out to be spiritually nourishing.63 Still, the sanjuanist or Kierkegaardian approaches are found wanting as standalone responses. They each make more sense within personal relationship. The idea, after all, is divine withdrawal which implies a previous presence.

Locating Hiddenness 15 Deny the Existence of Nonresistant Nonbelief (Reject 6) Nonresistant nonbelief may have some intuitive support, but there are reasons to doubt it as well. One theologically robust way to deny the existence of nonresistant nonbelief is with the Christian doctrine of sin. The first example of hiddenness in Scripture is not God hiding from humanity, but humanity hiding from God. After disobeying God, “the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God.”64 This small but illuminating detail of the creation narrative is telling for the role of sin in divine hiddenness. Sin, as a condition or action, is a result of the Fall65 and it infects every person.66 For Pascal, this solves the problem, because God wishes “to appear openly to those who seek him whole-heartedly, and to remain hidden from those who single-mindedly avoid him.”67 God’s hiddenness is therefore the result of sinful creatures who willfully turn from him. In other words, “there is enough light for those who desire only to see, and enough darkness for those of the opposite disposition.”68 What about those nonbelievers who claim, and appear, to be truly nonresistant? A Pascalian response would emphasize the corrupt nature of every human mind. He says, “we are nothing but lies, duplicity, contradiction, and we hide and disguise ourselves from ourselves.”69 We are “like a player on a stage” who “enacts his own false understanding and in doing so reinforces it and maintains it in being.”70 This would help explain why some nonbelievers think of themselves as nonresistant, but it raises another issue: is it possible for humans to be so blatantly self-deceptive? David Kipp, for example, is sceptical and argues that self-deception requires one to be simultaneously “deceiver and deceived,” which amounts to someone believing both p and not-p.71 Under these circumstances, it is indeed difficult to conceive how a person could so blatantly deceive themselves. But William Wood offers a plausible alternative: “while the self-deceiver remains in the state of self-deception—while he continues to deceive himself—he does not ever attend to the fact that he believes not-p, and he does not ever attend to the fact that he is intentionally deceiving himself into believing p.”72 The problem with Wood’s Pascalian version of self-deception is that the self-­ deceiver in this sense may still count as a nonresistant nonbeliever. That is, if the deceiver does not realize that he is deceiving, he is still plausibly nonresistant in the Schellenbergian sense since, by resistance, Schellenberg has in mind “intentional awareness.”73 For his part, Schellenberg allows that some nonbelievers may be self-deceptive,74 but also insists that nonresistant nonbelief is an “evident empirical fact.”75 The problem is that nonresistant nonbelief is not evident, empirical, nor a fact. Although Michael Rea accepts the existence of nonresistant nonbelief for the sake of argument, he is right that it is a claim “for which nobody could have very good evidence.”76 It is worth questioning whether we are successful interpreters of our own biases in such matters, much less successful interpreters of the biases of others to which we have so little epistemic

16  Locating Hiddenness access. Schellenberg admits that resistant nonbelief is possible, but surely it is also possible, even plausible, that some cases of resistant nonbelief externally appear to be cases of nonresistant nonbelief. If that is so, then how can we be sure that any case of nonbeliever is nonresistant? The instability of the claim that nonresistant nonbelief exists is compounded by the Christian doctrine of sin, on which fallibility and self-deception infect every person. Sin causes a rupture in our ability to know God or ourselves. Further, it infects us in a pre-cognitive way: our desires, intuitions, and the like are fundamentally disordered. Our reflections about our condition, especially our reasons for nonbelief, are unlikely to be reliable. Schellenberg will find difficulty in supporting the existence of nonresistant nonbelief on a Christian conception of God and God’s relationship to the world.77 Nonetheless, I shall accept the existence of nonresistant nonbelief for the sake of argument. Whatever weaknesses Schellenberg’s specific formulation may or may not have, I take it that there are some nonbelievers who are sincere in their nonbelief, and it is indeed perplexing why God would not do more to initiate a relationship with them. Sceptical Theism (Reject the Conclusion) The merits of sceptical theism are, for the Problem of Divine Hiddenness, similar or identical to its merits for the Problem of Evil, so I shall provide only a brief overview.78 Michael Bergmann explains sceptical theism by demarcating the theistic component and a sceptical component: the theistic component refers to belief in God while the sceptical component “advocates skepticism about the realm of potentially God-justifying reasons.”79 He offers four “skeptical theses” the sceptical theist might endorse, 80 but the defence against divine hiddenness is this: just because we do not know why God remains hidden from some persons for a time does not mean that there are no good reasons for that hiddenness.81 Robert McKim calls these possible reasons “unknown goods of mystery”82 and distinguishes between “unknown goods that we are capable of being aware of” and “unknown goods that we are incapable of being aware of.”83 If God exists, we should expect both kinds of unknown goods. Bergmann uses the analogy of a chess novice playing a chess master: “we can’t (if we’re chess novices) use our failure to detect a good reason for a particular chess move made by a world champion chess player to conclude that it’s unlikely that there is any good reason for that chess move.”84 The theist sees herself as the novice and God as the chess master. God may allow some things for reasons we do not yet, or perhaps cannot, see.85 Schellenberg dismisses sceptical theism as “question begging.”86 He adds, “carefully phrased, this claim tells us that such unknown reasons are not ruled out by anything we know or justifiably believe, but this assumes that belief of the conditional premise that has been our focus in this essay in unjustified instead of showing it.”87 He doubts, in fact, whether any

Locating Hiddenness 17 response based on unknown goods could avoid question begging. Still, the hiddenness argument is not the only evidence we have for or against the proposition that God exists. If we have other, better reasons for the existence of a perfectly loving God apart from the hiddenness debate, then we have a reason to reject the conclusion without picking a particular premise to reject.88 Nonetheless, sceptical theism leads to something of an impasse: the theist should always recognize the likelihood of God’s action beyond our knowledge, but it remains unlikely to be persuasive to nonbelievers who find hiddenness arguments compelling.

The Way Forward While the various strategies and responses surveyed above each have some merit—some more than others—the distinctive approach of this book is to begin from explicitly theological premises. Despite Schellenberg’s worries about a “theological turn” in the hiddenness literature, his argument has, in fact, received relatively little attention from professional theologians. In the two most widely circulated collections of essays on divine hiddenness, for example, only one of the twenty-six total contributions is written by a philosophical theologian (Sarah Coakley) rather than a philosopher.89 Of course, many responses to Schellenberg still have a theological flair or bring the resources of Christian theology to bear on the hiddenness problem. Still, it is safe to say this debate has unfolded mostly within the confines of philosophy without much investigation of what theology could contribute to the discussion. The relative lack of theology in the hiddenness debate should not be surprising since Schellenberg is sceptical about the role of theology. He finds it odd that “views about God must be lifted by a philosopher from some theistic tradition or other instead of, at least in part, constructed from resources more widely available and by independent means.”90 He admits that his own conception of God “is not always theology’s deity” and so “does not always correspond to what theology has said.”91 While this perspective is understandable, it risks constructing a god in which no one believes. If Schellenberg’s deity is not, in fact, theology’s deity, then believers in theology’s deity need not concern themselves with the hiddenness argument. Additionally, theology uses the resources of divine revelation, which—if God does exist—is surely the best information we have about him.92 For these reasons, some replies to Schellenberg’s argument have mined the resources of the Christian tradition to bring those resources into the hiddenness discussion. The response of this book, however, is distinct by not only using the resources of Christian theology, but by beginning with what theology has to say about God’s revelation and relating that back to hiddenness. However a subtle difference this may seem, the purpose of this methodological decision is to allow God’s revelation to set the terms of revelation and hiddenness.

18  Locating Hiddenness But this difference is not only terminological or methodological—it should also yield a fuller, broader picture of God’s action in the world, unlocking new insights for understanding God’s relative hiddenness and God’s relationship with his creation. Unfortunately, a full, or comprehensive, picture of God’s action in the world is well beyond the scope of this book. Accordingly, this book shall focus on one component of God’s activity in the world: the Church. The Church may seem like an odd starting point for reflection on the hiddenness problem for several reasons, but this book contends that an ecclesiological response, or one that centres on the nature and role of the Church, supplies fresh ways for thinking about hiddenness and revelation that satisfactorily reply to Schellenberg’s main concerns.93 Scriptural images related to ecclesiology, like the body of Christ and the image of God, are illuminating for how God tends to reveal himself. These images, along with specific features of the Church, form the basis of the ecclesiological response.

Conclusion This chapter has introduced the Problem of Divine Hiddenness, various responses to it, and the response of this book. Schellenberg’s argument posits and inconsistency between the existence of nonresistant nonbelief and the existence of a perfectly loving God. His is a doxastic version of the hiddenness argument because, for him, divine hiddenness refers to a lack of belief in God’s existence. A God who is open to relationship with all persons would ensure all persons were in the doxastic state for relationship to obtain. The remainder of this book responds to the argument, but it shall do so by beginning with God’s revelation of himself through the Church. From reflections on how we know God through the Church, the ecclesiological response will show how various features of the Church are relevant to the hiddenness problem.

Notes 1 For example, see: Steven D. Paulson, “Luther on the Hidden God,” Word & World XIX, no. 4 (Fall 1999); Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics. Vol. 1., Part 1: The Doctrine of the Word of God, ed. Geoffrey W. Bromiley and Thomas F. Torrance (Edinburgh, Scotland: T.& T.Clark, 1975), 179–84. 2 Yujin Nagasawa lucidly makes this distinction: “The problem of divine absence can be presented as two distinct problems: an intellectual problem and an experiential problem. The intellectual problem, as I call it, which is formulated from a third-person perspective, involves logical consistency between the existence of God and the occurrence of divine absence … On the other hand, the experiential problem, which is formulated from a first-person perspective, involves emotional puzzlement and confusion about divine absence.” See Yujin Nagasawa, “Silence, Evil, and Shusaku Endo,” in Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives, ed. Eleonore Stump and Adam Green (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 252.

Locating Hiddenness 19 3 Another oft-used example is Saint Mother Teresa, who rarely felt God’s presence in Calcutta despite her pleading. Michael C. Rea, The Hiddenness of God (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018), 90. 4 Nagasawa’s article mostly deals with this first version, but he does recognize the second version as well. Nagasawa, “Silence, Evil, and Shusaku Endo,” 252. 5 Given, that is, a certain understanding of God as perfectly loving. Peter van Inwagen imagines this utopia in: Peter Van Inwagen, “What Is the Problem of the Hiddenness of God?” in Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, ed. Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul K. Moser (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 25–29. 6 David Hume and Friedrich Nietzsche each formulate versions of this problem. Hume, through the mouth of Cleanthes, wonders if, upon hearing the voice of a benevolent being, one “could possibly hesitate a moment concerning the cause of this voice, and must you not instantly ascribe it some design or purpose?” Implicit in the question is a wondering why God does not provide such a voice. Similarly, Nietzsche wonders what kind of cruel god could possess the truth “and could behold mankind miserably tormenting itself over the truth.” If God were honest and able to reveal himself, he adds, he would have a “duty … to be truthful towards mankind and clear in the manner of his communications.” Blaise Pascal and Joseph Butler, though believers in God, are apparently troubled enough by the problem to respond to it. Pascal posits evidence of God’s revelation is available for those who earnestly seek him (to which we shall return), while Butler argues God remains hidden by casting “clouds and darkness round him, for reasons and purposes of which we have not the least glimpse or conception.” See: David Hume, Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, ed. Richard H. Popkin, 2nd edition (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1998), 23; Friedrich Nietzsche, Daybreak: Thoughts on the Prejudices of Morality (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 92; Blaise Pascal, Pensees, trans. A. Krailsheimer (London, UK: Penguin Classics, 1995), 126–7; Joseph Butler, Joseph Butler: Fifteen Sermons and Other Writings on Ethics, ed. David McNaughton (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2017), 129. 7 In personal correspondence, Schellenberg indicated his more recent work in Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief (Stump & Green; 2015) represents his view the best, with important details added in The Hiddenness Argument (2015). He added that Divine Hiddenness and Human Reason (1993) remains useful when not later altered. The argument appears in other journals or collections as well. I primarily use the three mentioned here as source material, as they are the most comprehensive and forceful versions of the argument. In addition, a special thanks to Dr. Schellenberg for reading an early draft of the following sections and offering helpful corrections. 8 J. L. Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” in Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief, ed. Adam Green and Eleonore Stump (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 24–25. Brackets are my addition. 9 Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” 17, fn. 8. 10 For Stump’s treatment of love, see especially Eleonore Stump, Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and The Problem of Suffering (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2012), 91. Aquinas himself says, “every love is a unitive love” (ST, I.II.28.1). 11 In the case of God, it may be that the two interconnected desires overlap (insofar as it is good for one to be united to God) but personal relationship is a good end for its own sake. Schellenberg approvingly quotes Robert Adams: “The ideal of Christian love includes not only benevolence but also desire for certain kinds of personal relationship, for their own sake.” See: Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” 19.

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Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” 18. Schellenberg, Divine Hiddenness and Human Reason, 18. Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 41. Rea, The Hiddenness of God, 15. Belief is “the attitude we have, roughly, whenever we take something to be the case or regard it as true.” (Eric Schwitzgebel, “Belief,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, ed. Edward N. Zalta, Summer 2015, Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University, 2015, https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2015/ entries/belief/). This is different, however, than other uses of the word as trust, faith, or allegiance. Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” 23. Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” 24. Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 74. Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” 23. Some philosophers doubt whether belief (or nonbelief) is necessarily involuntary. Some have argued our wills are, or at least can be, involved in the formation of doxastic states. However, if a will is involved in rejecting God’s existence, this would likely count as what Schellenberg calls resistant nonbelief. I shall say more about this later. For more on the voluntariness of belief, see the articles in The Monist, issue 3, July 1, 2002. This is contentious and will be discussed in greater detail later. The literature on The Problem of Divine Hiddenness overlaps at various points with the literature on the Problem of Evil. For instance, some responses could be classified as a “defense” and some as “theodicy.” Broadly speaking, a defense aims only to show what is logically possible (and therefore logically compatible) while a theodicy attempts to defend God in the face of evil or hiddenness by describing what is true about the world. Most of the following responses would be best labeled theodicies, or whatever the equivalent is for divine hiddenness, but the distinction is good to be aware of in hiddenness literature, too. For more on the distinction, see Chad V. Meister and Paul K. Moser, “Introduction,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Problem of Evil, ed. Chad V. Meister and Paul K. Moser (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 4. Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 21. A possible objection to this is that DT, if an attribute of God, is self-defeating. That is, one may worry “DT thereby tells us something non-analogical about the divine nature” (p. 51, fn. 19). Yet, Rea notes that “DT is not itself an intrinsic predication of anything, so it does not imply of itself that it is non-literal.” It does imply, he adds, that God has an intrinsic attribute that plays a certain role but “offers no analysis of transcendence, no account of what it is in and of itself.” Just as love is the attribute that characterizes the parental analogies of God, divine transcendence “is the attribute that explains some of the limitations on what we can literally say about God.” See: Michael C. Rea, The Hiddenness of God (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 51. He says, “A concept is fully transparent to a subject S if, and only if, (a) it occurs in a proposition p that S understands, and (b) S understands p in a mode that gives rise to reliable intuitions about the concepts that occur in p.” Rea, The Hiddenness of God, 52–55. About “humility about expectations,” he says, “Suppose F is an alleged intrinsic attribute of God; and suppose we have formed expectations about the manifestation of F-ness on the basis of our grasp of a non-revealed concept of F-ness. In that case, the violation of those expectations does not by itself support (i.e., imply, render probable, or justify belief) the conclusion that sentences predicating F-ness of God are not true.” Rea, The Hiddenness of God, 56–57.

Locating Hiddenness 21 28 J. L. Schellenberg, “What the Hiddenness of God Reveals: A Collaborative Discussion,” in Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, ed. Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul K. Moser (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 41. 29 E.g., Deut. 32:6; Ps. 68:5; Prov. 3:11–12; Isa. 64:8; Mal. 2:10; Matt. 7:7–10; John 1:14; 1 Cor. 8:6; Eph. 4:6. 30 Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 49. 31 Michelle Panchuk, “Review of The Hiddenness of God, by Michael C. Rea.,” Faith and Philosophy 36, no. 2 (2019): 284. 32 Panchuk, “Review of The Hiddenness of God, by Michael C. Rea.,” 284–85. 33 Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 49. 34 Schellenberg, 40–42. 35 Schellenberg, “What the Hiddenness of God Reveals,” 42. 36 Mark C. Murphy, Divine Holiness and Divine Action (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2021), 98–108. 37 Murphy, Divine Holiness and Divine Action, 98. 38 Murphy, Divine Holiness and Divine Action, 106. 39 Murphy, Divine Holiness and Divine Action, 106. 40 Azadegan, “Divine Love and the Argument From Divine Hiddenness,” 105. 41 Azadegan, “Divine Love and the Argument From Divine Hiddenness,” 114. 42 Azadegan, “Divine Love and the Argument From Divine Hiddenness,” 114. 43 J. L. Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness: Part 1,” Philosophy Compass 12, no. 4 (2017): 4. 44 Rea, The Hiddenness of God, 74. 45 Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness: Part 1,” 5. 46 For more, see Jordan Wessling’s helpful response to Rea on this matter Jordan Wessling, “Michael Rea on Love and Divine Personality,” Fuller Analytic Theology (blog), February 2, 2017, http://analytictheology.fuller.edu/ michael-rea-love-divine-personality/. 47 Joshua Blanchard, “Heschel, Hiddenness, and the God of Israel,” European Journal for Philosophy of Religion 8, no. 4 (2016): 116. 48 Richard Swinburne, for example, suggests the possibility of an “incompatibility between the great good of my having a deep awareness of the presence of God, and other good states of myself and others.” Richard Swinburne, Providence and the Problem of Evil (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, USA., 1998), 204–5. 49 For examples, see Michael J. Murray, “Deus Absconditus,” in Divine Hiddenness.New Essays, ed. Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul K. Moser (Cambridge, UK; New York; NY: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 62–82; Michael J. Murray, “Coercion and the Hiddenness of God,” American Philosophical Quarterly 30, no. 1 (1993): 27–38; Jeff Jordan, Pascal’s Wager: Pragmatic Arguments and Belief in God (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2006). 50 Travis Dumsday, “Divine Hiddenness as Divine Mercy,” Religious Studies 48, no. 2 (2012): 183–98. 51 Todd Long, “Book Review: The God Relationship by Paul Moser,” Philosophia Christi 19, no. November (2017): 479. 52 Paul K. Moser, The Elusive God: Reorienting Religious Epistemology (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2008). 53 He argues God would expect humans “to make themselves available to receive evidence of God, in a way that includes their being willing to cooperate with it.” It is not clear he means this to reject the existence of nonresistant nonbelief, but he nonetheless identifies fault in individuals for failing to know God. See: Paul K. Moser, The God Relationship: The Ethics for Inquiry about the Divine (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 17.

22  Locating Hiddenness 54 Cognitive idolatry is “demanding a certain sort of knowledge or evidence of God inappropriate to a filial relationship with God.” Paul K. Moser, “Divine Hiding,” Philosophia Christi 3, no. 1 (2001): 100. 55 Paul K. Moser, The Elusive God: Reorienting Religious Epistemology (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 52. 56 Moser, The Elusive God, 95. 57 Davis, “A Reply to Paul K. Moser’s ‘Divine Hiding,’” 109. 58 Davis, “A Reply to Paul K. Moser’s ‘Divine Hiding,’” 110. 59 Ted Poston and Trent Dougherty, “Divine Hiddenness and the Nature of Belief,” Religious Studies 43, no. 2 (2007): 185. 60 Poston and Dougherty, “Divine Hiddenness and the Nature of Belief,” 185. 61 For examples, see: Sarah Coakley, “Divine Hiddenness or Dark Intimacy? How John of the Cross Dissolves a Contemporary Philosophical Dilemma,” in Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief, ed. Eleonore Stump and Adam Green (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016); Laura L. Garcia, “St. John of the Cross and the Necessity of Divine Hiddenness,” in Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, ed. Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul K. Moser (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 83–97. 62 For examples, see: Joshua Cockayne, “The Dark Knight of the Soul: Weaning and the Problem of Divine Withdrawal,” Religious Studies, 2016, 1–18; M. Jamie Ferreira, “A Kierkegaardian View of Divine Hiddenness,” in Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, ed. Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul Moser (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 164–80. 63 As Sarah Coakley sees it, a need to overcome hiddenness with overt divine revelation amounts to a kind of “spiritual gluttony,” like cognitive idolatry. Instead, it should invite a kind of practiced purgation of self. See Coakley, “Divine Hiddenness or Dark Intimacy?” 236–37. 64 Genesis 3:8. 65 By fall, I mean the human disobedience of God recorded in Genesis 3. Schellenberg considers a historical reading of the fall to be problematic (Divine Hiddenness and Human Reason 132–33), but, as Jonathan Kvanvig points out, he has too narrowly conceived of what it means for the fall to be historical. He seems to equate a historical fall with a historical Adam and Eve, but the fall—understood as human disobedience of God—can be historical on a variety of scientific narratives. See: Jonathan L. Kvanvig, “Divine Hiddenness: What Is the Problem?” in Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, ed. Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul Moser (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 150–2. 66 Romans 3:23. 67 Pascal, Pensees, 81. 68 Pascal, Pensees, 81. 69 Pascal, Pensees, 127. Pascal, 127. 70 Wood, Blaise Pascal on Duplicity, Sin, and the Fall, 105–6. 71 Kipp, “On Self-Deception,” 309. He adds that this implies “that two mutually opaque, autonomously thinking and willing consciousnesses should exist within the soul of the self-deceiver, yet that these consciousnesses should also exist within a unified consciousness that grounds the self-deceiver’s identity as a self.” 72 Wood, Blaise Pascal on Duplicity, Sin, and the Fall, 176. Wood argues a “chain of citations that stretches back twenty-five years” has contributed to a philosophical consensus doubting that self-deception is possible. 73 J. L. Schellenberg, “On Reasonable Nonbelief and Perfect Love: Replies to Henry and Lehe,” Faith and Philosophy 22, no. 3 (2005): 332. 74 Schellenberg, Divine Hiddenness and Human Reason, 62. However, he admits elsewhere that the notion is “notoriously slippery” in “On Reasonable Nonbelief and Perfect Love.”

Locating Hiddenness 23 5 Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” 25. 7 76 Rea, The Hiddenness of God, 17; fn. 9. 77 This is perhaps especially true on a Reformed view of God. Nicholas Wolterstorff points out that a “characteristic of the reformed tradition” (in thinkers such as John Calvin or Jonathan Edwards) is viewing “cases of unbelief” as “resistance to the available evidence” rather than cases of insufficient evidence (as quoted in: Kevin Kinghorn, The Decision of Faith, T & T Clark, 2005, p. 104). 78 For a helpful overview of its use to the Problem of Evil, see T.M. Rudavsky, “A Brief History of Skeptical Responses to Evil,” in The Blackwell Companion to the Problem of Evil, ed. Daniel Howard-Snyder and Justin P. McBrayer (Chichester, UK: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2013). 79 Michael Bergmann, “Skeptical Theism and the Problem of Evil,” in The Oxford Handbook of Philosophical Theology, ed. Thomas P. Flint and Michael C. Rea (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2008), 375. 80 Bergmann, “Skeptical Theism and the Problem of Evil,” 376–79. 81 McKim says: “we do not know why God is hidden” does not entail “there are no good reasons for God to be hidden. Robert McKim, Religious Ambiguity and Religious Diversity (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2001), 88. 82 McKim, 87. McKim, Religious Ambiguity and Religious Diversity, 87. 83 McKim, Religious Ambiguity and Religious Diversity, 88. 84 Bergmann, “Skeptical Theism and the Problem of Evil,” 378–79. 85 One objection to sceptical theism is that it commits the believer to other forms of extreme scepticism. Michael Rea responds to this: Michael C. Rea, “Skeptical Theism and the ‘Too Much Skepticism’ Objection,” in The Blackwell Companion to the Problem of Evil, ed. Daniel Howard-Snyder and Justin P. McBrayer (Chichester, UK: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2013). 86 More specifically, he says this of McKim. J. L. Schellenberg, “The Hiddenness Argument Revisited (II),” Religious Studies 41, no. 3 (2005): 300. 87 Schellenberg, “The Hiddenness Argument Revisited (II),” 300. 88 McBrayer and Swenson suggest the theist can employ a kind of G. E. Moore shift and deny a premise based on alternative reasons for rejecting the conclusion. See: Justin P. Mcbrayer and Philip Swenson, “Scepticism about the Argument from Divine Hiddenness,” Religious Studies 48, no. 2 (2012): 141–42. 89 Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul K. Moser, Divine Hiddenness: New Essays (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Adam Green and Eleonore Stump, Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016). I recognize that who counts as a “theologian” or “philosopher” is debatable, but I counted those who are theologian by profession (e.g., teach in a theology department rather than a philosophy department). 90 Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness: Part 2,” 7. 91 Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness: Part 2,” 8. 92 The introduction responds to the question-begging worry. 93 While I do, later, pick a premise to reject, the main purpose of the book is to respond to Schellenberg’s main concerns rather than defeating his argument. This is because of my conviction that problematizing one part of one premise of Schellenberg’s argument could “defeat” the argument but miss the larger point and address the fundamental concern: namely, the perplexing fact that nonbelief exists when God, who supposedly desires a relationship with all persons, could presumably eradicate it. So, Schellenberg’s argument is a forceful rendition of the problem, but my target is not just one version of the argument, that could be easily amended, but the basic, fundamental problem his argument points to.

24  Locating Hiddenness

Bibliography Azadegan, Ebrahim. “Divine Love and the Argument from Divine Hiddenness.” European Journal for Philosophy of Religion 6, no. 2 (2014): 101–16. Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics. Vol. 1., Part 1: The Doctrine of the Word of God, edited by Geoffrey W. Bromiley and Thomas F. Torrance. Edinburgh, Scotland: T. & T. Clark, 1975. Bergmann, Michael. “Skeptical Theism and the Problem of Evil.” In The Oxford Handbook of Philosophical Theology, edited by Thomas P. Flint and Michael C. Rea, 374–99. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2008. Blanchard, Joshua. “Heschel, Hiddenness, and the God of Israel.” European Journal for Philosophy of Religion 8, no. 4 (2016): 109–24. Butler, Joseph. Joseph Butler: Fifteen Sermons and Other Writings on Ethics, edited by David McNaughton. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2017. Coakley, Sarah. “Divine Hiddenness or Dark Intimacy? How John of the Cross Dissolves a Contemporary Philosophical Dilemma.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief, edited by Eleonore Stump and Adam Green. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016. Cockayne, Joshua. “The Dark Knight of the Soul: Weaning and the Problem of Divine Withdrawal.” Religious Studies 54, no. 1 (2016): 1–18. Davis, Stephen. “A Reply to Paul K. Moser’s ‘Divine Hiding’.” Philosophia Christi 3, no. 1 (2001): 109–12. Dumsday, Travis. “Divine Hiddenness as Divine Mercy.” Religious Studies 48, no. 2 (2012): 183–98. Ferreira, M. Jamie. “A Kierkegaardian View of Divine Hiddenness.” In Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, edited by Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul Moser, 164–80. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Garcia, Laura L. “St. John of the Cross and the Necessity of Divine Hiddenness.” In Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, edited by Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul K. Moser, 83–97. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Green, Adam, and Eleonore Stump. Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016. Howard-Snyder, Daniel, and Paul K. Moser. Divine Hiddenness: New Essays. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Hume, David. Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, edited by Richard H. Popkin. 2nd edition. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1998. Jordan, Jeff. Pascal’s Wager: Pragmatic Arguments and Belief in God. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2006. Kipp, David. “On Self-Deception.” Philosophical Quarterly 30, no. 121 (1980): 305–17. Kvanvig, Jonathan L. “Divine Hiddenness: What Is the Problem?” In Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, edited by Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul Moser, 149–63. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Long, Todd. “Book Review: The God Relationship by Paul Moser.” Philosophia Christi 19, no. 2 (2017). http://www.epsociety.org/philchristi/current-issue.asp. Mcbrayer, Justin P., and Philip Swenson. “Scepticism about the Argument from Divine Hiddenness.” Religious Studies 48, no. 2 (2012): 129–50. McKim, Robert. Religious Ambiguity and Religious Diversity. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2001. http://www.oxfordscholarship.com/view/10.10 93/0195128354.001.0001/acprof-9780195128352.

Locating Hiddenness 25 Meister, Chad V., and Paul K. Moser. “Introduction.” In The Cambridge Companion to the Problem of Evil, edited by Chad V. Meister and Paul K. Moser. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2017. Moser, Paul K. “Divine Hiding.” Philosophia Christi 3, no. 1 (2001): 91–108. ———. The Elusive God: Reorienting Religious Epistemology. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2008. ———. The God Relationship: The Ethics for Inquiry about the Divine. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2017. Murphy, Mark C. Divine Holiness and Divine Action. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2021. Murray, Michael J. “Coercion and the Hiddenness of God.” American Philosophical Quarterly 30, no. 1 (1993): 27–38. ———. “Deus Absconditus.” In Divine Hiddenness. New Essays, edited by Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul K. Moser, 62–82. Cambridge; UK; New York; NY: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Nagasawa, Yujin. “Silence, Evil, and Shusaku Endo.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives, edited by Eleonore Stump and Adam Green. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016. Nietzsche, Friedrich. Daybreak: Thoughts on the Prejudices of Morality. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Panchuk, Michelle. “Review of the Hiddenness of God, by Michael C. Rea.” Faith and Philosophy 36, no. 2 (2019): 280–5. Pascal, Blaise. Pensees. Translated by A. Krailsheimer. London, UK: Penguin Classics, 1995. ———. Pensees and Other Writings, edited by Anthony Levi. Translated by Honor Levi. New York, NY: Oxford, 2008. Paulson, Steven D. “Luther on the Hidden God.” Word & World XIX, no. 4 (Fall 1999): 363–371. Poston, Ted and Trent Dougherty. “Divine Hiddenness and the Nature of Belief.” Religious Studies 43, no. 2 (2007): 183–98. Rea, Michael C. “Skeptical Theism and the ‘Too Much Skepticism’ Objection.” In The Blackwell Companion to the Problem of Evil, edited by Daniel HowardSnyder and Justin P. McBrayer. Chichester, UK: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2013. ———. The Hiddenness of God. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018. Schellenberg, J. L. “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief, edited by Adam Green and Eleonore Stump. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2015. ———. Divine Hiddenness and Human Reason. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006. ———. “Divine Hiddenness: Part 1.” Philosophy Compass 12, no. 4 (2017). ———. “Divine Hiddenness: Part 2.” Philosophy Compass 12, no. 4 (2017). ———. “On Reasonable Nonbelief and Perfect Love: Replies to Henry and Lehe.” Faith and Philosophy 22, no. 3 (2005): 330–42. ———. The Hiddenness Argument: Philosophy’s New Challenge to Belief in God. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2015. ———. “The Hiddenness Argument Revisited (II).” Religious Studies 41, no. 3 (2005): 287–303. ———. “What the Hiddenness of God Reveals: A Collaborative Discussion.” In Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, edited by Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul K. Moser, 57. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

26  Locating Hiddenness Stump, Eleonore. Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and the Problem of Suffering. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2012. Swinburne, Richard. Providence and the Problem of Evil. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1998. Van Inwagen, Peter. “What Is the Problem of the Hiddenness of God?” In Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, edited by Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul K. Moser. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Wessling, Jordan. “Michael Rea on Love and Divine Personality.” Fuller Analytic Theology (blog), February 2, 2017. http://analytictheology.fuller.edu/ michael-rea-love-divine-personality/. Wood, William. Blaise Pascal on Duplicity, Sin, and the Fall: The Secret Instinct. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2013.

2

Hidden and Revealed Participation as the Knowledge of God

It is the failure to participate in the light that causes the person who does not see to fall into the ditch. (Gregory of Nyssa)

Schellenberg’s argument against God’s existence from divine hiddenness fixes in on a nonresistant nonbeliever’s capacity to relate to God. On Schellenberg’s telling, relating to God requires something only God can give—knowledge that God exists.1 For this reason, what it means to know God is critical. Any doxastic formulation of divine hiddenness, or any response to it, must either offer or presuppose an account of what it means to know God. Further, fundamental differences in what it means to know God could be relevant to the success of the hiddenness argument. Before turning to explicitly ecclesiological themes, then, this chapter shall investigate what it means to know God in the context of divine hiddenness. 2 To investigate what it means to know God in the context of divine hiddenness, this chapter contrasts Schellenberg’s philosophical epistemology of knowing God with Gregory of Nyssa’s theological epistemology. This chapter begins by taking a closer look at Schellenberg’s philosophical epistemology of knowing God—or how we know God, in Schellenberg’s view. Though Schellenberg does not explicitly, purposively construct such a system, he does make certain critical assumptions about how one would come to know God—if God existed. These assumptions, this chapter shall argue, are in part constructed on a conception of God that is, at best, theologically questionable. The chapter then turns to Gregory of Nyssa’s theological epistemology. Like Schellenberg, Gregory’s is not a systematic or explicit construction of an “epistemology.” But, also like Schellenberg, he makes certain critical assumptions about how we come to know God. For Gregory, we primarily know God by participation in God. This chapter shall try to make some sense of “participation” and, especially, how it is relevant to knowing God. The purpose of the contrast of these views is not to argue that Schellenberg is wrong and Gregory is right. But it does show that, when one begins with theological premises, some critical differences emerge that are relevant to hiddenness concerns. Since this book DOI: 10.4324/9781003346951-3

28  Hidden and Revealed makes a theological argument, it shall stay closer to Gregory’s theological epistemology, but it shall not wholly abandon Schellenberg’s construction, either. The chapter concludes that the primary way we participate in God is through the Church. It is upon this foundation that the remainder of the book is built.

Schellenberg’s Philosophical Epistemology and the Search for a Conception of God Schellenberg does not believe that God exists, so his “epistemology of knowing God” is ad hoc in the sense that it is stipulative. You might think of his construction like this: “if God did exist, then God would be known in x manner.” It is “philosophical” because it is constructed from philosophical premises. So, Schellenberg’s “philosophical epistemology of knowing God” refers to the manner one would come to know God if God existed. In his hiddenness argument, Schellenberg does not set out to construct an “epistemology.” Nonetheless, there are critical assumptions he makes about how we come to know God. For Schellenberg, for example, nonbelief is a barrier to personal relationship. Nonbelief and personal relationship, we could say, refer to different ways that we might know God. This difference tracks a well-known distinction between propositional knowledge and personal knowledge.3 By itself, propositional knowledge, or knowledge that something is the case, is third-person knowledge. To know someone propositionally is to know about them without interacting with them. For example, I know that NBA legend Bill Russell is taller than five feet even though I have never met Bill. For Schellenberg, propositional knowledge of God is important because it allows one to enter a personal relationship. Personal relationship, or knowing God personally, is a species of personal knowledge, or knowledge not wholly reducible to propositions or knowledge that.4 It requires “second-person experience”5 or “interaction” with another person.6 While a modern biographer of Julius Caesar has propositional knowledge of him, she cannot have personal knowledge of him because personal knowledge is “interpersonal” and necessarily “two way … running both directions between subjects.”7 If Bill Russell and I sat down for a steak dinner, I might acquire more propositional knowledge of him, but, through personally relating to him, I would acquire a new kind of knowledge altogether: personal knowledge. Propositional and personal knowledge are clearly not mutually exclusive. In fact, second-person experiences “typically generate propositional knowledge as well.”8 Still, “knowledge of God” could encompass propositional knowledge, personal knowledge, or both.9 The way of knowing that Schellenberg assumes is that we move from propositional knowledge of a person to personal knowledge. Propositional knowing precedes personal knowing because, Schellenberg says, “one clearly cannot even get started in a personal relationship without believing that the other party exists.”10 Belief that someone exists is required for relationship. It is plausible, however, that the two kinds of knowing are acquired simultaneously. If Wickham has no knowledge of Lydia, but Lydia introduces herself,

Hidden and Revealed 29 it is at least plausible that Wickham’s propositional knowledge of Lydia does not temporally precede personal knowledge of her. Schellenberg’s point, however, is that propositional knowledge logically precedes personal knowledge such that it is a necessary condition for personal knowledge. You cannot have personal knowledge without propositional knowledge. This movement from propositional knowledge to personal knowledge is, for Schellenberg, the primary way we come to know people. It can thus be called a component of Schellenberg’s philosophical epistemology. This component of Schellenberg’s philosophical epistemology is relevant to Schellenberg’s hiddenness argument because he applies it to God. Beneath this move is a conception of God, both implicit and explicit in Schellenberg’s work, that conceives of God primarily as a person or person-like. He asserts that theism “develops its entire understanding of the divine from the idea of personhood,” so the hiddenness argument is aimed at “a person-like God.”11 On some understandings of “person-like,” the notion of a “person-like” God is relatively uncontroversial. The Christian Scriptures depict God as having thoughts and desires as well as performing actions. God can be talked to and listened to. The language of personhood is explicit in the Christian doctrine of the Trinity, on which there are three divine persons. Even if all of this is understood analogically, there is nothing scandalous on the surface about saying God is “person-like” in some sense. The question is: in what sense God is person-like? For Schellenberg, one sense in which God is person-like is that we can infer how attributes of God—in particular, love—manifest themselves in God.12 He says we can infer divine attributes by “extrapolation from our own similar attributes plus ultimization.”13 This inference does not necessarily imply that divine attributes are identical to their manifestation in a human counterpart. But it does imply that our intuitions about what human attributes require are reliable in helping us determine what divine attributes require. In short, when we call God a “person” or “personal,” we mean roughly the same thing as when we call a human a “person” or “personal.” Schellenberg’s inference suggests his conception of God as “person-like” is an example of what Brian Davies calls “Theistic Personalism,” or the view that God is “strikingly similar” to the modern concept of a person.14 David Bentley Hart calls the view “mono-poly-theism” because, despite positing only one God, the conception of God is similar to “the polytheistic picture of the gods as merely very powerful discrete entities who possess a variety of distinct attributes that lesser entities also possess, if in smaller measure.”15 Davies and Hart are critical of this view in part because it diverges from the traditional or classical view of God. This classical view holds that God has certain attributes that make him decidedly unlike other persons, such as immutability, impassability, and transcendence.16 Nonetheless, it must be stressed that, on the classical view, God is a person. Indeed, the title “Theistic Personalism” could be misleading if it suggests that humans are the real “persons” and God is not quite a person. On the classical view, it is arguably the opposite: God is the real person which humans imperfectly image. Regardless of the title,

30  Hidden and Revealed there is a meaningful and important difference that Davies puts his finger on. While God is certainly personal in some sense for the classical view, the “in some sense” is always stressed because of divine transcendence.17 In the traditional view, divine transcendence does not necessarily imply separation or distance but rather refers to God’s fundamental otherness such that our language about God is inadequate.18 For example, Thomas Aquinas says God “is beyond all, and whatever is signified by any name whatsoever is less than that which God is.”19 Even Anselm, who famously promoted a kind of “Perfect Being Theology,” adds in his Proslogion prayer: “Lord, you are not merely that than which a greater cannot be thought, you are something greater than can be thought.”20 Aquinas and Anselm are representatives of a wider classical tradition 21 which argues that, while God is “person-like” in some ways, he is also unlike persons in others. 22 Michael Rea targets Schellenberg’s argument on these grounds.23 He defines transcendence as “whatever intrinsic attribute of God explains the fact that intrinsic substantive predications of God or of the divine nature that express non-revealed concepts are, at best, analogical.”24 In short, “if God is transcendent, then God is not wholly characterizable in literal, univocal terms.”25 If Rea is right, Schellenberg’s ultimization project becomes difficult, if not impossible. A theological conception of God committed to divine transcendence sees a fundamental incongruence between God’s personhood and our own. This does not imply that God is distant. Augustine famously said of God: “interior intimo meo [you were more inward than my most inward part],”26 implying a transcendence due more to divine proximity than distance. Yet, the difference between God and humans remains qualitative, not quantitative. It would be hasty to say that Schellenberg’s conception of God lacks transcendence entirely. But Schellenberg’s inference suggests a fundamental difference between his conception of God and that of the classical Christian tradition. If by God Schellenberg does have in mind a “person-like” God in the specific, attribute-instantiating way, then this conception could pose a challenge for his argument. Those who adopt the classical view of God— which includes many Christians, living and dead—will likely find his argument unconvincing with such a conception. Without the “person-like” God that Schellenberg espouses, crucial questions like “what does it mean to be perfectly loving?” or “how do we know and relate to God?” must be revisited. The remainder of this chapter explores an alternative way to understand knowing God, this time from within the classical view.

Gregory of Nyssa’s Theological Epistemology: Knowing the Unknowable God Gregory of Nyssa’s theological epistemology is, like Schellenberg’s philosophical epistemology, not necessarily an explicit, developed system. Nonetheless, there are themes in Gregory’s work that coalesce into a cohesive vision of what it means to know God. Gregory’s conception of God is closer to the classical view than is Schellenberg’s and, as we shall see, that

Hidden and Revealed 31 difference introduces new challenges, but also new solutions, for how we know God. Gregory especially emphasizes the importance of “participation.” But before considering what participation means, or how participation is a way of knowing, it is critical to first examine what means to know a God who is utterly transcendent and, in Gregory’s own language, even “unknowable.” A distinction that Gregory draws between God’s “essence” and “energies” is critical for his understanding of participation. In sermon six of De Beatitudinibus (Beat), Gregory responds to a paradox at the heart of knowing God in his reflection on the beatitude, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God” (Matt. 5:8).27 He presents the apparent contradiction like so: Jesus promises the pure in heart will see God, but elsewhere Scripture states that seeing God is impossible (he references John 1:18, 1 Timothy 6:16, and Exodus 33:20).28 The contradiction is escaped if we suppose it is impossible to be “pure in heart,” but Gregory rejects this because Christ would not offer something impossible. 29 Since, for Gregory, “seeing” God is commensurate with “knowing” God, these verses appear to advance a dilemma: either deny that God is knowable or deny that he is unknowable. In the remainder of the sermon, he clarifies the nature of our knowledge of God to solve this dilemma.30 Unwilling to surrender to either horn of the dilemma, Gregory takes it for granted, on the basis of the initially conflicting Scriptural data, that God must be both unknowable and knowable. On God’s unknowability, he comments, “the divine nature [῾Η θεία φύσις], whatever it may be according to the essence [κατ᾽ οὐσίαν ἐστὶ], transcends every concept [ἐπινοίας] … the knowledge of the divine essence cannot be understood [τὴν γνῶσιν τῆς θείας οὐσίας ἃγει].”31 He appears to affirm an extreme version of divine transcendence in this passage. Yet, he continues: “but since [God] is the kind whose nature is above every nature, the unknowable and invisible is understood and seen in a different manner. And many are the ways he is known [κατανοήσεως].”32 He insists that, even if the divine nature is unknowable, God must be knowable. This leads Gregory to the verge of incoherence: God is both unknowable and knowable. To answer the challenge of incoherence, Gregory distinguishes between God’s οὐσία or φύσίς (essence or nature) and God’s ἐνέργεια (energy or activity).33 Plainly, “for God is invisible in his nature [τῇ φύσει ἀόρατος] but becomes visible in his activities [ὁρατὸς ταῖς ἐνεργείας γίνεται].”34 While God’s nature is unknowable, God’s activities are knowable. The temptation is to sharply distinguish between “God” and “things God does,” like we might distinguish between “Jean Valjean” and “stealing bread to feed his family.” However, David Bradshaw argues the activities are not merely operations of God but “God himself under some nameable aspect or form.”35 Kallistos Ware similarly insists, “the essence signifies the whole of God as he is in himself; the energies signify the whole God as he is in action.”36 For Bradshaw and Ware, it is a mistake to distinguish between “God,” on the one hand, and “God’s activity” on the other. Essence and activity both refer to God.

32  Hidden and Revealed Andrew Radde-Gallwitz, however, diverges from this interpretation in his attempt to show how Gregory’s version of divine simplicity is, following his brother Basil, different from the traditional Thomist version. 37 He recognizes Gregory’s distinction between God’s nature and activity, but insists that “at the same time” Gregory emphasizes the activity’s “inherence in that nature.”38 Radde-Gallwitz’s worries that some interpreters of Gregory too sharply divine essence and activity. They erroneously hold, he says, “Gregory as a precursor to the fourteenth-century distinction by Gregory Palamas.”39 He criticizes Bradshaw in particular: Gregory’s point is not that God’s goodness or justice are activities or energeiai (if this means something else), but that we learn that God is good through the displays of this goodness in scripture and in the created order (which is in turn ‘read’ in light of scripture). If we take Bradshaw’s option, and make the goodness an energeia that in no way characterizes or reflects the divine ousia, then we will end up with the very problem he raises for Gregory. How, if the energeiai do not reflect the ousia, can we ‘understand God’s external activity as in some way a manifestation—albeit a free manifestation—of His internal life’?40 If understood as Bradshaw understands them, he continues, the divine activities “in no way reflect the nature or life of God.”41 It is not clear, however, that Radde-Gallwitz’s criticism of Bradshaw sticks. He says, in “Bradshaw’s option,” an activity “in no way characterizes or reflects the divine ousia.” But Bradshaw plainly states, “the energeiai manifest the ousia, making it present in an active and dynamic way.”42 Bradshaw adds elsewhere “the relationship of ousia to the energeiai” is “of a source to its manifestation.”43 Assuming “characterize,” “reflect,” and “manifest” are roughly synonyms, Radde-Gallwitz has charged Bradshaw with a view he explicitly rejects. If Radde-Gallwitz thinks, despite his protestations, that Bradshaw’s view necessarily leads to the view that the activities do not characterize or manifest the essence, then he will need to do more to show it. Whatever views either of these men hold, by their own reckoning each are careful to say that the activities do manifest or reflect the nature and so are rooted in the nature. The difference in interpretation between Radde-Gallwitz and Bradshaw is especially relevant to metaphysical or ontological claims about God. But this distinction is relevant to the argument of this chapter for its epistemological implications. Despite their divergence, Bradshaw and RaddeGallwitz apparently agree that Gregory’s distinction has something like the following epistemological implications: (G1) We cannot directly know God’s essence. (G2) We know God in his manifestations to us. (G3) The activity of God is somehow rooted in the essence of God.

Hidden and Revealed 33 In fact, Bradshaw and Radde-Gallwitz appeal to very similar illustrations to make their point. Whereas Bradshaw refers to “the sun” and its “multitude of rays,”44 Radde-Gallwitz refers to fire and heat: “God’s goodness is no more accidental than fire’s heat. Yet, God’s essence (whatever it is) and goodness are distinct just as fire’s essence (whatever it may be) and fire’s heat are distinct.”45 Goodness, like heat, is an activity conceptually distinct from the nature but necessarily radiates from the nature.46 As we apprehend a fire through its light and heat, so goodness is “knowledge of God [θεοῦ κατανόησιν].”47 The beginnings of Gregory’s theological epistemology could therefore be summarized in G1, G2, and G3. The distinction between essence and activity helps Gregory solve the problem of God’s unknowability. But this distinction is also relevant to divine transcendence. One criticism of Schellenberg’s conception of God, examined above, is that it does not take divine transcendence seriously enough for those that hold to a classical view. Gregory’s distinction between essence and activity paves a path forward toward holding both to divine transcendence and divine revelation. On the side of divine transcendence, Gregory posits a διάστημα between creator and creature.48 Hans urs von Balthasar comments on Gregory’s view, saying there is “in a created being [l’être créé] a fundamental character that at one and the same time reveals to it and hides from it its origins. This is the διάστημα, or διάστασις, which is to say, spacing [l’espacement].”49 It refers to, he continues, “l’irréductible opposition entre Dieu et la creature [the irreducible opposition between God and creature].”50 N. N. Trakakis similarly characterizes διάστημα as “the fundamental ontological divide between the infinite creator and the finite creation.”51 However understood, the fundamental ontological divide between creator and creature complicates our quest to know God. This “spacing” between God and creature is what leads to G1. Gregory assumes, that is, a strong doctrine of divine transcendence that is relevant to how we know God. God’s transcendence, however, is not an absolute barrier to knowing God. As Trakakis puts it, we cannot as created beings bridge the divide to the true essence of God (i.e., G1) but, “it is a divide that can be traversed by God, who has done so through the incarnation, but also by giving himself to be known or experienced through scripture and creation.”52 God is hidden but God’s “hiddenness is revelatory” because it “reveals is that our understanding of God is incorrigibly confused or defective.”53 In particular, if we suppose God is a kind of ultimate person akin to created persons, as in Schellenberg, “then the reasonable response to hiddenness is indeed atheism of some sort, but one that ‘purifies’ our preconceptions, enabling a more adequate understanding [of the divine] to emerge.”54 According to Gregory, a more adequate understanding must emerge from God’s self-manifestation. To know God, we must know him in his manifestations to us (i.e., G2). Even with respect to his activities, our knowledge of God remains incomplete—the human mind cannot grasp the entirety of

34  Hidden and Revealed God because God is infinite.55 This, for Gregory, is all the more reason to remain tethered to knowing God as God is made available to us. In theological terms, the event of God’s self-manifestation (i.e., G2) is called divine revelation.56 Even if Gregory does not adopt the modern theological vocabulary of “divine revelation,” he frequently refers to the event or action of divine disclosure whereby God is known to human minds.57 This divine disclosure is what is meant by divine revelation. Revelation is critical to what it means to know God (for Gregory as much as for modern theologians), so it is worth briefly exploring what revelation means further. In identifying different models of revelation, 58 Avery Dulles proposes a definition of divine revelation common to all models: “Revelation is God’s free action whereby he communicates saving truth to created minds.”59 For Dulles, the agents of divine revelation are God and created minds. Created persons is preferable to created minds, however, to leave open the possibility that revelation involves more than mind. While the created person is the passive agent, God is the active agent. Although created persons are passive recipients, they are nonetheless necessary for revelation to occur. Gerald O’Collins calls revelation an “achievement noun,” by which he means revelation must be successfully communicated if it is truly revelation.60 Christoph Schwöbel adds that revelation is “a process of communication for which a recipient is as constitutive as the author.”61 Like a conversation, for example, revelation requires two agents. Even if only one person is doing the talking in a conversation, it cannot be rightly called a conversation if there is no one to listen. As the active agent, it is God who “communicates saving truth.” Dulles framing could, even if it does not necessarily, incorrectly suggest revelation is only propositional in nature. O’Collins is right that a narrowly propositional view of revelation is insufficient because divine revelation primarily “reveals a person, or rather three divine persons.”62 Instead of “saving truth,” it is perhaps better to say God communicates knowledge of himself in revelation. Amending Dulles’s definition, revelation shall hereafter be defined as God’s free action whereby he communicates knowledge of himself to created persons. In its epistemological implications, the distinction Gregory draws between God’s essence and activity demonstrates the importance of divine revelation for knowing God. Because we do not know God’s essence (G1), we know God only in his activities or his manifestations to us (G2). Jesus Christ is the ultimate example of God’s revelation, for he is a “theophany” that “came to us through the medium of the flesh,” says Gregory.63 Although he says that the God who is “before the ages and eternal is by nature completely incapable of being grasped and unutterable,” (as in G1) he adds that “what is manifested for us through the flesh can to a degree come into our knowledge” (as in G2).64 If we want to know God, we “point not to the invisible and incomprehensible realities of the Godhead but to the things that were revealed in the economy, when Deity, having put on human nature, was revealed on the earth and held converse with human

Hidden and Revealed 35 beings.”65 Gregory’s view of revelation, then, is Christological. We know God as God makes himself known and God has principally made himself known in Jesus Christ. This is the bedrock upon which Gregory’s theological epistemology is built.

Participation and the Knowledge of God Gregory’s distinction between essence and energy speaks to the possibility of knowing God and emphasizes the importance of divine revelation. But it says little about how or in what manner we humans receive knowledge of God. For that, it is helpful to see what Gregory means by participation and how participation fits into Gregory’s theological epistemology. Participation in God is a notoriously slippery concept, so it is worth beginning with a discussion of what it means in general before applying it to knowing God.66 It can be associated, or even synonymous, with a cluster of soteriological concepts related to becoming like, or even becoming, God, such as deification or theosis.67 In general, it refers to “sharing and receiving” from God.68 The theme of participation traces its roots through various stages of Platonism but is also rooted in early Christian thinkers like Gregory.69 Kathryn Tanner defines participation as “sharing in something that one is not,” but distinguishes between “weak participation” and “strong participation.”70 Weak participation “means nothing more than being a creature of God” while strong participation means creatures “receive from God what is beyond themselves” such that they are “considered the image of God.”71 Participation will mean “strong participation” hereafter. The notion of participation—reflected in nouns like μετουσία, μετοχή, and κοινωνία, or the verb μετέχειν—is fundamental to Gregory’s thought.72 Minimally, participation in God refers to an intimate involvement in the divine life such that the divine life is communicated to one.73 Still, what Oliver Crisp says of theosis is true of participation: it “is sufficiently conceptually fuzzy that it could be misunderstood or misconstrued in important respects.”74 In particular, the blurred lines worry raises a concern about blurred metaphysical lines between creator and creature. In an attempt to bring clarity to the notion, Crisp lucidly provides two features of participation: it involves “exemplifying certain qualities”75 and “a relation of intimate union.”76 The nature of the “intimate union” is especially “conceptually fuzzy.” Crisp says it “stops short of hypostatic union” and imagines it “closer to the notion of a mathematical asymptote, where a curve is on a trajectory towards a line, though the two never finally intersect.”77 He appeals to the notion of “instrumental union.”78 This notion has roots in debates about the relationship between Christ’s two natures. Although Duns Scotus ultimately rejects that Christ’s two natures stand in instrumental union, he

36  Hidden and Revealed gives the illustrious example of a hand cutting with a knife to illustrate it.79 Richard Cross explains how the example works, The idea is that the knife and the body form something with a unity as tight as would obtain in the case that the blade was straightforwardly a part of the body (in the manner, say, of Johnny Depp’s Edward Scissorhands character). The knife and the body become one subsisting thing.80 Crisp suggests this kind of union is like that of participation. Like the relationship between person and knife, participation in God is a kind of union whereby a user (God) and his instrument (a person) become “one subsisting thing.” There is disanalogy, of course, since God “does not reduce humans to mere instruments.”81 Nonetheless, through the power of the Holy Spirit, he brings about a “unitive relation that is asymmetrical.”82 Like Crisp, for Gregory the unitive relation of participation is “asymmetrical.” While some accounts of participation heighten the blurred lines worry, for Gregory, participation requires difference between God and the created participant.83 David Balás contends, “given that to participate a perfection means to receive it from without, it immediately follows that partaking implies some kind of distinction between the subject and the quality participated.”84 Gregory upholds, absolutely, a “fundamental distinction of beings” between God, who is “essential … perfection” and creatures who have only “participated perfection.”85 By doing so, he avoids the blurred lines worry. Nevertheless, participation in God does include union. In ordinary parlance, “union” can refer to something like an alliance or a shared goal—e.g., “the union between the United States and Great Britain during WWII”—but Gregory’s notion of union with God is stronger than this. Torstein Theodor Tollefsen says Gregory’s understanding of participation “is a movement of the divine towards the human, and of the human towards the divine.”86 In particular, the divine movement is something “the creature admits into itself.”87 At this point, it is essential to see the necessarily Trinitarian dimension of Gregory’s view. “The divine” is not a general or ambiguous term but refers to the three divine persons: the Father, Son, and Spirit.88 Participation is only possible in the first place because of the incarnation, when God “united himself to humanity.”89 Tollefsen thus argues that the union of participation “runs parallel with what happened in Christ’s humanity.”90 The union of Christ’s natures is, however, only an analogue. While Christ has a “double consubstantiality” with the Father and humanity, “we neither are nor become identical (μῃ̑ ταὐτόν) with the divine” but rather “we become like (ὅμοιος) it.”91 The likeness to God described by Tollefsen includes what Crisp calls “exemplifying certain qualities.”92 We become like God in sharing similar

Hidden and Revealed 37 attributes of God (e.g., goodness). Gregory’s notion of participation is thus closely linked to the imitation of God. Critically, imitation “should not be understood as an imitation of an external model, but as an adjustment to the presence of a divine activity of grace and goodness in the believer.”93 That is, exemplifying certain qualities or being shaped into the divine likeness is not mere emulation of an exemplar, but rather allowing God’s own activities (ἐνέργειαι) to be present within one. For example, Gregory says goodness means nothing less than having “God within oneself [ἐν ἑαυτῷ σχεῖν τὸν θεόν].”94 Verna E. F. Harrison expresses Gregory’s notion of participation as an “opening ourselves to receive the divine goodness and working together with the divine activity as it works in us.”95 Tollefsen describes Gregory’s view similarly: “the creaturely openness admits this activity into itself and man adjusts his existence more and more in accordance with the riches of the infinite presence of God’s activity.”96 He adds, “the divine Power and activity transforms what it touches and brings it further into communion with God.”97 There is an interrelatedness in Gregory’s conception of unity with God and likeness to God. As one is united to God, one is transformed into his likeness by receiving the divine activity (ἐνέργεια); as one receives that activity, one is brought into further and deeper union with God. The point at which unity and likeness to God meet, therefore, is the divine activity (ἐνέργεια). By participating in God, we are both united to God and exemplify the attributes of God by receiving the divine activity. While the divine activity is a manifestation of God, or God himself in a recognizable form, many of the activities are not for mere passive observance but for our participation. For example, goodness is a divine activity. God can manifest himself through goodness, but goodness is not only something we externally observe. Rather, for Gregory, we receive goodness into ourselves and exemplify goodness through our lives. Nevertheless, the goodness we exemplify is not our own nor a tertium quid that God and persons instantiate, but God himself.98 Gregory’s notion of participation, therefore, includes receiving God into oneself and, on the basis of that reception, becoming like God. One way to understand receiving God into oneself and, on the basis of that reception, becoming like God is the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. Gregory does not explicitly connect his notion of participation and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit in the lives of believers, but his understanding of each suggests they are a natural pair. The Spirit, he says, manifests God’s “activity [τὴν ἐνέργειαν].”99 In Adversos Macedonianos, De Spiritu Sancto (Maced), he says “whatever is morally beautiful, whatever is good, coming from God … is completed by the instrumentality [ἐνεργοῦντι] of the Spirit.”100 Paulos Mar Gregorios describes Gregory’s view like so: “for Gregory all human acts of good are God’s acts not only in the sense that God has given man the capacity to do good, but also that the Spirit, i.e. God himself, is in person present to help him do good.”101 The Spirit is

38  Hidden and Revealed thus fundamental both to the divine activity’s manifestation and our participation in that activity. Through God’s active presence within us by the power of the Spirit, we are united to God and are, on the basis of that unity, transformed into the likeness of God. Understood as a combination of union and exemplification by the power of the Spirit, Gregory’s notion of participation can offer an account of theosis or deification that avoids the blurred-lines worry. We do not cease to be what we are by nature (human) in order to become what we are not by nature (God), but we transformed into what we were meant to be: “a relative divinity (cf. τὸ θειότερον)” even if manifestly “not the absolute divine essence.”102 By participation, we share in “divinity” in the sense that we share in God’s activities and are therefore transformed into his likeness, but our divinity is only ever relative and derivative.103 That is, it is not by nature but only derivative of what God graciously gives. In short, we are “deified by participation, not in the essence of God, but in His activity.”104 There is an inherent difficulty, of course, in explicating the relationship of God and creatures through analogous language. Even accounting for this difficulty, it is safe to say Gregory’s understanding of participation requires a different illustration from Crisp’s mathematical asymptote (in which the lines “never intersect”) or Scotus’s example of the hand and knife.105 A central insight of Gregory’s notion of participation is the way the divine activity inwardly infuses and transforms a person. The union of hand and knife, by contrast, does not have this effect. To offer an imperfect example, consider how salt is mixed into a dish. The salt is not the same thing as the dish but is rather mixed into it to, when done well, bring about a better version of it. In an analogous way, when we participate in God, we receive something foreign to ourselves that changes our experience to bring about (we might say) a better version of ourselves. There are many ways in which this analogy is disanalogous, but it illustrates how there can be a mixture between two things without absolute conflation. The combination of union and exemplification by the power of the Spirit develops Gregory’s understanding of participation, but we have yet to see how participation is a way we know God. On Gregory’s theological epistemology, we know God by participating in God. To concepts like propositional or personal knowledge, then, we can add participatory knowledge. Propositional knowledge was described as a third-person experience and personal knowledge as a second-person experience. The “third-person” and “second-person” refer to the manner or mode of knowing. The “third-­ person” knowing includes learning facts about another without personal interaction (e.g., reading about Bill Russell in a book) while “second-person” knowing includes personal interaction (e.g., talking with Bill Russell about basketball). Participatory knowledge, however, includes a “first-person” experience of God. It is not first-person in the sense that God and I are the same person. There are still two subjects. Yet, it is first-person in the sense that I have received the divine activities by the power of the Spirit and are

Hidden and Revealed 39 transformed by them. For instance, we can know God’s goodness by relating to God (personal knowledge) or know that God is good (propositional knowledge), but the primary way we know God’s goodness is by participating in it (participatory knowledge). So, when I perform some good action I have a first-person experience of goodness, but that goodness is not my own. It is rather the Spirit’s activating that goodness in and through me. A basic assumption of participatory knowledge is that we know God in a very different way than we know other people. The knowledge of God is not just something in our minds (as in propositional knowledge) nor the result of interpersonal communication (as in personal knowledge) but requires a unique union between us and God. We cannot possibly know other persons in a participatory way. But we must know God in this way. Harrison sums it up well: “for Gregory, knowledge of God and participation in him are inseparable.”106 The salt analogy offered earlier especially breaks down at this point because neither salt nor food know things like persons do. However, supposing we imagine a personified plate of food and pinch of salt, we can see the different ways of knowing the salt: the food could “know” the salt by studying the chemical compound NaCl or talking with the tiny white crystals, but the salt’s mixture into the food yields a different way of knowing salt entirely. Analogously, we can know God by studying facts about him or conversing with him, but for Gregory the primary way we know God is by participation. We know God, that is, primarily by being united to him and exemplifying the divine activities by the power of the Holy Spirit. Participatory knowledge emphasizes the importance of participation to knowing God, but it does not eliminate a place for propositional or personal knowledge. Indeed, one may still have propositional or personal knowledge of God that even precedes participatory knowledge. Consider that, according to Scripture, even the demons have propositional knowledge of God because they “believe that God is one”107 and that Satan personally relates to God.108 Assuming neither the demons nor Satan participate in God as understood by Gregory, then one can have propositional or personal knowledge of God without participatory knowledge. This emphasis on participation, however, is intended to reorient what it means to know God away from simply knowing God like one knows other persons (first propositionally, then personally) and towards a more intimate way of knowing God through a union with him. For Gregory’s theological epistemology, this more intimate, united way of knowing God is the way of knowing God as God makes himself known to us. Through participatory knowledge, in fact, one’s propositional or personal knowledge of God can even be corrected and improved. For example, on Gregory’s theological epistemology, by participating in God’s goodness one has a richer understanding of what it means for God to be good or how God expresses his goodness. In short, for Gregory’s theological epistemology, even though participatory

40  Hidden and Revealed knowledge is a distinct way of knowing God, it does not eliminate propositional or personal knowledge of God but, if anything, purifies them.

Conclusion This chapter has investigated what it means to know God in the context of divine hiddenness. It did so by contrasting J. L. Schellenberg’s philosophical epistemology of knowing God with Gregory of Nyssa’s theological epistemology. After taking a closer look at Schellenberg’s philosophical epistemology and potential theological problems with the conception of God it is built upon, this chapter expounded on Gregory’s theological epistemology by, first, examining Gregory’s distinction between God’s essence and activity and, second, by showing how participation is a way of knowing God, for Gregory. On Gregory’s reckoning, God’s revelation is central because of God’s utter transcendence. We cannot know God without God’s manifestations to us through his activities. And we know those activities by participating in them. This participation has a fundamentally Trinitarian dimension, since Christ is God’s preeminent revelation to us and our participation in Christ is made possible only by the work of the Holy Spirit. Participatory knowledge does not preclude propositional or personal knowledge. Indeed, it often includes them. But the primary way we know God is by participation. The remainder of this book is built upon the foundation that we know God by participation. Our knowledge of God by participation can take various forms. But, as the remainder of the book argues, a primary way we participate in God is through the Church. The Church is, for the Scriptural and theological tradition, the body of Christ. Given the prominent role Christ plays for divine revelation, it should be no surprise that ecclesiological themes are not only relevant but critical to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. The following chapters centre on ecclesiological themes to show how they are relevant to the problem. After the relevance of various themes is demonstrated, the final chapter shall pull these threads together to clearly articulate an ecclesiological response to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. First, we must begin by explaining what it means that the Church is the body Christ.

Notes 1 The notion of “knowledge” is philosophically contentious, but critical to divine hiddenness and the theological tradition. I shall avoid unnecessarily contentious claims. For an overview of the debates on knowledge, see: Jonathan Jenkins Ichikawa and Matthias Steup, “The Analysis of Knowledge,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, ed. Edward N. Zalta, Summer 2018 (Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University, 2018), https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/ sum2018/entries/knowledge-analysis/. 2 By “in the context of divine hiddenness,” I mean I investigate the themes or features of knowing God that are relevant to the hiddenness debate. This does not mean conclusions about knowing God are applicable only to hiddenness, but I shall continually point my investigation back to implications for hiddenness.

Hidden and Revealed 41 3 For a good summary of the difference, see: Eleonore Stump, Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and The Problem of Suffering (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2012), 56. 4 Eleonore Stump, Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and The Problem of Suffering (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2012), 56. 5 Stump, Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and The Problem of Suffering, 75. 6 Bonnie M. Talbert, “Knowing Other People: A Second-Person Framework,” Ratio 28, no. 2 (2015): 193–96. Talbert particularly has in mind face-to-face interactions (193) but adds that these “interactive skills are largely intuitive and difficult to express in propositional terms” (196). 7 Matthew A. Benton, “God and Interpersonal Knowledge,” Res Philosophica 95, no. 3 (2018): 4. 8 Talbert, “Knowing Other People,” 197. 9 It is debatable whether divine revelation could be only either propositional or personal. O’Collins says, “a completely non-cognitive revelation … would be an oxymoron” and that personal revelation without propositional revelation would be a “blatant impossibility.” I say it could be either/or for the sake of argument, but the main point is that “knowledge of God” can take on different meanings. See: Ryan A. Wellington, “Divine Revelation as Propositional,” Journal of Analytic Theology 7, no. 1 (July 19, 2019): 156–77; Gerald O’Collins, Revelation: Towards a Christian Interpretation of God’s Self-Revelation in Jesus Christ (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016), 15. 10 Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” 23. 11 J. L. Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument: Philosophy’s New Challenge to Belief in God (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2015), 21. 12 On Schellenberg’s understanding of attributes, see J. L. Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument: Philosophy’s New Challenge to Belief in God (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2015), 96–98. A definition of attribute need not concern us here. Let it be synonymous with what Timothy Pawl calls “property-role fulfillers” or whatever fill the roles played by “platonic universals, or tropes, or accidents … in these ontological stories.” See Timothy Pawl, In Defense of Conciliar Christology: A Philosophical Essay, Oxford Studies in Analytic Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 52. 13 J. L. Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument: Philosophy’s New Challenge to Belief in God (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2015), 21. 14 Brian Davies, An Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion, (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2004), 11. 15 David Bentley Hart, The Experience of God: Being, Consciousness, Bliss (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014), 127. 16 This view is also called Classical Theism. Classical Theism is not defined only by pointing to particular attributes of God, and the attributes I list here are not exhaustive. Still, this is a good starting point for the divergence between the views. For more, see Davies, An Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion, 2–9. 17 The classical view need not reject that God is personal and the personal view need not reject divine transcendence. It may thus be helpful to think of each view on a spectrum: they may emphasize divine transcendence or personality, but neither typically resides at the extreme. 18 William Placher, for instance, argues that, contrary to some modern renditions, divine transcendence was historically not contrasted with immanence. See William Placher, The Domestication of Transcendence: How Modern Thinking About God Went Wrong (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1999), 6. 19 Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Dionysius’s Divine Names, as quoted in Brian Davies, “Aquinas on What God Is Not,” Revue Internationale de Philosophie 52, no. 204 (2) (1998): 207.

42  Hidden and Revealed 20 Anselm, Anselm: Basic Writings, trans. Thomas Williams (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Pub. Co., 2007), 90. 21 This is not to suggest uniformity, but Aquinas and Anselm are far from aberrations. For other early examples, see: Irenaeus Against Heresies 2.13.3–4; Athanasius Against the Heathen 35; Pseudo-Dionysius Divine Names 7.3; all quoted in: Gerald L. Bray, ed., We Believe in One God, vol. 1, Ancient Christian Doctrine (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2009), 47–50. 22 As a counterexample, one could argue Duns Scotus is the foil to Anselm and Aquinas. Aquinas thought that our predications of God (i.e., God is perfectly loving) could be neither univocal or equivocal and so much be analogous. Scotus famously disagreed. He insisted predications of God must be univocal (to some degree) for the task of theology to be possible. Despite the relatively nuanced difference between Scotus and Aquinas, Scotus still thought our concepts were analogical and certainly affirmed divine transcendence. See: Richard Cross, Duns Scotus, Great Medieval Thinkers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Richard Cross, “Duns Scotus,” in The Student’s Companion to the Theologians, ed. Ian S. Markham, Wiley-Blackwell Companions to Religion (Chichester, UK: Wiley, 2013); Jeffrey Hause, “Scotus, John Duns | Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy,” accessed December 1, 2018, https://www.iep.utm.edu/scotus/. 23 I surveyed Rea’s response in Chapter 1, so I give only a summary here. This survey is drawn mostly from The Hiddenness of God (2018), but Rea has published a number of articles on hiddenness including “Hiddenness and Transcendence” that focuses on these issues. Rea also makes a point about the tradition and transcendence: “In short, the personal God of traditional Christianity is a transcendent, incomprehensible deity. Indeed, many theologians would say that the personal God of traditional Christianity is absolutely transcendent.” Michael C. Rea, “Hiddenness and Transcendence,” in Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief, ed. Adam Green and Eleonore Stump (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 210–25. 24 Michael C. Rea, The Hiddenness of God (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018), 51. 25 Rea, The Hiddenness of God, 52. 26 Augustine, Confessions, trans. Henry Chadwick (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 43. 27 Translations of Gregory are my own unless otherwise noted. For Beat, I closely consult the English translation: Gregory of Nyssa, The Lord’s Prayer, The Beatitudes, trans. Hilda C. Graef, ACW no. 18 (New York, NY: Paulist Press, 1978). 28 Beat, GNO VII/2, 137; PG 44, 1264; Graef 143. 29 Beat, GNO VII/2, 139; PG 44, 1265; Graef 145. 30 Beat is far from Gregory’s only or final word on the knowledge of God. In his dialectical and philosophical works, Contra Eunomium II especially, he expounds on these themes considerably. On knowing God in Eun II, for instance, see: Georges Arabatzis, “Limites Du Monde, Limites Du Langage Dans Le Ce II Du Grégoire De Nysse,” in Gregory of Nyssa: Contra Eunomium II (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2007), 377–86. 31 Beat, GNO VII/2, 140; PG 44, 1268; Graef 146. 32 Beat, GNO VII/2, 141; PG 44, 1268; Graef 146. 33 Following Torstein Tollefsen, I translate ἐνέργεια as “activity” instead of “energy.” See: Torstein Theodor Tollefsen, “Essence and Activity (Energeia) in Eunomius and St. Gregory of Nyssa,” in Contra Eunomium II: An English Version with Supporting Studies (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2007), 433. 34 Beat, GNO VII/2, 141; PG 44, 1269; Graef 147. The distinction is not unique to Gregory. David Bradshaw finds it in Aristotle, the Apostle Paul, Galen, Philo,

Hidden and Revealed 43 Athanasius, and others. He traces the history of it, especially in Eastern theologians such as the Cappadocians and Gregory Palamas, in: David Bradshaw, Aristotle East and West: Metaphysics and the Division of Christendom (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), (Chapter 7); David Bradshaw, “The Concept of the Divine Energies,” Philosophy and Theology 18, no. 1 (2006): 93–120; David Bradshaw, “In Defense of the Essence/Energies Distinction: A Reply to Critics,” in Divine Essence and Divine Energies: Ecumenical Reflections on the Presence of God, ed. C. Athanasopoulos and C. Schneider (Cambridge, UK: James Clarke & Co., 2013). 35 Bradshaw, Aristotle East and West, 165. 36 Bishop Kallistos Ware, The Orthodox Way (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1995), 28. 37 By traditional Thomist doctrine, Radde-Gallwitz means the “identity thesis,” or the thesis “that, metaphysically, God’s essence and God’s properties are in fact identical.” In his analysis of the essence/activity distinction, then, he is especially concerned with the relationship between God’s nature and propria, or properties. He argues that the version of simplicity later defended by Aquinas is not adopted by Basil and Gregory but their heretical foe Eunomius. While the brothers “endorse the doctrine of divine simplicity” (6) they “transformed” the doctrine and their version is different than the Thomist version. Andrew Radde-Gallwitz, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and the Transformation of Divine Simplicity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 5–6. 38 Radde-Gallwitz, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and the Transformation of Divine Simplicity, 203. 39 Radde-Gallwitz, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and the Transformation of Divine Simplicity, 221. 40 Radde-Gallwitz, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and the Transformation of Divine Simplicity, 223. 41 Radde-Gallwitz, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and the Transformation of Divine Simplicity, 224. 42 David Bradshaw, Aristotle East and West: Metaphysics and the Division of Christendom (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 170. 43 David Bradshaw, “The Dilemma of Divine Simplicity and Divine Freedom” Society of Christian Philosophers Eastern Division meeting (December 2003): 7. 44 Bradshaw, “The Concept of the Divine Energies,” 119. 45 Andrew Radde-Gallwitz, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and the Transformation of Divine Simplicity (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2009), 207. He references the example on pp. 183 and 202, too. 46 The analogy raises the question of whether the activities are necessary emanations or freely chosen. Bradshaw argues both are true: in some cases—necessary, in some cases—free. See: David Bradshaw, Aristotle East and West: Metaphysics and the Division of Christendom (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 171–72. 47 Beat, GNO VII/2, 141; PG 44, 1269; Graef 147. 48 Roughly translated as “interval” or “space.” For more, see the entry in the Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, Lampe’s Patristic Lexicon, and BDAG. 49 The original, French version (from which the parenthetical insertions are drawn) is: Hans Urs von Balthasar, Présence et Pensée: essai sur la philosophie religieuse de Grégoire de Nysse (Paris, France: Editions Beauchesne, 1988). The English translation provided here is found in: Hans Urs von Balthasar, Presence and Thought: Essay on the Religious Philosophy of Gregory of Nyssa, trans. Mark Sebanc (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1995), 28. 50 Hans Urs von Balthasar, Présence et Pensée: essai sur la philosophie religieuse de Grégoire de Nysse (Paris, France: Editions Beauchesne, 1988), 1;

44  Hidden and Revealed Hans Urs von Balthasar, Presence and Thought: Essay on the Religious Philosophy of Gregory of Nyssa, trans. Mark Sebanc (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1995), 27. 51 N. N. Trakakis, “The Hidden Divinity and What It Reveals,” in Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 202. 52 Trakakis, “The Hidden Divinity and What It Reveals,” 202. 53 Trakakis, “The Hidden Divinity and What It Reveals,” 192, 208. 54 Trakakis, “The Hidden Divinity and What It Reveals,” 209. 55 This point is emphasized in Gregory’s doctrine of epektasis, or that humanity will always, even into eternity, grow into or strain after God because there is no end in God. For more, see: Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses, trans. Everett Ferguson and Abraham J. Malherbe, The Classics of Western Spirituality (New York, NY: Paulist Press, 1978), 113–6; Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco, “Epektasis,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco MateoSeco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 263–68. 56 This brief excursion into divine revelation is far from comprehensive. Without exaggeration, practically every theologian has dealt with this question in one way or another—explicitly or implicitly. For examples of explicit work on divine revelation, ancient and modern, that have been influential for my view, see: Athanasius, On the Incarnation, trans. John Behr (Yonkers, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2011); Irenaeus, Scandal of the Incarnation: Irenaeus against the Heresies, ed. Hans Urs von Balthasar, 2nd Edition (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1990); Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, (Benzinger Brothers, 1947), I.I.2; Anselm, Anselm: Basic Writings, trans. Thomas Williams (Indianapolis: Hackett Pub. Co., 2007); John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. John T. McNiell, trans. Ford Lewis Battles, The Library of Christian Classics, v. 20–21 (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press, 1960); Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics. Vol. 1., Part 1: The Doctrine of the Word of God, ed. Geoffrey W. Bromiley and Thomas F. Torrance, 2nd ed (Edinburgh, Scotland: T. & T. Clark, 1975), cf. Ch. 6; Ch. 8; Deirdre Carabine, The Unknown God: Negative Theology in the Platonic Tradition: Plato to Eriugena (Louvain, Belgium: Peeters Press, 2015); Gerald O’Collins, Revelation: Towards a Christian Interpretation of God’s Self-Revelation in Jesus Christ (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016); William Placher, The Domestication of Transcendence: How Modern Thinking about God Went Wrong (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1999); Kathryn Tanner, Christ the Key, (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2009). 57 He contrasts, for instance, “the invisible and incomprehensible realities of the Godhead” with “the things that were revealed in the economy” by God (Cant GNO VI, 384–85; Norris 405). 58 The models include revelation as doctrine, as history, as inner experience, as dialectical presence, and as new awareness. Avery R Dulles, Models of Revelation (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1992), 27–28. 59 Dulles, Models of Revelation, 117. 60 Gerald O’Collins, Revelation: Towards a Christian Interpretation of God’s Self-Revelation in Jesus Christ (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016), 76. 61 Christoph Schwöbel, God: Action and Revelation (Leuven, Belgium: Peeters Publishers, 1992), 92. 62 O’Collins, Revelation, 7. 63 Cant, Homily 13, GNO VI, 383 PG 44, 1049; Norris 405. 64 Cant, Homily 13, GNO VI, 381; PG 44, 1045; Norris 401–03. 65 Cant, Homily 13, GNO VI, 384; PG 44, 1049; Norris 405.

Hidden and Revealed 45 66 A slew of titles on participation have been released in recent years, from Pauline to Patristic to Medieval studies. While it might just be en vogue, I suspect a primary motivation for this (and my motivation) is rather a return to thinkers (such as Gregory) who cannot be understood without it. For more on participation, see: Michael J. Thate, Kevin J. Vanhoozer, and Constantine R. Campbell, eds., In Christ in Paul: Explorations in Paul’s Theology of Union and Participation (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2018); Michael J. Gorman, Participating in Christ: Explorations in Paul’s Theology and Spirituality (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019); Jeanette Hagen Pifer, Faith as Participation, vol.  486, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament 2. Reihe (Tübingen, Germany: Mohr Siebeck, 2019); Andrew Davison, Participation in God: A Study in Christian Doctrine and Metaphysics (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2019). 67 See the chapter “Participation as Salvation” in: Oliver Crisp, Analyzing Doctrine: Toward a Systematic Theology (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2019). And: Carl Mosser, “Deification: A Truly Ecumenical Concept,” Perspectives: A Journal of Reformed Thought 30, no. 4 (2015): 8–14. 68 Andrew Davison, Participation in God: A Study in Christian Doctrine and Metaphysics (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 1, https://doi. org/10.1017/9781108629287. 69 For an overview of this theme in early, middle, and Neo-Platonism, see especially: David L. Balás, Metoisia Theoi: Man’s Participation in God’s Perfections according to Saint Gregory of Nyssa, vol. 55, Studia Anselmiana (Rome, Italy: I.B.C. Libreria Herder, 1966), 4–9. 70 Kathryn Tanner, Christ the Key (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 7. 71 Tanner, Christ the Key, 9–12. 72 David L. Balás, “Participation,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 581. 73 Some of the language here is borrowed from the entries of μετουσία, μετοχή, and μετέχειν in: G. W. H. Lampe, ed., A Patristic Greek Lexicon (London, UK: Oxford University Press, 1961). 74 Oliver Crisp, Analyzing Doctrine: Toward a Systematic Theology (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2019), 200. 75 Crisp, Analyzing Doctrine, 203. 76 Crisp, Analyzing Doctrine, 203. 77 Crisp, Analyzing Doctrine, 203. 78 Crisp, Analyzing Doctrine, 208. 79 Richard Cross, “Vehicle Externalism and the Metaphysics of the Incarnation: A Medieval Contribution,” in The Metaphysics of the Incarnation, ed. Anna Marmodoro and Jonathan Hill (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2011), 189. 80 Cross, “Vehicle Externalism and the Metaphysics of the Incarnation,” 190. 81 Oliver Crisp, Analyzing Doctrine: Toward a Systematic Theology (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2019), 208. 82 Crisp, Analyzing Doctrine, 208. 83 Andrew Davison argues a Christian doctrine of creation, especially creatio ex nihilo, is critical to the metaphysics of participation because the starting point is “the derivation of all things from God.” The distinction between creator and creature is absolute such that one (creature) depends entirely on the other (creator) for its existence or its very being (esse). See Davison, Participation in God, 26–29. 84 David L. Balás, Metoisia Theoi: Man’s Participation in God’s Perfections according to Saint Gregory of Nyssa, vol. 55, Studia Anselmiana (Rome, Italy: I.B.C. Libreria Herder, 1966), 124.

46  Hidden and Revealed   85 Balás, Metoisia Theoi, 55:79.   86 Torstein Theodor Tollefsen, Activity and Participation in Late Antique and Early Christian Thought (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2012), 161.   87 Torstein Theodor Tollefsen, “Essence and Activity (Energeia) in Eunomius and St. Gregory of Nyssa,” in Contra Eunomium II: An English Version with Supporting Studies (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2007), 161.   88 Indeed, for Gregory all divine activity is understood in this manner. Maspero’s comments on Gregory’s view are helpful: “In the Trinity all starts from the Father, passes through the Son and is carried to completion in the Holy Spirit: it is a unique movement, which is like the breathing of the Trinity itself, encapsulated in the ek— dia—en. The unity of the action is not simply observed as such from the outside, from the exterior of the Trinity, but is affirmed instead by its very interior.” Giulio Maspero, Trinity and Man: Gregory of Nyssa’s Ad Ablabium, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, vol. 86 (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2007), xvi.   89 Or cat, GNO III/4, 67; PG 45, 69; Maspero (Brill Dictionary) 46; Green 120.   90 Tollefsen, Activity and Participation, 161.   91 Tollefsen, Activity and Participation, 161.   92 Crisp, Analyzing Doctrine, 203.   93 Tollefsen, Activity and Participation, 164.   94 Beat, GNO VII/2, 142; PG 44, 1269; Graef 148.   95 Verna E. F. Harrison, Grace and Human Freedom according to St. Gregory of Nyssa (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992), 95.   96 Tollefsen, Activity and Participation, 161.   97 Tollefsen, Activity and Participation, 164.   98 I expound on this in a later chapter.   99 Or cat, GNO III/4, 13; PG 45, 17; Green 68. In the passage, Gregory uses the possessive pronoun that could apply to “the Word” instead of “God.” Given Gregory’s Trinitarian theology of the divine activity, however, the meaning is the same either way. 100 Maced, GNO III/1, 109; PG 45, 1329; NPNF 324. NPNF’s translation. 101 Paulos Mar Gregorios, Cosmic Man: The Divine Presence (New Delhi, India: Sophia Publications, 1980), 215. 102 Tollefsen, Activity and Participation, 167. 103 This idea of divine-by-nature or divine-by-participation is mirrored in 4th century debates about the divinity of Christ, of which Gregory was a part. Various strands of “Arianism” supposed Christ was a “relative divinity” since his divinity was derived from the Father. The orthodox solution to this was to argue that Christ is of the same substance with the Father and is, therefore, divineby-­nature. For more, see discussion on this matter peppered through R. P. C. Hanson, The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God: The Arian Controversy 318–381 AD (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2005). 104 Tollefsen, Activity and Participation, 168. 105 Two points of clarification. First, I am saying Gregory’s notion of participation is better illuminated by other examples, but this does not mean the examples offered by Crisp or Scotus are unhelpful (or even contrary to what Gregory says). As all analogies about God, they imperfectly grasp at some feature(s) of participation. While these examples might illustrate some features of Gregory’s account, they fail to capture the kind of union Gregory imagines. Second, recall that Scotus gives the example but is not using it as an example of participation nor does he endorse it. 106 Verna E. F. Harrison, Grace and Human Freedom according to St. Gregory of Nyssa (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992), 18. 107 James 2:19. 108 Job 1:6–12.

Hidden and Revealed 47

Bibliography Anselm. Anselm: Basic Writings, translated by Thomas Williams. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Pub. Co., 2007. Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Theologica, translated by Fathers of the English Dominican Province. Accordance Electronic Edition. New York, NY: Benzinger Brothers; Oaktree Software, 1947. Arabatzis, Georges. “Limites Du Monde, Limites Du Langage Dans Le Ce II Du Grégoire De Nysse.” In Gregory of Nyssa: Contra Eunomium II, 377–86. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2007. https://brill.com/view/book/ edcoll/9789047418962/Bej.9789004155183.i-554_015.xml. Athanasius. On the Incarnation, translated by John Behr. Yonkers, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2011. Augustine. Confessions, translated by Henry Chadwick. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2008. Balás, David L. Metoisia Theoi: Man’s Participation in God’s Perfections according to Saint Gregory of Nyssa. Vol. 55. Studia Anselmiana. Rome, Italy: I.B.C. Libreria Herder, 1966. ———. “Participation.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 582–87. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. Balthasar, Hans Urs von. Presence and Thought: Essay on the Religious Philosophy of Gregory of Nyssa, translated by Mark Sebanc. San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1995. ———. Présence et Pensée: Essai Sur la Philosophie Religieuse de Grégoire de Nysse. Paris, France: Editions Beauchesne, 1988. Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics. Vol. 1., Part 1: The Doctrine of the Word of God, edited by Geoffrey W. Bromiley and Thomas F. Torrance. Edinburgh, Scotland: T. & T.Clark, 1975. Benton, Matthew A. “God and Interpersonal Knowledge.” Res Philosophica,95, no. 3 (n.d.): 421–47. Bradshaw, David. Aristotle East and West: Metaphysics and the Division of Christendom. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2008. ———. “In Defense of the Essence/Energies Distinction: A Reply to Critics.” In Divine Essence and Divine Energies: Ecumenical Reflections on the Presence of God, edited by C. Athanasopoulos and C. Schneider. Cambridge, UK: James Clarke & Co., 2013. ———. “The Concept of the Divine Energies.” Philosophy and Theology,18, no. 1 (2006): 93–120. ———. “The Dilemma of Divine Simplicity and Divine Freedom.” Society of Christian Philosophers Eastern Division meeting (December 2003), https:// www.academia.edu/13451031/_The_Dilemma_of_Divine_ Simplicity_and_ Divine_Freedom_Society_of_Christian_Philosophers_Eastern_Division_meeting_December_2003. Bray, Gerald L., ed. We Believe in One God. Vol. 1. 5 Vols. Ancient Christian Doctrine. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2009. Calvin, John. Institutes of the Christian Religion, edited by John T. McNiell, translated by Ford Lewis Battles. The Library of Christian Classics, v. 20–21. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press, 1960.

48  Hidden and Revealed Carabine, Deirdre. The Unknown God: Negative Theology in the Platonic Tradition: Plato to Eriugena. Louvain: Peeters Press, 2015. Crisp, Oliver. Analyzing Doctrine: Toward a Systematic Theology. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2019. Cross, Richard. Duns Scotus. Great Medieval Thinkers. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1999. ———. “Duns Scotus.” In The Student’s Companion to the Theologians, edited by Ian S. Markham. Wiley-Blackwell Companions to Religion. Chichester, UK: Wiley, 2013. ———. “Vehicle Externalism and the Metaphysics of the Incarnation: A Medieval Contribution.” In The Metaphysics of the Incarnation, edited by Anna Marmodoro and Jonathan Hill. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Davies, Brian. An Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2004. ———. “Aquinas on What God Is Not.” Revue Internationale de Philosophie,52, no. 204 (2) (1998): 207–25. Davison, Andrew. Participation in God: A Study in Christian Doctrine and Metaphysics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019. https://doi. org/10.1017/9781108629287. Dulles, Avery R. Models of Revelation. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1992. Gorman, Michael J. Participating in Christ: Explorations in Paul’s Theology and Spirituality. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019. Gregorios, Paulos Mar. Cosmic Man: The Divine Presence. New Delhi, India: Sophia Publications, 1980. Gregory of Nyssa. The Life of Moses, translated by Everett Ferguson and Abraham J. Malherbe. The Classics of Western Spirituality. New York, NY: Paulist Press, 1978. ———. The Lord’s Prayer, The Beatitudes, translated by Hilda C. Graef. ACW 18. New York: Paulist Press, 1978. Hagen Pifer, Jeanette. Faith as Participation. Vol. 486. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament 2. Reihe. Tübingen, Germany: Mohr Siebeck, 2019. Hanson, R. P. C. The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God: The Arian Controversy 318–381 AD. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2005. Harrison, Verna E. F. Grace and Human Freedom according to St. Gregory of Nyssa. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992. Hart, David Bentley. The Experience of God: Being, Consciousness, Bliss. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2014. Hause, Jeffrey. “Scotus, John Duns | Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy.” Accessed December 1, 2018. https://www.iep.utm.edu/scotus/. Ichikawa, Jonathan Jenkins, and Matthias Steup. “The Analysis of Knowledge.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, edited by Edward N. Zalta, Summer 2018. Stanford, CA: Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University, 2018. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2018/entries/knowledge-analysis/. Irenaeus. Scandal of the Incarnation: Irenaeus against the Heresies, edited by Hans Urs von Balthasar, 2nd Edition. San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1990. Lampe, G. W. H., ed. A Patristic Greek Lexicon. London: Oxford University Press, 1961. Maspero, Giulio. Trinity and Man: Gregory of Nyssa’s Ad Ablabium. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, v. 86. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2007.

Hidden and Revealed 49 Mateo-Seco, Lucas Francisco. “Epektasis.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 263–68. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. Mosser, Carl. “Deification: A Truly Ecumenical Concept.” Perspectives: A Journal of Reformed Thought,30, no. 4 (2015): 8–14. O’Collins, Gerald. Revelation: Towards a Christian Interpretation of God’s Self-Revelation in Jesus Christ. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016. Paulson, Steven D. “Luther on the Hidden God.” Word & World XIX, no. 4 (Fall 1999): 363–371. Pawl, Timothy. In Defense of Conciliar Christology: A Philosophical Essay. Oxford Studies in Analytic Theology. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016. Placher, William. The Domestication of Transcendence: How Modern Thinking about God Went Wrong. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1999. Prenter, Regin. Luther’s Theology of the Cross. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1971. Radde-Gallwitz, Andrew. Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and the Transformation of Divine Simplicity. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2009. Rea, Michael C. “Hiddenness and Transcendence.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief, edited by Adam Green and Eleonore Stump, 210–25. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016. ———. The Hiddenness of God. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018. Schellenberg, J. L. “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief, edited by Adam Green and Eleonore Stump. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2015. ———. The Hiddenness Argument: Philosophy’s New Challenge to Belief in God. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2015. Schwöbel, Christoph. God: Action and Revelation. Leuven, Belgium: Peeters Publishers, 1992. Stump, Eleonore. Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and The Problem of Suffering. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2012. Talbert, Bonnie M. “Knowing Other People: A Second-Person Framework.” Ratio 28, no. 2 (2015): 190–206. Tanner, Kathryn. Christ the Key. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Thate, Michael J., Kevin J. Vanhoozer, and Constantine R. Campbell, eds. In Christ in Paul: Explorations in Paul’s Theology of Union and Participation. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2018. Tollefsen, Torstein Theodor. Activity and Participation in Late Antique and Early Christian Thought. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2012. ———. “Essence and Activity (Energeia) in Eunomius and St. Gregory of Nyssa.” In Contra Eunomium II: An English Version with Supporting Studies. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2007. Trakakis, N. N. “The Hidden Divinity and What It Reveals.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016. Ware, Bishop Kallistos. The Orthodox Way. Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1995. Wellington, Ryan A. “Divine Revelation as Propositional.” Journal of Analytic Theology 7, no. 1 (July 19, 2019): 156–77.

3

Head and Body The Nature of the Church

All who are joined to the one body of Christ by participation are one body with him.1 (Gregory of Nyssa)

Participatory knowledge is a way of knowing God by participating in God’s activities. This was the theological epistemology presented in the previous chapter, built upon the work of Gregory of Nyssa. Still, this is, at best, a theory for how we come to know God without any specific explanation for how one might engage in such participation. This chapter begins to chart one such path: we know God through the Church. The Church is not the only way we participate in God, but it is among the primary ways we do so. This chapter shall attempt to show why that is by depicting the nature of the Church as the Body of Christ. The nature of the Church is difficult to depict, for at least two reasons. First, the enormous diversity of theologies and practices within the Church makes virtually any understanding of “the Church” controversial. This book seeks to take an ecumenical approach by trying to avoid ecclesiological commitments that exclude the commitments of particular traditions. 2 However, this does not mean the book avoids controversial, ecclesiological topics altogether. There will be arguments that fit more naturally within certain traditions.3 But the reason an ecumenical approach is especially warranted for the arguments of this book is because the arguments of this book seek to offer a response to Schellenberg’s hiddenness argument. Their primary purpose, that is, is not to offer a comprehensive engagement with some ecclesiological theme, but to show how ecclesiological themes are relevant to divine hiddenness. So, this book seeks compatibility with a wide variety of Christian traditions.4 A second reason that focusing on the nature of “the Church” is complicated is that “the Church” is difficult to define. Minimally, by the Church, I refer to the community of believers united to Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit. Still, the vast number of ecclesiological topics, motifs, and themes under the umbrella of “the Church” make a comprehensive or DOI: 10.4324/9781003346951-4

Head and Body 51 “formal definition” of the Church difficult.5 Instead of “formal definition,” George Florovsky suggests “the very nature of the Church can be rather depicted and described than properly defined.”6 Whether or not Florovsky’s suggestion is fully adequate, it is helpful for the purposes of this argument. That is, a comprehensive explication of the nature of the Church is beyond the scope of this book. Instead, it emphasizes certain depictions or descriptions of the Church for the purpose of responding to the hiddenness argument. Therefore, the use or omission of certain ecclesiological themes should not be understood as an evaluation of how important those themes are for ecclesiology more broadly. The aim of this chapter is to depict the nature of the Church as the body of Christ and draw one implication from this depiction. By identifying the nature of the Church as the body of Christ, I mean “Christ’s body” is a legitimate, even if not comprehensive, answer to the question, “what is the Church?” The chapter begins by introducing the theme of the ecclesiological body of Christ in Scripture and how that theme is picked up and developed by Gregory. After offering some understanding of what the body of Christ is in Scripture and Gregory, the chapter turns to develop an implication of this: Christ is operative through the Church. The relevance of the constructive account developed in this chapter shall hopefully become clear, but, in short, it argues that Christ is active in and through the Church in a unique way. Because of this unique, divine activity, the Church is an especially good place at which to come to know God. Finally, the chapter investigates some problems that arise with this approach as it relates to the hiddenness problem, setting the stage for the remainder of the ecclesiological response.

The Ecclesiological Body of Christ The New Testament speaks of Christ’s “body” in a few different senses. It could refer to Christ’s incarnate flesh, the bread of the Eucharist, his dead body laid in the tomb, his resurrected body, or his ascended body. But only the Apostle Paul uses it in an ecclesiological sense: the body of Christ can also refer to the Church.7 A prominent and extensive example is 1 Corinthians 12, where he encourages interdependence among believers despite a “diversity of gifts.”8 He compares multiform gifts to members of a body who, despite variety, form one body since all are “baptized into one body.”9 The “one body” is Christ’s [σῶμα χριστοῦ] and all are “individually members of it” (1 Cor. 12:27). That Paul calls the Church the body of Christ is clear, but the interpretation is not. Ronald Y. K. Fung says Paul’s body language can be interpreted “as either realistic/ontological or analogical/metaphorical.”10 A “realistic understanding” conceives of individual members “coming into corporeal union with the risen Christ,” or the Church “identified as literally the resurrected body of Christ.”11 Fung, however, understands it “metaphorically,

52  Head and Body not literally and biologically or mystically.”12 He rejects a realistic understanding on the grounds that it “violates the clear indication of a comparison in Romans 12:4–5 and 1 Corinthians 12:12 (‘just as … so’)” and “ignores Paul’s careful distinction between Christ’s resurrection in the past and believers’ (yet awaited) resurrection in the future.”13 In short, Fung takes a merely metaphorical view of Christ’s body as Church.14 There are textual reasons to reject a merely metaphorical view, however. First, as Gordon Fee and Craig Keener note, the metaphor of a body to stress the interdependence was common in the ancient world, but Paul extends it beyond traditional usage.15 Even if Fung is correct that 1 Cor. 12 indicates comparison, he fails to address passages where the language lacks indication of comparison.16 Even in 1 Cor. 12, the metaphorical understanding is undermined by the specificity of Paul’s claim: the point is not “you are a body,” but “you are the body of Christ.”17 Second, Paul’s use of the body imagery in 1 Cor. 10 highlights the importance of both the specificity and the physicality of the body. Encouraging the Corinthians to avoid idolatry—particularly food sacrificed to idols—he asks, The cup of blessing, that we bless, is it not a participation [κοινωνία] in the blood of Christ? The bread, that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? Because [ὃτι] there is one bread, we, who are many, are one body, for we all partake [μετέχομεν] of the one bread.18 In partaking of bread and wine, one participates in Christ’s body and blood but is also united with others who partake: “because there is one bread, we, who are many, are one body.” This image cannot be abandoned in 1 Cor. 12.19 Third, the imagery often takes on a corporeal dimension. In Ephesians 2, for example, Paul says, “in Christ Jesus you who once were far off are now brought near by the blood of Christ … in his flesh [σαρκὶ] he has made [Jews and Gentiles] into one … that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace.”20 The physical—literally, flesh and blood—nature of this incorporation into Christ’s body is arresting. The passage does not necessarily require what Fung calls a “corporeal union” with Christ, but it does suggest Paul has in mind more than only a metaphor or analogy like Fung suggests. These reasons to reject a merely metaphorical view are not intended to rule out metaphor altogether. Even realist interpretations of the body imagery could insist that it includes metaphor, too. For example, a view that holds that the body of Christ refers to a metaphysically or ontologically real entity but not the corporeal, physical body of the resurrected and ascended Jesus includes metaphor in the sense that “body” does not refer to a corporeal thing even if it does refer to a real (not merely metaphorical) entity. The reasons to reject a merely metaphorical view are also not intended to decisively settle the matter. Paul’s imagery appears compatible with a range of views on the matter and is, therefore, metaphysically

Head and Body 53 or ontologically underdetermined. Paul arguably says as much himself by declaring the unity of the body to be a “great mystery [τὸ μυστήριον].”21 The purpose of these reasons to reject a merely metaphorical view, then, is to show that reasons to reject such a view are found in the Scriptural text and not only in the fanciful imaginations of later theologians. One theologian who does have a fanciful imagination, but also makes extensive use of the body of Christ language in Scripture is Gregory of Nyssa. Gregory’s development of the Scriptural language will provide the basis for the reflections on group agency later in the chapter. In In illud: Tunc et ipse (Tunc et ipse), Gregory examines the “subjection” of the Son (1 Cor. 15:28). 22 Specifically, he considers “the eschatological submission of the body of Christ, i.e., of all human beings who in Christ become one with the Father.”23 Eschatologically, the body of Christ refers to all of humanity, 24 but currently only includes those “outside of all evil” by “imitation [μίμησιν]” of Christ such that Christ “in his body [ἐν τῷ σώματι αὐτοῦ] … works in us the grace of subjection.”25 Gregory adds, “for all those joined to the one body of Christ through participation [μετουσίας], we are one with his body.”26 The body is an ever-expanding group as Christ “builds himself up by those who join themselves to him in faith,” but we are joined to Christ through participation. 27 In De Perfectione (Perf), Gregory responds to a query about the nature of Christian perfection. His response is “highly Christocentric” by giving a “short treatise on the names of Christ.”28 Among other “names,” he considers Christ as “head of the Church.”29 Before addressing the relationship of Christ and the Church particularly, he offers four general principles for the relationship between “head [κεφαλὴ]” and “body [σώματι]”: 1 “every head is of the same nature [ὁμοφυής] and the same essence [ὁμοούσιος] as the body subjected to it.”30 2 “there is a unity of each part [ἓκαστον μελῶν] to the whole [τὸ ὃλον], effecting … a complete sympathy [συμπάθειαν] of all the parts.”31 3 “if any part is divorced from the body, it is also altogether alienated from the head.”32 [Follows from 2, says Gregory] 4 “what the head is by nature [κατὰ τὴν φύσιν], this also each part becomes in order to have kinship [οἰκείως ἒχῇ] with the head.”33 After articulating these four general principles, Gregory applies them specifically to the body of Christ of which Christ is the head. He says we are “joined to the one body of Christ by participation”34 such that “we are the parts who make up the body of Christ.”35 Instead of participating in evil, he says “so it is also necessary for us to move our bodies suitably towards every impulse and activity [ἐνέργειαν] according to the true head.”36 Two tenets of Gregory’s development of the ecclesiological body of Christ are critical to later constructive work. First, the unity of the “many members” of the body is fundamentally Christological. For Gregory, the

54  Head and Body individual parts become “what the head is by nature” which creates a “unity of the individual parts with the whole.”37 José R. Villar comments on Gregory’s view, Christ is the origin of the Church, not only in the historical sense, but also as the head that is its enduring source of life and unity; each member lives because it is connected to the head and partakes of the same life as the other members. Between Christ and his members there is a unity that is such that the Church is not simply one body but his body.38 As a collection of “many members,” the body is nonetheless one because Christ is one. The unity of one person to another in the Church is thus a derivative unity: it is derived, that is, from each person’s mutual unity to Christ. For Gregory, the unity of the body has less to do with a shared spirit of cooperation and more to do with our unity to Christ the head. A second tenet of Gregory’s thought is that the unity of the body to God is fundamentally Christological. It is “in his body” that Christ “works in us the grace of subjection.”39 The subjection Gregory has in mind is precisely a subjection to God through Christ. So, too, our participation in God is understood as participation through Christ. The body of Christ is, therefore, another way of saying “all human beings who are in Christ become one with the Father.”40 Villar articulates how the incarnation is generally salvific for Gregory: in becoming human, “Christ penetrates human nature with his divinity, purifies it from evil and vice, sanctifies it and makes it divine.”41 The “common nature” between Christ in man in the incarnation is critical for humanity’s union with God because it becomes “the ontological basis for the new unity between Christ and human beings.”42 Our unity to God is necessarily through Christ. So, the unity of the body of Christ (the Church) to God is fundamentally Christological because “the Church is the space in which all men have contact with Christ.”43 The two tenets in Gregory’s ecclesiological thought44 express a notion of a metaphysically or ontologically real unity in Christ’s body.45 The nature of that unity, however, is metaphysically underdetermined. Indeed, it raises questions like “how can something be both one and many?” or “if individuals are united to Christ, do they cease to be individuals?”46 For Gregory’s reflections on the body of Christ to be of any use to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness, more will need to be said about how the body operates in coordination with the head. Excursus: An Incarnational Metaphysic The questions raised by Gregory’s view of the Church as the body of Christ parallel those raised by modern philosophical discussions of group agency. Before offering an account of group agency in the Church, however, a

Head and Body 55 broader point about Christian metaphysics in general must be made. This brief excursus thus defines the incarnational metaphysic available to distinctly Christian accounts of the world. This incarnational metaphysic underpins not only the account of group agency offered in this chapter, but other metaphysical problems that arise in later ecclesiological themes. An incarnational metaphysic is different from a metaphysics of the incarnation. Defining the doctrine of the incarnation as the claim “that a divine being became human,” Jonathan Hill says, … the attempt to unpack these words and understand what they are really saying has been one of the perennial concerns of philosophical theologians ever since. What does the claim that the divine Son ‘became human’ amount to philosophically? What did that involve? How can we even make sense of the notion of a person who is both divine and human? Metaphysical theories of the incarnation address tough philosophical problems such as these.47 Hill describes a metaphysics of the incarnation, which approaches the incarnation as a kind of metaphysical puzzle. This typically includes, but is not limited to, an account of what it means for one person to be both divine and human. It often involves using existing metaphysical theories to either explain what happened, or may have happened, in the incarnation. The literature on the metaphysics of the incarnation is vast and beyond the scope of this excursus.48 A metaphysics of the incarnation is only defined here to distinguish it from what I am calling an incarnational metaphysic.49 An incarnational metaphysic seeks to affirm what must be true about the structure of reality on the basis of the doctrine of the incarnation. Whereas a metaphysics of the incarnation answers questions like “how is it that a divine being became human?” an incarnational metaphysic answers questions like “given that a divine being became human, what are we required to say about the structure of reality?” While there might be various answers to the latter question, the incarnational metaphysic this book refers to is the claim that divinity and humanity are in an essentially non-competitive relationship.50 The claim is that, in short, given the doctrine of the incarnation, divinity and humanity must exist in an essentially non-competitive relationship. On the doctrine of the incarnation, Jesus Christ is simultaneously fully divine and fully human. The Chalcedonian Creed states there is “one and the same Christ” who is “in two natures.”51 The two natures are united “without confusion [ἀσυγχύτως]” nor “division [ἀχωρίστος]” but, pointedly, the “distinction of the natures [τῆς τῶν φύσεων]” is not removed “through the union [διὰ τὴν ἓνωσιν].”52 The upshot of this hypostatic, or two natured, union is that Christ does not have to sacrifice or surrender his divinity to become human, 53 nor did he have to sacrifice his humanity to remain divine. 54

56  Head and Body The claim that divinity and humanity are in an essentially noncompetitive is a metaphysic by making a claim about the basic structure of reality. 55 Rowan Williams gives a lucid description of this when he says God and creation “are not two things to be added together” nor “two things that are ‘really’ one thing” but rather “exist in an asymmetrical relation in which one depends wholly on the other, yet is fully itself, made to be and to act according to its own logic and structure.”56 That is, God’s unity to creation does not violate the integrity of that creation.57 Stated plainly: on the basis that, in Christ, God united himself to, and operated through, humanity, we can say that God can unite himself to, and operate through, his creation without violating the integrity of that creation. The incarnational metaphysic could plausibly apply to several theological puzzles.58 For the purposes of this chapter, the important point is that it plausibly applies to the Church. Gregory, for example, sees the “mingling” of Christ’s natures as providing something of an analogue for how Christ and Church “mingle” with one another.59 The language is only analogous. It is a mistake to say Christ and Church are united “in precisely the same sense” as Christ’s human and divine natures.60 Still, the unity of Christ and Church imagined by Gregory (and others) is, to mirror later Chalcedonian language, a “union without confusion or separation.”61 Using the notion of participation described in Chapter 2, Gregory says the many members of the Church are “joined to the one body of Christ by participation.”62 When the incarnational metaphysic is applied to the relationship between Christ and Church, new metaphysical possibilities emerge to describe the relationship.

Christ through the Church: Group Agency for the Church The relationship between Christ and the Church is not an easy one to describe. The Apostle Paul called the oneness of Christ and Church a “great mystery.”63 That the relationship is a mystery must be kept in mind. Nonetheless, there are some ways we can think and speak about the relationship that can illuminate the relationship further. One way to think about the relationship between Christ and Church is to develop an account of the agency of the Church. The contention of the remainder of this chapter is that a good account of the agency of the Church supports a central contention of this book: the Church is a good mediator of divine revelation. It might initially seem odd to talk about the agency of the Church. Is the Church not a non-personal entity? Is it, strictly speaking, an entity at all? This introduces something of a metaphysical problem. As the body of Christ, the Church is both “one body” and “many members.” The problem, then, is how to account for the relationship of the one to the many. To help with this problem, modern philosophical work on groups and, in particular, group agency shall be especially helpful. As a collection of “many members,” the Church is a group. We might think of groups as either aggregate

Head and Body 57 or corporate.64 Aggregate groups are composed of individuals who share a commonality (e.g., “collection of all red-headed women”) but with minimal or no association; corporate groups (hereafter, just “groups”) have structure and some process for decision-making.65 Because of her association and structures, the Church is a corporate group.66 Even if the Church is a group, we might wonder if it is appropriate to refer to her as an agent. In everyday language, we speak of groups as if they were agents.67 Christian List and Philip Pettit define “agent” as “a system with these features: it has representational states, motivational states, and a capacity to process them and to act on their basis.”68 Examples of grouptalk that implies agency include: “the democratic party nominated Barack Obama,” “the Chess club attended a tournament,” “the committee decided to fire him,” “the company was guilty of negligence,” and “the team was furious at the referee.” These statements ascribe the kinds of representational or motivational states usually associated with agency. Yet, as Joshua Cockayne reminds us, “just because group-talk is part of our language, it does not necessarily follow that it must be part of our ontology.”69 In response to group-talk that implies agency, there are at least two ways to approach it. A group realist thinks groups are part of our ontology, but for a group eliminativist group-talk is “misconceived” and “plainly metaphorical.”70 Eliminativism is motivated by “methodological individualism,”71 or “the view that good explanations of social phenomena should not postulate any social forces other than those that derive from the agency of individuals” and “should resist any appeal to psychologically mysterious social forces.”72 While eliminativism, and in particular the thesis that group-talk is merely metaphorical, might explain some examples of grouptalk (e.g., “the British like tea”), it is insufficient to explain them all. For example, I could complain, “the University administration is difficult to deal with.” My complaint could refer to a particular person, but it could also refer to difficulties with the structured whole. So, I could find the University administration difficult while simultaneously finding every individual employee delightful. In such cases, group realism is preferable to eliminativism. There are different theories of group realism. In authorization theory, “group agents exist when a collection of people each authorize an independent voice as speaking for them in this or that domain.”73 While a group realist account, List and Pettit call this “redundant realism” because grouptalk is “reducible to individual-level talk.”74 For authorization, “group x believes y” is commensurate with “group x authorizes a leader (or leaders) to believe y on their behalf.” In animation theory, group agency is “the product of an equally mysterious, organicist force.”75 Like authorization, it embraces group realism, but, unlike authorization, it is “non-redundant,” meaning group-talk is not “reducible to individual-level talk.”76 Unlike other options, it rejects methodological individualism. Rejecting both of these options, List and Pettit offer a functionalist theory which “supports a

58  Head and Body realism under which group-agency talk is non-redundant, while remaining faithful to methodological individualism.”77 Functionalist theories stipulate conditions for agency and argue that groups meet those conditions. Do any of these options help us think about group agency in the Church? Joshua Cockayne investigates which, if any, offer a promising account of group agency in the Church. He quickly rejects authorization theory because the Church is “regarded as sinful.”78 If Church agency is understood as the authorization of Christ, for instance, then all actions of the Church, including sinful ones, are understood as actions of Christ.79 Cockayne also rejects animation theory because of its rejection of methodological individualism. He says, “there are good reasons to endorse methodological individualism, both theological and philosophical.”80 He worries, too, that animation theory would describe the Spirit as mysterious force which “downplays the significance of the Spirit as a person.”81 Finally, although the functionalist account is initially promising, he calls it “a poor fit” because the processes which qualify the Church as an agent (e.g., committees or hierarchies) do not, in reality, “have much to do with the Church’s actions as a whole.”82 Instead, Cockayne offers a Modified Functionalist Model (MFM) in which “the Church is a unified group which functions as an agent with representational and motivational states and is capable of acting on these states.”83 Constituted by individuals, it is “united by the internal promptings … and the external commands of the Holy Spirit.”84 Members of the Church submit to “group coordinators, namely, the Holy Spirit and Christ” such that they participate in the Church without knowing “how their actions contribute to the actions of the Church as a whole.”85 Individuals respond to promptings of the Spirit in order to align their wills with Christ, and a failure to do so explains how human agents within the Church, but not the Church itself, are “agents of sin.”86 Cockayne is right to judge the available group realist theories as inadequate for the task of describing the agency of the Church. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, the Church is a “community sui generis”87—it is fundamentally, ontologically unique. For this reason, theories aimed to describe the nature of group agency generally are bound to be unhelpful at points. And Cockayne’s MFM is a worthy attempt to explain the agency of the Church. While any model, given that the relationship between Christ and Church is mysterious, is only grasping incompletely at the reality, models like this are valuable for painting a picture for what this relationship could look like. In this vein, Cockayne’s MFM is a welcome attempt to capture something important about the nature of the Church. Still, I shall take a different approach by appealing to Gregory of Nyssa’s ecclesiological thought to construct a model of the Church’s agency from animation theory—or, a Modified Animation Model. For Gregory, the unity of Christ and the Church is based on the “many members” participation in Christ by the power of the Spirit. This relationship includes an inward work of the Holy Spirit that is both transformative

Head and Body 59 (making us like God) and unitive (uniting us to God and to each other).88 Only by participation in Christ can the “many members” become “one body.” Villar sums up Gregory’s thinking: “the Church is one, and is unique, because it is built on the unity of Christ.”89 Prominent animation theorist Otto von Gierke distinguishes between “unity-in-plurality,” or unity resulting from “some arrangement between a group’s individual members,” and “plurality-in-unity,” or unity “prior to,” and “in some senses determinant of, the individuality of a group’s members.”90 Gregory’s view is closer to plurality-in-unity: the unity of the Church is not due to some collective will of individual members, but rather is dependent on Christ who is prior to, and in some sense determinant of, the individuality of a group’s members. Because of this, Gregory’s view initially aligns with animation theory. However, the key distinctive feature of animation theory is the rejection of methodological individualism (MI). MI resists appeals to “psychologically mysterious social forces” (PMSF). So, animation theory is a suitable theory to describe the Church only if agency in the Church rejects MI, or appeals to PMSF. PMSF, however, are themselves mysterious. List and Pettit describe PMSF as a kind of emergentism, in which “group agents are emergent entities over and above the individuals who compose them.”91 They compare individualism to “physicalism in biology and psychology” where appeals to “additional substances or forces” are resisted.92 This suggests that PMSF are qualitatively different than typical social forces—they are “over and above” the individuals and “psychologically mysterious” due to their fundamental difference from other social phenomena. On this understanding, Christ or Spirit are initially good candidates to count as PMSF. Cockayne, however, recognizes that resisting appeals to PMSF potentially rules out “divine action in social explanations,” but argues that MI need not rule out divine action in the Church.93 He says, “what individualism seeks to rule out is the kind of emergent or dualistic social theory that dominates 19th and 20th Century social theory. But the agency of the Holy Spirit is not akin to the agency of an impersonal and elusive social Geist.”94 Cockayne amends PMSF to include only “impersonal social forces,” such as Hegel’s Geist, which precludes Christ or the Spirit from counting as PMSF.95 Still, I worry Cockayne’s amendment flattens out the agency of Christ and the Spirit in the Church. It is true that God is personal, but God’s transcendence also suggests his agency is fundamentally, qualitatively, different from human agency. Christ is not one agent among many members who composes the Church but the sine qua non to whom other individuals are united. Cockayne adds, “it seems strange to think of [the status of divine agents] as akin to aggregate social regularities.”96 He is right that divine agents are not merely aggregate social regularities, but the body of Christ is a kind of aggregate social regularity. For Gregory, the unity of the Church is a “plurality-in-unity” because Christ is the prior one to which the many are united. In this sense, the body of Christ is an aggregate social reality because only by unity to Christ is social aggregation

60  Head and Body possible in the Church. For these reasons, Christ counts as a PMSF in the Church. This amounts to a rejection of MI in the Church. Still, there are other problems lurking in a rejection of MI. List and Pettit find animation theory “objectionable on metaphysical grounds” because “it offends against methodological individualism in suggesting that group agency requires something above and beyond the emergence of coordinated, psychologically intelligible dispositions in individual members.”97 Cockayne similarly objects that “an appeal to some additional force or power is unwarranted” when social phenomena can be explained by appealing to individuals.98 I am sympathetic to these concerns, but I am only defending a Local MI, or MI only with respect only to the Church, rather than Global MI, or MI with respect to all groups.99 I am therefore not suggesting group agency “requires something above and beyond” individual members, but only that agency in the Church requires such an explanation. List and Pettit call this animation view “metaphysically incredible.”100 It depends, of course, on what they mean by “metaphysically incredible,” but on many understandings of “incredible” Gregory would surely agree—as he would agree that the incarnation, for instance, is metaphysically incredible. Pace Cockayne, “an additional force or power” is warranted in explaining the social phenomena Church, but this departure with Cockayne is only whether Christ (or the Spirit) count as “an additional force or power.” In this respect, I have argued that Christ must count as “an additional force or power” (or PMSF) because of his qualitative difference from the “many members.” Cockayne adds a theological reason to endorse MI. Drawing on the work of Richard Bauckham, he argues that New Testament writers “resist endorsing a position which affirms that the collective is somehow more real than the individual.”101 While Cockayne and Bauckham are right to resist eschewing the category of individual altogether, the New Testament also affirms an individual identity integrated into, and only understood properly with reference to, the identity of Christ. For example, Paul writes, “I have been crucified with Christ and no longer live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). Grant Macaskill comments, “Paul is now Paul-inChrist; Paul-in-himself is a thing of the past.”102 He adds, “the oneness of the body is not something we work to achieve by the quality of our fellowship but something that we work to manifest in our realization of the singular identity (Jesus) who unites us.”103 So, “our unity is a function of our union with Christ, which is a union with the one God, whose oneness becomes ours.”104 Likewise, for Gregory Christ is the “oneness” into whom individual members are drawn by the power of the Spirit. Cockayne says, “we must understand the community in relation to the individuals who comprise this community,”105 but, for Gregory, the opposite is true: we must understand the individuals in relation to the “community”—that is, Christ’s body. Nonetheless, Cockayne is right to characterize animation theory as “the kind of emergent or dualistic social theory that dominates 19th and 20th

Head and Body 61 Century social theory.” Because of this, I shall, following Cockayne’s lead, offer a modified account. A Modified Animation Model (MAM) includes two basic tenets. First, it rejects MI in the Church by describing Christ (as the head of the Church) and the Spirit (as the inward, personal, force that united the many members to the head) as PMSF. Second, it describes the agency of the Church as the agency of Christ through individual members in virtue of their unity to Christ. On MAM, the statement “the Church performs action x” is commensurate with the statement “Christ performs action x through the individuals united to him.” In defence and clarification of its claims, MAM appeals to two scriptural images. First, in the body of Christ, the head animates the rest of body. Consider how a body functions: if I raise my arm, it externally appears as if my arm is the “agent” of the action but, in actuality, my head performs the action through my arm.106 The arm is necessary but needs the head. A second Scriptural image is the “vine and branches” analogy (John 15). Christ invites his followers to “abide in me as I abide in you” (John 15:4). The vine inwardly gives life, and fruit, to individual branches. In commenting on the head and body image, Thomas Aquinas says the head “influences the other members in two ways.”107 First, “by a certain intrinsic influence, inasmuch as motive and sensitive force flow from the head to the other members” and second “by a certain exterior guidance, inasmuch as by sight and the senses, which are rooted in the head, man is guided in his exterior acts.”108 He calls the former an “interior influx of grace” which is “from no one save Christ.”109 The distinction between interior and external influence illuminates agency in MAM: by being united to Christ by the Spirit, individuals in the Church are influenced intrinsically by God. Analogously, as neural pathways internally connect head to arm or as fruit-giving life flows from the vine to the branches, so the Spirit connects Christ to individuals. However, on MAM it looks as if the agency of the Church just is Christ’s agency. If so, agency in the Church is a redundant account (that is, reducible to the actions of Christ) and therefore possibly closer to authorization theory.110 Yet, authorization theory includes a collection of individuals giving authority to a leader(s). This theory is unsustainable for the Church insofar as it includes individual believers giving authority to Christ to act on their behalf since it implies individual believers apart from Christ have authority to give. Christ himself appears to endorse the opposite, in fact, when he says, “all authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me” (presumably given by the Father) before commissioning his followers to be his witnesses (Matt. 28:18–20; Acts 1:8). The best interpretation of this is that authority flows from Christ to the Church, not the other way around. There are a few options for how agency in the Church works on MAM. First, consider the agency of an individual, non-divine person P outside the Church: P’s agency is P’s alone in the sense that P is the only internal or intrinsic influence of P’s dispositions, desires, beliefs, practices, and actions. P may be externally influenced (e.g., by P’s culture, environment,

62  Head and Body parents, etc.) but P’s actions are the result of P’s agency. On MAM, when P joins the Church P is now intrinsically and inwardly influenced by another agent: Christ by the power of the Spirit. Consider two options for explaining the agency of P on MAM: Likeness Agency: P’s agency resembles Christ’s, such that P’s dispositions, desires, beliefs, practices, and actions are similar to those found in Christ. Identical Agency: P’s agency just is Christ’s, such that P’s dispositions, desires, beliefs, practices, and actions are eliminated and replaced with Christ’s. Identical Agency is redundant and thus better suited for animation theory, but Likeness Agency appears to not take the unity between Christ and P seriously enough. I propose a third option: Participatory Agency: P’s agency participates in Christ’s, such that P’s dispositions, desires, beliefs, practices, and actions are united to Christ’s.111 Participatory Agency insists that P’s agency is not identical to Christ, but rather united to Christ’s such that Christ, by the power of the Spirit, internally influences P. P’s agency remains P’s, but P’s actions can also be called “Christ’s actions” because of Christ’s animation of P. Although Christ is a person, the unity of agency between Christ and P is possible because of the incarnational metaphysic: Christ can unite himself to P without overriding P’s humanity because Christ is a divine person. On MAM, the agency of the Church is understood as the many members of the Church participating in Christ’s agency through the Church.112 In summary, this section has argued that MAM is a good way to think about Church agency and MAM includes the claim that the Church’s agency is understood as Christ’s agency through the Church. Christ does not act “for” (or in place of) the Church but “through” (or with) individuals in the Church. Individuals may palpably experience Christ working through them113 but can go unrecognized.114 Either way, MAM insists that Christ works through the Church such that the words and actions of the Church can be interpreted as those of Christ. The upshot is that the Church initially seems to be a good candidate to mediate divine revelation. Christ works through her, so that in her actions we can see Christ.

Hidden in the Church: The Problem of Sin On MAM, the words and actions of the Church can be interpreted as the words and actions of Christ. If MAM is a good way to think about the Church’s agency, then the Church is a mediator of divine revelation. A

Head and Body 63 problem almost too obvious to name lurks, however: the Problem of Sin. The problem is that individuals in the Church, or entire Church communities, participate in sinful (i.e., un-Christ-like) dispositions or actions.115 This presents a problem not only in practice, but in theory for MAM by posing this dilemma: either Christ performs sinful actions or the Church sometimes acts apart from Christ. What can MAM say in return? By depicting the Church as body of Christ, this section has primarily focused on the dimension of the Church as she is united to Christ. Yet, Karl Barth identifies two dimensions of the Church. On the one hand, “the life of the Church” is “secured … by indissoluble life of its Head, the Lord Jesus Christ.”116 Christ and Church are certainly united. On the other hand, the Church’s life is also “endangered” because of its “‘creaturely’ character”— she can, and does, succumb to temptation and fall into “human error.”117 On Barth’s telling, the Church cannot escape its calling as a divine community, but neither can she escape her creaturely reality. John A. F. Gregg similarly refers to the Church’s dual existence: she is at the same time earthly and visible, but also heavenly and supernatural.118 Yet, as Barth recognizes, the dual existence is not just a difference between visible and invisible, but both sinful and united to Christ. An analogous theological concept is Martin Luther’s claim that the human person is simul justus et peccator—simultaneously justified and a sinner.119 George Florovsky calls it Church’s “double life”: it is “both the Church of the redeemed, and the Church of the miserable sinners—both at once.”120 The “double life” of the Church can be better understood in light Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s distinction between the empirical Church and the essential Church. It is not the case that the empirical Church is the Church qua sinner and the essential Church is the Church qua united to Christ, but the distinction can help us understand how the Church can be both. The empirical Church refers to the Church’s “visible historical form” while the essential Church refers to the Church, spread out through time and space, united to Christ.121 The empirical Church is any particular, local church community. When I attend St. Patrick’s Church, for example, I see individual persons: Pete, Andee, Nathan, Madelyn, and Hubert. They, and others, form a local community called a church. This local congregation is an example of the empirical Church, just as a church in Uganda is an example of the empirical Church. Yet, although St. Patrick’s and a Church in Uganda may have no formal or institutional connection, they are united to Christ by the power of the Spirit. By their unity to Christ, Pete, Andee, Nathan, Madelyn, and Hubert are all also part of the essential Church. Because of their unity to Christ, they are united not only to individual believers in Uganda but also to the Church in fourth-century Nyssa or first-century Jerusalem. Bonhoeffer called this the “sanctorum communio,” or the communion of the saints.122 The conceptual distinction between the empirical and essential Church, however, does not mean the two are divided.123 Barth called the Church a divine “event,” but adds that “the primary, normal, and visible form of this

64  Head and Body event is the local congregation.”124 Hans Küng similarly insists that “essence and form cannot be separated” such that “the real essence of the Church is expressed in its historical form.”125 The relationship between the empirical and essential Church is conceptually fuzzy. One way it could become clearer is with the resources of four-­ dimensionalism (4-D). On 4-D, persons or things have “spatial parts” (e.g., I have the spatial parts of hands and feet) as well as “temporal parts” (e.g., I have the temporal parts in utero and childhood).126 4-D aims to solve the puzzle of how persons or objects exist through time.127 If I say that I have temporal parts in the same, or an analogous, way as I have spatial parts, then I have a theory of how I exist through time. When applied to the Church, 4-D gives a theory for how the Church exists through time. On 4-D, different Church communities of the empirical Church are spatial or temporal parts of the essential Church that can be directly experienced. For example, the congregants of my Church, St. Patrick’s, can be “one” with the congregants of the fourth-century Church of Nyssa. One does not need to commit to 4-D to understand the Church, but 4-D offers one way to think about the parts of the Church. The important point for my purposes is that the Church is united as “one” despite being stretched throughout time and space. By Church, therefore, I refer to the essential Church as expressed in the empirical Church. Although it is possible for the empirical Church to fail to express the essential Church, it is not possible for us to discern the essential Church apart from the empirical Church. The distinction between the essential and empirical Church helps address the Problem of Sin. On this distinction, a sinful action performed by a Church member or local community is not a sinful action of the essential Church, but of one of its spatial and temporal parts. In performing a sinful action, a spatial and temporal part fails to participate in Christ’s agency by the power of the Spirit.128 On MAM, individual agents that sin, then, go “rogue,” in a sense.129 Sin is thus an example of rogue agency and not Christ’s agency through his body. It is a temporary removal from the agency of the whole. However, this does not imply that every sin is the result of an individual member only. Entire Church communities or even entire Church denominations and traditions can be infiltrated with sin. Indeed, it is plausible that there is structural sin in the Church. Nevertheless, such cases as still examples of rogue agency. The Church as a whole, or the essential Church, is itself a group, but it is comprised of many other sub-groups, or particular communities of the empirical Church. Insofar as those sub-groups are composed and led by individuals who commit sinful actions, then those sub-groups can themselves be examples of rogue agency. On this distinction, then, sinful actions should be considered rogue actions and not the activity of Christ nor the Church. Instead, they are individual members or groups who temporarily fail to participate in Christ’s agency. The Problem of Sin, therefore, does not threaten MAM in theory, as MAM can account for sinful actions in the Church while keeping its fundamental premises intact.

Head and Body 65 However, the Problem of Sin does threaten the claim that the Church is a mediator of divine revelation. Even if the Church is united to Christ, her words and actions are imperfect reflections of that unity. Still, imperfection may be a necessary feature of revelation. God’s revelation, says Bonhoeffer, “actually takes place in history, i.e., in a hidden way.”130 Insofar as we live in “a world of sin and death” we also live in “a world of history” which is being “sanctified” and used “for God’s own purpose.”131 Thus, Florovsky argues that the Church, on the basis of her unity to Christ, remains a mediator of divine revelation even if in “provisional forms.”132 Revelation’s provisional nature is not necessarily a problem because provisional forms of revelation are the only kinds available to us in a “world of sin and death.” Paul writes, “for now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully.”133 Even in the incarnation, God’s revelation is “provisional” in the sense that humanity cannot reveal the entirety of God, especially God’s essence, or in the sense that the incarnate Christ is historically and geographically restricted. Still, the provisional nature of that revelation is not a defect but makes revelation possible. The Church has similar limitations, but also similar possibilities. The empirical Church cannot be pushed aside to “get behind” to the essential Church, just as the humanity of Jesus cannot be pushed aside to get to Christ’s divinity. The empirical Church thus accounts for both a hiddenness and revelation of God in Christ. Its imperfection and historical location mean Christ will be, in the empirical Church, always hidden to some degree, but simultaneously through that historical location also revealed. Although the Church will be associated with sinful actions because of being comprised of sinful people, it is precisely those sinful people that allow God’s revelation in the first place. The Problem of Sin remains a problem in the sense that members of the Church should not sin, but it is not a problem in theory for the main contention of this chapter: the nature of the Church is to be united to Christ and, on the basis of that unity, is a mediator of divine revelation because her words and actions can be interpreted as the words and actions of Christ.

Conclusion This chapter has argued that the nature of the Church as one body is to be united to Christ and, on the basis of that unity, is an example of Christ’s activity in the world. By developing MAM, it offered an account of the Church’s agency as Christ’s agency through the Church. The Problem of Sin, it determined, is not a fatal problem for MAM in theory, and the Church can still be counted as a mediator of divine revelation. However, I have continued to specify that the Problem of Sin is not a problem in theory because there is a practical problem. Because of the sin in the Church, even if it is not counted as Christ’s work through the Church, it remains true that the empirical Church often fails to be revelatory.

66  Head and Body Indeed, the empirical Church can even occasion what Michelle Panchuk calls “religious trauma.”134 In such cases, the role of the empirical Church has the opposite effect of revelation: it leads people further from Christ rather than closer to him. The Church is clearly not an infallible communicator of Christ’s agency—and this is, or should be, especially clear to those within the Church. Indeed, the Schellenbergian will surely wonder how my response to the Problem of Sin is sufficient. Even if I am correct that the Problem of Sin does not threaten my conclusion that the Church is a mediator of God, it gives birth to another problem: the Problem of Discernment. Namely, how can we properly discern which words and actions in the empirical Church belong to Christ? This, after all, is the key question of divine hiddenness: why are there some who cannot discern the work of God and, by that discernment, know God? While this chapter has explored the nature of the Church, the following three chapters shall turn to explore three roles of the Church toward responding to the Problem of Discernment. The contention shall be that we can indeed discern Christ’s work through the Church, primarily in three of her roles: the liturgy, the sacraments, and her individual members.

Notes 1 Gregory of Nyssa, “When (the Father) Will Subject All Things to (the Son), Then (the Son) Himself Will Be Subjected to Him (the Father) Who Subjects All Things to Him (the Son)—A Treatise on First Corinthians 15.28 by Saint Gregory of Nyssa,” trans. Brother Casimir, The Greek Orthodox Theological Review 28, no. 1 (1983): 20. 2 On ecclesiological commitments and ecumenism, see especially George Hunsinger’s attempt at an ecumenical view of the eucharist. Hunsinger’s brief defence of ecumenical theology would very much align with the kind of ecumenical work I hope to produce here. George Hunsinger, The Eucharist and Ecumenism: Let Us Keep the Feast (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 1–11. 3 For example, even taking an ecumenical approach that is compatible with Protestant traditions is more of a Protestant move than an Eastern or Roman one. 4 Insofar as every Protestant denomination counts as a “tradition,” this could be a very difficult task. However, I mostly have in mind mainstream or historical traditions such as Orthodoxy, Roman Catholicism, and the more historical forms of Protestantism (e.g., Anglicanism, Baptist, Lutheranism, Methodism, Presbyterianism, etc.). 5 George Florovsky, “The Church: Her Nature and It’s Task,” in Man’s Disorder and God’s Design, The Amsterdam Assembly Series (New York, NY: Harper & Brothers, 1949), 43–44. 6 Florovsky, “The Church: Her Nature and It’s Task,” 44. 7 That is, it appears only in letters traditionally given Pauline authorship. 8 1 Cor. 12:4. Translations my own unless otherwise noted. 9 1 Cor. 12:12–13. 10 Ronald Y. K. Fung, “body of Christ,” in Dictionary of Paul and His Letters, ed. Ralph P. Martin, Gerald F. Hawthorne, and Daniel G. Reid (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 1993), 78. 11 Fung, “body of Christ,” 78. 12 Fung, “body of Christ,” 78.

Head and Body 67 3 Fung, “body of Christ,” 78. 1 14 The importance of “mere” or “merely” here is two-fold. On the one hand, a merely metaphorical view is different than a metaphorical view because a metaphorical view could be more than metaphorical. That is, a view could be metaphorical and what Fung calls “realistic/ontological.” For example, one might think that by “body of Christ” Paul means a physical union with Christ’s physical, resurrected body and that Paul is using the imagery in a metaphorical way. On the other hand, this view is merely metaphorical because it understands the imagery only as a metaphor to make another point. For example, earlier in 1 Cor. Paul writes, “I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for solid food” (1 Cor. 3:2; NRSV). This is merely metaphorical because Paul only refers to milk or food to make the point that the Corinthians need to progress spiritually or in their relationship with Christ. Presumably, Paul thinks a person could grow in Christ without milk. 15 Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2014), 602; Craig S. Keener, The IVP Bible Background Commentary New Testament (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2014), 478–79. 16 cf. Rom. 7:4; 1 Cor. 6:15; Eph. 4:12, 5:23; Col. 1:24, 3:15. For the purposes of this project, Paul refers to the canonical Paul, or the author of the 13 letters traditionally ascribed to him. 17 Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God 397. 18 1 Cor. 10:16–17. 19 Fee: 1 Cor. 12 “returns to the imagery … first used in 10:17” and the “first instance (10:17)” is now “the presupposition.” Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 602. 20 Eph. 2:13–15; NRSV. 21 Eph. 5:32. 22 English translation my own unless otherwise noted. I closely consult the translation in: Gregory of Nyssa, “Tunc et Ipse.” 23 Giulio Maspero, “Tunc et Ipse,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 766. 24 This will be discussed in greater detail in the following chapter. 25 Tunc et ipse, GNO III/2, 16; PG 45, 1316; Casimir 19. 26 Tunc et ipse, GNO III/2, 18; PG 45, 1317; Casimir 20. 27 Tunc et ipse, GNO III/2, 19; PG 45, 1317; Casimir 20. Casimir’s translation. 28 Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco, “Perf,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 589. 29 Perf, GNO VIII/1, 197; PG 46, 272–73; Callahan 111. I closely consult the translation in from Virginia Woods Callahan in: Gregory of Nyssa, “On Perfection,” in Saint Gregory of Nyssa: Ascetical Works, trans. Virginia Woods Callahan, Fathers of the Church (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1967). 30 Perf, GNO VIII/1, 197; PG 46, 273; Callahan 111. The significance of ὁμοούσιος to Trinitarian theology makes his application of the term here all the more interesting, as it appears Gregory would say Christ is ὁμοούσιος with the Church and with the Father. However, I avoid speculation on the significance of this. 31 Perf, GNO VIII/1, 197; PG 46, 273; Callahan 112. The English translation of “a complete sympathy of all the parts” is a little awkward. Elsewhere, Gregory uses the same word (συμπάθειαν) to describe “all things in the universe”—so “interaction” or “connection” might be better, but any English translation is found wanting. See Lampe’s Patristic Lexicon for more on this word. 32 Perf, GNO VIII/1, 197; PG 46, 273; Callahan 112. Callahan’s translation.

68  Head and Body 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

Perf, GNO VIII/1, 198; PG 46, 273; Callahan 112. Tunc et ipse, GNO III/2, 18; PG 45, 1317; Casimir 20. Perf, GNO VIII/1, 198; PG 46, 273; Callahan 112. Perf, GNO VIII/1, 199; PG 46, 273; Callahan 113. Perf, GNO VIII/1, 198; PG 46, 273; Callahan 112. Villar, “Gregory of Nyssa’s View of the Church,” 221. Tunc et ipse, GNO III/2, 16; PG 45, 1316; Casimir 19. Emphasis mine. Maspero, “Tunc et Ipse,” 766. Villar, “Gregory of Nyssa’s View of the Church,” 219. Villar, “Gregory of Nyssa’s View of the Church,” 219. Villar, “Gregory of Nyssa’s View of the Church,” 220. Importantly, this chapter does not purport to offer a fully formed “ecclesiology” from Gregory. Hubertus R. Drobner comments, “ecclesiology in the scholastic sense of a systematic theological treatise does not exist among the Fathers.” Like the rest of the Fathers, Gregory is often “motivated by the topical questions of the times and their practical problems.” While this is perhaps broadly true of theological reflection, Drobner suggests it is especially true for ecclesiology. Hubertus R. Drobner, “Ecclesiology,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 247. 45 Although calling this Gregory’s “ecclesiology” is too strong, the body of Christ may be an especially important depiction of the Church for Gregory. José R. Villar says the Church Fathers “generally base their thinking on the Pauline teachings concerning the Church as the body of Christ.” See: Villar, “Gregory of Nyssa’s View of the Church,” 215. 46 For a comparable study of similar issues, see the excellent conversation in Thomas H. McCall, Analytic Christology and the Theological Interpretation of the New Testament, Oxford Studies in Analytic Theology (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2021), 7–38. McCall’s discussion of these issues is slightly different than, but adjacent to, my own. He focuses on Paul’s claim that, “I no longer live, but Christ lives in me” (Gal. 2:19) and evaluates contemporary options for how to explain it. My discussion focuses on the nature of the unity of the Church. Nonetheless, similar themes appear in each discussion. 47 Anna Marmodoro and Jonathan Hill, The Metaphysics of the Incarnation (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2011), 1. 48 For example, see work by Oliver Crisp and the appropriately-titled works of Cross, Morris, and Marmodoro & Hill: Oliver D. Crisp, Divinity and Humanity: The Incarnation Reconsidered (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2003); Richard Cross, The Metaphysics of the Incarnation: Thomas Aquinas to Duns Scotus (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2005); Thomas V. Morris, “The Metaphysics of God Incarnate,” in Oxford Readings in Philosophical Theology, ed. Michael C. Rea (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2009), 211–24; Marmodoro and Hill, The Metaphysics of the Incarnation. 49 Admittedly, the development of an “incarnational metaphysic” needs more attention than it is given here. However, this section does not aim to produce an entire metaphysics, but rather aims to identify a point that is critical to Christian metaphysics—worked out especially in the work of Kathryn Tanner and Rowan Williams (see below). The distinction between a metaphysics of the incarnation and an incarnational metaphysic is only to highlight the difference in the aims of each and is not an evaluation of their importance. 50 This does not seek to rule out sin as a kind of competition between God and humanity. Rather, it seeks to rule out any assumption that divinity and humanity are necessarily, ontologically in conflict because they are both things.

Head and Body 69 51 Translation my own; Greek text found in: Philip Schaff, Creeds of Christendom (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1984), 62. 52 Translation my own; Greek: Schaff, Creeds of Christendom, 62. 53 Philippians 2:7 says Christ “emptied himself” in becoming human, but there are many plausible interpretations of this compatible with the Creedal claims presented here. 54 This does not mean, however, the divinity in no way alters the humanity. In fact, Kathryn Tanner argues that alteration is the point of the hypostatic union: “The ultimate point of the incarnation is not to give the Word a human shape but to bring about an altered manner of human existence, one realizing on a human plane the very mode of existence of the second person of the trinity. In Christ human life is to be given shape by the Word, to find its organizing principle in the Word, through unity with it.” Kathryn Tanner, Christ the Key (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 147. 55 This is admittedly vague, but I am happy for the incarnational metaphysic to be understood as a “metaphysic” on a variety of understandings of “metaphysic.” 56 Rowan Williams, Christ the Heart of Creation (London, UK: Bloomsbury Continuum, 2018), xiv. 57 Kathryn Tanner says it like this: “Because divinity is not a kind, God is not bound by apparent contrasts between divine and creaturely qualities; God is thereby free to enter into intimate community with us, without loss to the divine nature, without sacrificing the difference between God and us.” Kathryn Tanner, Jesus, Humanity and the Trinity: A Brief Systematic Theology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2003), 11. 58 For instance, James Arcadi turns to these Christological resources and applies them to the Eucharist in: James Arcadi, An Incarnational Model of the Eucharist (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 59 Cant IV, GNO VI, 108; Norris, 121. Brian E. Daley notes such language, applied to Christ, is “certainly strange, even a little shocking, by post-Chalcedonian standards” but shows how this terminology is applied in a specific way for Gregory. See: Brian E. Daley, “Divine Transcendence and Human Transformation,” in Re-Thinking Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Sarah Coakley (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2003), 72. 60 Williams, Christ the Heart of Creation, 78. 61 Rowan Williams, Christ the Heart of Creation, 77. Williams names Augustine and Bonhoeffer as others whose understanding of Christ and the Church mirrors Chalcedonian language. 62 Tunc et ipse, GNO III/2, 18; PG 45, 1317; Casimir 20. 63 Ephesians 5:32. 64 Deborah Perron Tollefsen, Groups as Agents (Malden, MA: Polity, 2015), 3. 65 Tollefsen, Groups as Agents, 3. 66 This raises some important questions, like: is the whole Church—across time and denomination—a corporate group? After all, for example, Roman Catholics do not share a structure or explicit association with Presbyterians or Eastern Orthodox Christians. As with most questions, the answer will depend on who you ask. But I take the whole Church as a corporate group because, minimally, she is submitted to Jesus Christ, the teachings of Scripture, and the Christian tradition, even if to varying degrees. The Church’s common head, Jesus Christ, gives her structure. 67 C. A. Mcintosh observes that group realism could also apply to God on some accounts of social Trinitarianism. He argues that God can and should be conceived of as what he calls a group person. On his view, the three divine persons form a kind of group (albeit a unique kind) and that group itself is a kind of person (albeit a unique kind). See Chad A. Mcintosh, “The God of the Groups: Social Trinitarianism and Group Agency,” Religious Studies 52, no. 2 (2016): 167–86, https://doi.org/10.1017/S0034412515000025.

70  Head and Body 68 Christian List and Philip Pettit, Group Agency: The Possibility, Design, and Status of Corporate Agents (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2011), 20. On this definition, agency does not necessarily require personhood. 69 Joshua Cockayne, “Analytic Ecclesiology: The Social Ontology of the Church,” Journal of Analytic Theology 7, no. 1 (July 19, 2019): 107. 70 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 3–6. “Plainly metaphorical” is the language of Anthony Quinton, whom List and Pettit quote as an example of group eliminativism (p. 3). 71 While eliminativism is often motivated by methodological individualism, as we shall see how some group realist options defend individualism, too. 72 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 3. They offer both as definitions, though the meaning is basically the same. 73 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 7. 74 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 6–7. 75 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 9. 76 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 9. 77 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 10. 78 Cockayne, “Analytic Ecclesiology,” 112–13. 79 Cockayne, “Analytic Ecclesiology,” 113. 80 Joshua Cockayne, Explorations in Analytic Ecclesiology (Forthcoming) (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, n.d.). This book is under contract with Oxford University Press but has yet to be released. The quotations given here are from a draft and are used with the permission of the author. 81 Cockayne, “Analytic Ecclesiology,” 114. See his discussion of this point in fn. 22. 82 Cockayne, “Analytic Ecclesiology,” 115. 83 Cockayne, “Analytic Ecclesiology,” 118. He offers two examples, a honey-bee colony and a terrorist cell group, which illuminate his account. 84 Cockayne, “Analytic Ecclesiology,” 118. 85 Cockayne, “Analytic Ecclesiology,” 118. 86 Cockayne, “Analytic Ecclesiology,” 118–19. 87 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Sanctorum Communio: A Theological Study of the Sociology of the Church (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2009), 266. 88 As should be clear, the account I am sketching is especially Christological, but it cannot be divorced from the work of the Holy Spirit. In Chapter 2, I developed a Gregorian understanding of participation that is pneumatological as well as Christological. While I continue to use Christ as the “primary actor” in the Church, this is not to in any way diminish the role of the Spirit, who is clearly central to any account of the Church. 89 Villar, “Gregory of Nyssa’s View of the Church,” 221. 90 David Runciman, Pluralism and the Personality of the State (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 37. 91 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 9. 92 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 3. 93 Cockayne, Explorations in Analytic Ecclesiology (Forthcoming). 94 Cockayne, Explorations in Analytic Ecclesiology (Forthcoming). 95 Cockayne, Explorations in Analytic Ecclesiology (Forthcoming). 96 Cockayne. 97 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 9. 98 Cockayne, Explorations in Analytic Ecclesiology (Forthcoming). 99 I am borrowing this from a distinction Peter van Inwagen makes between “global materialism,” or the thesis that “everything (or every concrete thing) is material,” and “local materialism, or the thesis that “all objects of a particular sort are material.” Peter Van Inwagen, “A Materialist Ontology of the Human

Head and Body 71 Person,” in Persons: Human and Divine, ed. Peter Van Inwagen and Dean W. Zimmerman (Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press, 2007), 206. 100 List and Pettit, Group Agency, 9. 101 Cockayne, “Analytic Ecclesiology,” 114. 102 Grant Macaskill, Living in Union with Christ: Paul’s Gospel and Christian Moral Identity (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019), 53. 103 Macaskill, Living in Union with Christ, 69. 104 Macaskill, Living in Union with Christ, 70. 105 Cockayne, Explorations in Analytic Ecclesiology (Forthcoming). 106 Of course, by “head” I mean something like brain, mind, or central control center which coordinates conscious and sub-conscious decisions. 107 ST, III.8.6. 108 ST, III.8.6. 109 ST, III.8.6. Aquinas does not appeal to the vine and branches analogy, but something similar could be posited. 110 See the chart in List and Pettit, Group Agency, 10. 111 Admittedly, “united to” is ambiguous, but I specifically have in mind a relationship of participation as outlined in Chapter 2. Nonetheless, there remains considerable ambiguity in a relationship of unity, but this chapter aims only to establish the kind of relationship between Christ and Church and not all of the specifics of it. 112 One might think that participatory agency is compatible with MI. However, it is only compatible with MI if it avoids appeals to PMSF. On participatory agency, the agency of the Church cannot be explained without appeal to Christ’s activity through the many members by the power of the Spirit. The question of compatibility thus depends on whether or not Christ or the Spirit count as PMSF. I argued above that they should because the influence of Christ is qualitatively different than that of the many members of the Church. This does not mean Christ or the Spirit do not count as persons or individuals. It does suggest, however, that they are persons or individuals in the Church in a different sense than the many members. Insofar as Christ counts as a PMSF and the agency of the Church depends on Christ, then agency in the Church is not compatible with local MI, or MI to explain the Church’s agency. 113 For instance, individuals in the Church often assume something like participatory agency when they say: “it wasn’t me, but Christ working in me” or “here is what God has done through our Church recently.” 114 For instance, Augustine, speaking to God in The Confessions, says of his friend Alypius: “you brought about his correction through my agency, but without my knowledge, so that it might be clearly recognized as your work.” Augustine of Hippo, The Confessions, trans. Maria Boulding (New York, NY: Vintage, 1998), 107. 115 In a later chapter, I give a closer look at The Problem of Imperfection, or that the Church is imperfect and limited even when not sinful. 116 Karl Barth, “The Church—The Living Congregation of the Living Lord Jesus Christ,” in Man’s Disorder and God’s Design, The Amsterdam Assembly Series (New York, NY: Harper & Brothers, 1949), 69. 117 Barth, “The Church—The Living Congregation of the Living Lord Jesus Christ,” 69–70. 118 John A. F. Gregg, “One Holy, Catholic, Apostolic Church,” in Man’s Disorder and God’s Design, The Amsterdam Assembly Series (New York, NY: Harper & Brothers, 1949), 59. 119 For more on this distinction, see: James F. McCue, “‘Simul Iustus et Peccator’ in Augustine, Aquinas, and Luther: Toward Putting the Debate in Context,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 48, no. 1 (1980): 81–96.

72  Head and Body 20 Florovsky, “The Church: Her Nature and It’s Task,” 54. 1 121 Bonhoeffer, Sanctorum Communio, 216–25. 122 Bonhoeffer, 224. 123 Karl Barth, “The Church—The Living Congregation of the Living Lord Jesus Christ,” in Man’s Disorder and God’s Design, The Amsterdam Assembly Series (New York, NY: Harper & Brothers, 1949), 73. 124 Barth, “The Church—The Living Congregation of the Living Lord Jesus Christ,” 73. 125 Hans Küng, The Church (New York, NY: Sheed & Ward, 1967), 5. 126 Theodore Sider, Four-Dimensionalism: An Ontology of Persistence and Time (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2001), 1–2. 4-D is a theory of persistence through time. Sider attempts to show how 4-D can help solve metaphysical puzzles of identity like the classic Ship of Theseus problem. 127 Sider, Four-Dimensionalism, 3. Sider locates 4-D in the debate well: “This picture of persistence over time I have called four-dimensionalism is also known as the doctrine of temporal parts and the thesis that objects ‘perdure’.” Some philosophers “prefer instead to regard objects as ‘three-dimensional’, as ‘enduring’, as being ‘wholly present’ at all times at which they exist. Consider the regions of space I occupy throughout my life. According to three-dimensionalists, these regions are not occupied by distinct instantaneous objects, but are rather occupied successively by the  entire  persisting object. More pictures: a perduring object is ‘spread out’ over a region of spacetime, whereas an enduring object ‘sweeps through’ a region of spacetime, the whole of the object occupying the region’s subregions at different times” (p. 3). 128 Andrew Davison, along similar lines, considers evil as “a failure of participation.” Andrew Davison, Participation in God: A Study in Christian Doctrine and Metaphysics (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 239. 129 Cockayne includes a helpful discussion on rogue agency. Cockayne, Explorations in Analytic Ecclesiology (Forthcoming). 130 Bonhoeffer, Sanctorum Communio, 222. 131 Bonhoeffer, 222. 132 Florovsky, “The Church: Her Nature and It’s Task,” 54. 133 1 Cor. 13:12. 134 Michelle Panchuk, “The Shattered Spiritual Self: A Philosophical Exploration of Religious Trauma,” Res Philosophica 95, no. 3 (2018): 505–30, https://doi. org/10.11612/resphil.1684.

Bibliography Arcadi, James. An Incarnational Model of the Eucharist. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2018. Augustine of Hippo. The Confessions, translated by Maria Boulding. New York, NY: Vintage, 1998. Barth, Karl. “The Church—The Living Congregation of the Living Lord Jesus Christ.” In Man’s Disorder and God’s Design, 67–76. The Amsterdam Assembly Series. New York, NY: Harper & Brothers, 1949. Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. Sanctorum Communio: A Theological Study of the Sociology of the Church. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2009. Cockayne, Joshua. “Analytic Ecclesiology: The Social Ontology of the Church.” Journal of Analytic Theology 7, no. 1 (July 19, 2019): 100–23. ———. Explorations in Analytic Ecclesiology (Forthcoming). Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, n.d.

Head and Body 73 Crisp, Oliver D. Divinity and Humanity: The Incarnation Reconsidered. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Cross, Richard. The Metaphysics of the Incarnation: Thomas Aquinas to Duns Scotus. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2005. Daley, Brian E. “Divine Transcendence and Human Transformation.” In Re-Thinking Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Sarah Coakley. Malden, MA: WileyBlackwell, 2003. Davison, Andrew. Participation in God: A Study in Christian Doctrine and Metaphysics. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2019. https://doi. org/10.1017/9781108629287. Drobner, Hubertus R. “Ecclesiology.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 247–55. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. Fee, Gordon D. The First Epistle to the Corinthians. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2014. Florovsky, George. “The Church: Her Nature and It’s Task.” In Man’s Disorder and God’s Design, 43–58. The Amsterdam Assembly Series. New York, NY: Harper & Brothers, 1949. Fung, Ronald Y. K. “Body of Christ.” In Dictionary of Paul and His Letters, edited by Ralph P. Martin, Gerald F. Hawthorne, and Daniel G. Reid. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 1993. Gregg, John A. F. “One Holy, Catholic, Apostolic Church.” In Man’s Disorder and God’s Design, 59–66. The Amsterdam Assembly Series. New York, NY: Harper & Brothers, 1949. Gregory of Nyssa. “On Perfection.” In Saint Gregory of Nyssa: Ascetical Works, translated by Virginia Woods Callahan. Fathers of the Church. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1967. ———. “When (the Father) Will Subject All Things to (the Son), Then (the Son) Himself Will Be Subjected to Him (the Father) Who Subjects All Things to Him (the Son)—A Treatise on First Corinthians 15.28 by Saint Gregory of Nyssa,” translated by Brother Casimir. The Greek Orthodox Theological Review 28, no. 1 (1983): 1–25. Hunsinger, George. The Eucharist and Ecumenism: Let Us Keep the Feast. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Keener, Craig S. The IVP Bible Background Commentary New Testament. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2014. Küng, Hans. The Church. New York, NY: Sheed & Ward, 1967. List, Christian, and Philip Pettit. Group Agency: The Possibility, Design, and Status of Corporate Agents. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2011. Macaskill, Grant. Living in Union with Christ: Paul’s Gospel and Christian Moral Identity. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019. Marmodoro, Anna, and Jonathan Hill. The Metaphysics of the Incarnation. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2011. Maspero, Giulio. “Tunc et Ipse.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 766–67. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. Mateo-Seco, Lucas Francisco. “Perf.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 589–90. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009.

74  Head and Body McCall, Thomas H. Analytic Christology and the Theological Interpretation of the New Testament. Oxford Studies in Analytic Theology. New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2021. McCue, James F. “‘Simul Iustus et Peccator’ in Augustine, Aquinas, and Luther: Toward Putting the Debate in Context.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 48, no. 1 (1980): 81–96. Mcintosh, Chad A. “The God of the Groups: Social Trinitarianism and Group Agency.” Religious Studies 52, no. 2 (2016): 167–86. https://doi.org/10.1017/ S0034412515000025. Morris, Thomas V. “The Metaphysics of God Incarnate.” In Oxford Readings in Philosophical Theology, edited by Michael C. Rea, 211–24. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2009. Panchuk, Michelle. “The Shattered Spiritual Self: A Philosophical Exploration of Religious Trauma.” Res Philosophica 95, no. 3 (2018): 505–30. https://doi. org/10.11612/resphil.1684. Runciman, David. Pluralism and the Personality of the State. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Schaff, Philip. Creeds of Christendom. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1984. Sider, Theodore. Four-Dimensionalism: An Ontology of Persistence and Time. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2001. Tanner, Kathryn. Christ the Key. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2009. ———. Jesus, Humanity and the Trinity: A Brief Systematic Theology. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2003. Tollefsen, Deborah Perron. Groups as Agents. Malden, MA: Polity, 2015. Van Inwagen, Peter. “A Materialist Ontology of the Human Person.” In Persons: Human and Divine, edited by Peter Van Inwagen and Dean W. Zimmerman. Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press, 2007. Villar, José R. “Gregory of Nyssa’s View of the Church.” In The Ecumenical Legacy of the Cappadocians, edited by Nicu Dumitrascu. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-137-50269-8_14. Williams, Rowan. Christ the Heart of Creation. London, UK: Bloomsbury Continuum, 2018. Wright, N. T. Paul and the Faithfulness of God. London, UK: SPCK Publishing, 2013.

4

Seeing the Face of Christ Sensing Christ in Gathered Worship

Anyone, therefore, who focuses attention on the Church is in fact looking at Christ.1 (Gregory of Nyssa)

As depicted by the Apostle Paul and Gregory of Nyssa, the nature of the Church as the body of Christ suggests that the Church is a good candidate to be a mediator of divine revelation. Since Christ works through her, her words and actions can be interpreted as the words and actions of Christ. Initially, this suggests that the Church is critical to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. There is, however, a problem with such a formulation. Insofar as individual members of a church, or even entire church communities, say and do sinful things, we run into a Problem of Discernment. In theory, there is an available response to this: sins in the church are not actually Christ working through the Church, but acts of a rogue agent. Even if we accept this response in theory, it does little to allay hiddenness concerns since the hiddenness problem is rather concerned with the practice of discerning Christ in the Church. If we have no reliable way of discerning Christ’s activity through the Church, she is of little help to the Problem of Hiddenness. To say that any word or action spoken by a member of Christ’s body just is a word or action of Christ is clearly false. So, how do we discern Christ’s activity in the Church? This chapter and the two following seek to address this question. The previous chapter centred on the nature of the Church. The next three chapters each focus on a role of the Church. Succinctly, a “role” of the Church is something for which the Church is responsible as she cooperates in God’s mission to the world. To some degree—the degree depending on the tradition—­these three roles of the Church are critical for the flourishing of any church. One distinction that broadly captures two roles for any church community is the Church Gathered and the Church Scattered. 2 The former refers to the practice of any church of assembling for fellowship with others and the worship of God; the latter refers to the responsibility of the Church, beyond the walls or assembly of the Church, to reflect Christ into DOI: 10.4324/9781003346951-5

76  Seeing the Face of Christ the world by spreading the gospel in word and deed. Each of these roles accents part of the Church’s mission to the world. One, later chapter shall be devoted to the Church Scattered. But the Church Gathered is worth considering in two parts: the Church Gathered Inclusive and the Church Gathered Exclusive.3 This distinction accents two features of the Church’s assembled existence: the former refers to ecclesial activity available to anyone, regardless of belief or membership status, while the latter refers to ecclesial activity reserved only for some members of the community. Since nonbelievers are a vital part of Schellenberg’s hiddenness argument, this second distinction is especially important for an ecclesiological response to the argument. If nonbelievers are unable to participate in some roles of the Church, then how that role is relevant to the hiddenness problem could be different than the Church’s inclusive roles. This chapter centres on the Church Gathered Inclusive as expressed in the liturgy of the Church. What counts as “liturgy” or “liturgical” will be considered in more detail later, but for now a caveat is in order: although I refer to the liturgy as an expression of the Church Gathered Inclusive, the liturgy can include exclusive enactments. For example, the sacraments are typically considered part of the liturgy, but they are usually understood as exclusive enactments. But the liturgy is not only exclusive and, in fact, mostly comprised of inclusive enactments. Inclusive liturgical enactments include, but are not limited to, the public reading of Scripture, communal confession of sins, listening to a sermon, and reciting Creeds. It is, therefore, appropriate to say, “the liturgy is inclusive” even if some liturgical practices are exclusive. Taking cues from Gregory of Nyssa, the contention of this chapter is that the sensory realities of the liturgy mediate the knowledge of God and this mediation is relevant to the problem of divine hiddenness.

Seeing God: Gregory of Nyssa and the Face of Christ Apart from the incarnate Christ, God is typically regarded as fundamentally invisible and impervious to sensory perception. Despite this, Gregory of Nyssa does not hesitate to speak of sensing—especially seeing—God. In De anima et resurrectione (An et res), he claims, “as we observe the whole universe through sensual apprehension, by the very operation of our senses we are led to conceive of that reality and intelligence which surpasses the senses.”4 He suggests that by our senses (i.e., sight, sound, smell, touch, taste) we can sense that which is beyond the senses (i.e., God). He does occasionally use language that evokes the other senses in relation to knowing God, but he is especially willing to talk of “seeing” God.5 The claim that God can be seen is a radical one, especially given several allusions to divine invisibility in Scripture.6 So, what Gregory means by “seeing God” needs further elaboration. When Gregory claims that we can “see” God, he does not necessarily mean the act of seeing God is just like

Seeing the Face of Christ 77 seeing the tree outside my window. There are at least two ways to understand what Gregory means by seeing. The first is seeing-as-contemplation,7 by which I mean Gregory uses the vision verbs in a specific religious or mystical sense. In seeing-as-contemplation, God is the object of an experience, but the experience is inward and contemplative rather than sensory. It refers to “seeing what cannot be seen”8 or a God-given “sense of his presence.”9 It is comparable to what one means when one “looks inside oneself” to learn things about oneself. David Bentley Hart’s comment on Gregory illustrates seeing-as-contemplation well: “though in one sense it is true that ‘none has ever seen God,’ still the grace of the Spirit elevates human nature to the contemplation of God.”10 In this sense, “seeing” is non-sensory. Gregory does use vision language in a second way, too, that I shall call seeing-as-vision. In this way of seeing God, Gregory does imply a more ordinary sensory perception of a physical reality. But rather than directing apprehending with our vision what is invisible, what is visible communicates a non-visible reality. Of this, Verna E. F. Harrison comments on Gregory’s view, “we know [God] from what we can see of his activity in the created world.”11 In seeing-as-vision, the act of seeing is revelatory of God. A good way to describe the relationship is mediation: a physical reality mediates, by divine grace, not only the physical reality but also something divine. For example, Gregory claims to see the divine face through his sister Macrina.12 Macrina is not, of course, God, but rather is given by God the capacity to reflect God. She mediates God’s invisible presence by her own visible presence. Hereafter, by “seeing” God I shall refer to seeing-as-vision. Seeing God is not merely an anomaly, but, for Gregory, the end (or telos) of our senses is to direct us towards God. He says, “the life of the senses … is bestowed upon our nature that the perception of sense phenomena might lead the soul to the knowledge of the invisible.”13 In Oratio catechetica magna (Or Cat),14 he distinguishes between two ways of knowing: “the noetic [τὀ νοητόν]” and “the sensory [αἰσθητὸν].”15 The noetic is that which is “impalpable” and “formless,” but the sensory is understood “through the senses.”16 Between the two is a “great interval,” but there is nonetheless “a certain mixture and mingling [μίξις τε καὶ ἀνάκρασις] of the sensory with the noetic … so that all might partake [μετέχοι] equally of the good.”17 Even though he distinguishes the two, he insists that the sensory can lead us to something that is itself non-sensory. But the manner of “partaking” in the non-sensory is itself non-sensory. The sense phenomena leads us to the “knowledge” of the invisible, so the claim that we can see God through visible matter is an epistemological claim. Through the work of God’s grace in the physical, our vision can lead us to know God more. We might wonder, however, whether some visible realities mediate God better than others. Following Gregory’s thought, one good candidate for the visible mediation of God is the Church. To see this, we can trace how Gregory uses πρόσωπον in two particular texts. In Epistulae (Epist) 35, To Peter His Own Brother on the Divine Ousia and Hypostasis, Gregory

78  Seeing the Face of Christ takes up the challenge of clarifying Trinitarian language.18 Ousia refers to what is one in God while hypostasis refers to what is three, but Hebrews 1:3 states the Son is the imprint of the Father’s hypostaseos.19 This could suggest that Father and Son share one “hypostaseos.” In response, Gregory argues for a “principle of the image,” by which he means the Son (the image of the invisible God) is “the same as its prototype, even though it is different.”20 There is, that is, both unity and distinction between Father and Son. 21 The Trinitarian formula or implications aside, Gregory draws an implication for theological epistemology: “consequently anyone who discerns the beauty of the image also comes to know the archetype.”22 He adds, Just as someone who observes in a pure mirror the reflection of the form that appears there has a vivid knowledge of the προσώπου represented, so one who has knowledge of the Son receives in his heart the impress of the Father’s hypostasis through his knowledge of the Son. For all that the Father has, is discerned in the Son … Thus the hypostasis of the Son becomes as it were the form and πρόσωπον of the knowledge of the Father, and the hypostasis of the Father is known in the form of the Son …23 The word πρόσωπον has a wide semantic range in Gregory. 24 Silvas translates both examples in this passage as “face,” while John Lynch prefers “a ‘presentation,’ or, better, a ‘manner of presentation.’”25 In either translation, πρόσωπον functions as something one looks at and sees not only it but beyond it to that which the πρόσωπον represents. Yet, it is not a mere seeing another but knowing another. Gregory’s claim, therefore, that we see the Father in the πρόσωπον of the Son implies “the Son is the means by which the Father is known.”26 In In canticum canticorum (Cant), Gregory makes a similar epistemological move, but with different characters. He is addressing the problem of knowing a God that “exists beyond all apprehension.”27 He says, “the Beauty of the Bridegroom” (that is, Christ) is “discerned … by the agency of the Bride” (that is, the Church). 28 He adds that Christ “established [ἐποίησε]” the Church “as his Body.”29 As head of the Church, Christ “forms the πρόσωπον of the Church in the representation [χαρακτῆρι] of his own identity.”30 In this passage, Gregory claims that Christ becomes the πρόσωπον of the Church such that his own “identity” is impressed on her. Again, Gregory draws epistemological conclusions even if there are potentially other, in this case Christological, implications. He adds, “as by a pure reflection in the Church, we see the sun of righteousness, observing [κατανοούμενον] him through the manifestation.”31 In a later homily, he reflects on the Church as Christ’s Body and plainly concludes, “therefore, the one who looks at the Church is in fact looking at Christ.”32 As with Father and Son, between Christ and Church, there is unity—or, as Hans

Seeing the Face of Christ 79 Boersma says, “a sense” in which they are “indistinguishable”33 —but also distinction. In this case, by looking at the Church one sees the πρόσωπον of the Church, Jesus Christ. In both passages, Gregory applies πρόσωπον to Jesus Christ. In Epist 35, he applies πρόσωπον to Christ in relation to the Father; in Cant, he applies πρόσωπον to Christ in relation to the Church. In both cases, he draws an epistemological conclusion from this application. As πρόσωπον of the Father, one sees the Father through Christ; as πρόσωπον of the Church, one sees Christ through the Church.34 When conjoined, the two epistemological conclusions yield a third, 1 If one sees the Church, then one sees Christ. 2 If one sees Christ, then one sees the Father. 3 Therefore, if one sees the Church, then one sees the Father. [hypothetical syllogism, 5 & 6] This syllogism introduces potential ambiguities. For instance, Gregory may not use “see” in precisely the same sense each time. Nonetheless, Gregory’s argument in each passage suggests the move is valid: we see the Church, so we see Christ; we see Christ, so we see God. Indeed, interpreters of Gregory have noticed that the Church, through Christ, is a way we see God. On the Cant passage quoted above, John Behr comments, “the countenance of the invisible God seen in Christ is communicated to the Church, his body, which thus becomes the visible presence of God himself upon earth.”35 Likewise, David Bentley Hart says “unveiling of the divine likeness” on earth, that likeness which human persons were created but failed to imitate, “can be glimpsed even now in the church.”36 Neither Gregory nor his interpreters suggest that any and every action or person associated with the Church is reflective of God, but Gregory does insist that there is an epistemological connection that cannot be ignored if one wants to know God. In summary, Gregory develops a way that God can be seen in visible realities, perhaps especially in the Church. The Church is a visible reality that, because Christ is the Head who is her πρόσωπον, is a way God himself can be seen. In these passages, however, Gregory does not elaborate on the specifics of how one might see God in the Church. The following section attempts to elaborate on Gregory’s thought by sketching a way to see, or sense, God through the Church’s liturgical practices.

Face and Body: Knowing God in the Liturgy The previous section took cues from Gregory’s thought to conclude that God can be seen in the Church. But this general claim lacks a specific counterpart. How exactly can one see God in the Church? There are several avenues for response, but this chapter shall centre on one that is perhaps

80  Seeing the Face of Christ an especially good candidate for using our senses to experience God: the liturgy of the Church. By liturgy, I refer only to the consistent practices or enactments of a particular gathered Church community during a worship service. This understanding of liturgy is designed to be broad enough to include a wide variety of Christian traditions and practices and, therefore, not only those sometimes labelled “liturgical” because of “high Church” practices.37 On this understanding, the sacraments of baptism and eucharist can count as liturgical enactments. However, in this chapter, I shall refer only to the liturgical practices or enactments of the Church counted as inclusive, or available to all persons regardless of religious or communal commitment. In this sense, the liturgy is available to all persons, even if some liturgical practices are exclusive. While my understanding of liturgy is intentionally broad enough to include a wide variety of Christian traditions and practices, it risks being too broad. For instance, on this understanding, a ritual human sacrifice could count as a liturgical practice insofar as it is a consistent practice in a particular gathered Church community. To narrow the understanding to avoid possible aberrations, I shall refer only to the historical practices or enactments of the gathered Church community during a regular worship service—or those practiced in the Church in most times and places. To name a few, I have in mind practices like the communal confession of sins, reading Scripture, the sermon, and reciting Creeds.38 To make the case that the liturgy can mediate knowledge of God, this section shall proceed in two parts. The first part investigates how the problem of sensing God in the liturgy has manifested itself in Christian history and how the Church has responded to the problem. The controversy, and the Church’s response to it, sets the stage for the conclusion that we can know God in the liturgy. The second part elaborates on the manner we know God through the liturgy. Seeing the Invisible: The Theology of Sensing God Gregory’s different ways of seeing offer one way to approach the puzzle of how something visible can depict something invisible. But a puzzle remains. Consider the Apostle Paul’s claim that Jesus is “the image of the invisible God.”39 Insofar as an image is a visible depiction of something, Paul’s claim seems almost incoherent. The claim that Jesus is the image of the invisible God appears to include the claim that Jesus is the visible image of God.40 But Origen of Alexandria denies that an image is necessarily visible. As a child in the likeness of a parent is “in every respect faithfully reproduced,” he concludes the Son of God “is the invisible image of the invisible God.”41 Humanity is created in the image or according to the likeness, but, for Origen, only the eternal Son is properly called the image of God.42 In contrast, Irenaeus argues “the incarnate Word is the image of God” and the incarnate Christ is “the model after which humankind is fashioned.”43

Seeing the Face of Christ 81 Frances Young succinctly sums up their divide: “Irenaeus attributes the image to the incarnate Christ while Origen applies it to the divine Son of God or Logos.”44 Even if they opt for different solutions, Origen and Irenaeus are wrestling with the same puzzle of how an invisible God could be the object of human sight. The puzzle—how an invisible God could be the object of human sight—does not fade into oblivion after Irenaeus and Origen. The same tune resurfaces centuries later in the iconoclast controversy, but this time in a liturgical key. The debate about whether icons were acceptable in gathered Christian worship was infused with Christological thinking, but was not centrally about Christology. The iconoclasts, or those who deemed any attempt to depict the divine physically as idolatrous, and the iconodules, or those who deemed physical representations of Jesus and therefore God as permissible, were both “zealous proponents of Chalcedonian Christology.”45 Rather than a disagreement about Christology, the iconoclast controversy was centrally about the capability of physical matter to depict the invisible God. Ian A. McFarland sums up the matter well, The central issue in the iconoclastic controversy was whether or not it was as the incarnate, corporeal Jesus of Nazareth—and thus as a being capable of material depiction—that the divine Son was “the image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15). To the extent that an affirmative answer to this question is judged to be orthodox, it follows that the material is able to mediate genuine knowledge of God to the extent that it conforms to the one true image of God that is Christ.46 The iconoclasts were thus Origenian in the sense that they judged Paul’s claim that Christ was the image of the invisible God to refer to the pre-incarnate, eternal, Son of God. The iconodules were Irenaean in the sense that they judged Paul’s image claim to refer to the incarnate Christ.47 The controversy ultimately hinged on whether or not the visible could image the invisible. The extremes of the iconoclast and iconodule positions create other theological problems. Natalie Carnes argues that they are best understood in a kind of dialectical tension, ever correcting the extremes of the other. Iconoclasm and, as she calls it, iconophilia (or love of icons) are both needed because “without iconoclasm, iconophilia risks idolatry. Without iconophilia, iconoclasm turns to despair.”48 Radical iconophilia risks idolatry because it fails to uphold the fundamental distinction between creator and creature. Rather, it conflates the visible and invisible and worships that which is visible in the place of the invisible. Radical iconoclasm risks despair because it upholds the fundamental distinction between creator and creature as an unbridgeable gulf. Because of this, the radical iconoclast position can be, at best, orthodox-in-name-only

82  Seeing the Face of Christ because a denial that one can see God in physical matter is an implicit denial that one can see God in the incarnate second person of the Trinity.49 The division between the iconoclasts and iconodules was ultimately “resolved Christologically.”50 Icons were declared valid in the Church’s worship because Jesus Christ was a visible representation of the invisible God. The passages of Scripture that suggested God was fundamentally invisible were thus reinterpreted in light of the revelation of Jesus Christ.51 The Church was aware of the dangers of the iconodule position, however, and so was careful to distinguish between veneration and worship. 52 A painted icon, after all, is not God. Yet, Christians did worship a visible human being as God and so must have a category for seeing God in the visible. In the midst of the controversy, John of Damascus said of venerating icons, “I do not venerate the creation instead of the creator, but I venerate Creator, created for my sake, who came down to his creation without being lowered or weakened.”53 Because we worship a human man as the creator of the universe, so, too, can we venerate the icon as infused with God’s presence. The critical theological point, articulated by the Damascene, is that the invisible could indeed be seen in the visible because Jesus Christ is both human and divine. The incarnational metaphysic articulated in Chapter 3 includes the claim that divinity and humanity are in an essentially non-­ competitive relationship. When applied to the question of divine visibility, new possibilities emerge to apply to the puzzle of seeing an invisible God. In the incarnation, Jesus has a nature (human) that is visible54 and a nature (divine) which is invisible.55 Because divinity and humanity are, in Christ, essentially non-competitive, there is no gulf or contradiction such that invisible divinity can freely choose to be seen in the visible. The Damascene explains, So the flesh became the Word without losing what it was, being rather made equal to the Word hypostatically. Therefore I am emboldened to depict the invisible God, not as invisible, but as he became visible for our sake, by participation in flesh and blood. I do not depict the invisible divinity, but I depict God made visible in the flesh.56 John is clear that the invisible God can be depicted but is equally clear that this is possible only because God became visible for our sake. McFarland concludes: “insofar as the eternal image of God has taken flesh, the material cannot be regarded as an insurmountable barrier to knowledge of God.”57 The Christological resolution to the controversy was that God can be seen in visible matter. This does not mean the puzzle simply dissolves. As Carnes notes, there remains an unresolved tension, even in the person of Christ, between visibility and invisibility, divine and human. She says, “in Christ, God is uniquely present, yet God does not cease to be everywhere, to be invisible, to be uncircumscribable.”58 For her, the insistence that God

Seeing the Face of Christ 83 can be seen in his invisible image “does not end in contradiction” but “generates variegated descriptions of how God is present in the world.”59 An image, or icon, is a way God is present in the world but is never a comprehensive explanation of that presence. The solution of the iconoclast controversy recognizes the capacity of the visible, as McFarland put it, “to mediate genuine knowledge of God,”60 but, especially by distinguishing between veneration and worship, also recognizes mediation as mediation and therefore not containing the full and final presence of God. The mediation of God in sensory realities is not a weakness in any account of sensing God. Tom Greggs is right that “in space-time there is no unmediated presence of God; God is known and mediated to us in our creaturely contexts and to our creaturely condition as lapsed creatures in a lapsed creation.”61 The incarnation is the prime example: God’s revelation in Christ is a divine work but is mediated by a sensory reality (e.g., Christ’s humanity). In Gregory’s language, “the Word who is worshiped by the whole creation transmitted the divine mysteries through the medium of flesh.”62 The Church, as a corporate entity or discrete individuals, cannot emit the unmediated presence of God, but—when united to Christ—Christ becomes the πρόσωπον of the Church such that she becomes a mediating presence of God. The Christological resolution to the iconoclast controversy suggests visibility is not an insurmountable barrier to seeing God. A visible reality can reflect its invisible creator, even if in an imperfect or provisional form. Even if implicitly, the implications of this have not been lost on Christian worship services. While it can vary greatly among denominations, Christian services have included many sights (e.g., icons, stained-glass windows, rich architecture), sounds (e.g., singing, instruments, readings, bells, sermons), tastes (e.g., the bread and wine of the Eucharist), and even smells (e.g., incense). Although not always so, these inclusions are typically intentional and designed to draw one closer to God through the use of one’s senses. The following part of this section turns to articulating what kind of knowledge is communicated in the liturgy through our senses. Liturgy and the Knowledge of God Thus far, this chapter has argued that God can be known in sensory realities and that the liturgy is perhaps an especially good mediator of the knowledge of God. But how do we know God in the liturgy? What kind of knowledge is involved? Terence Cuneo offers one way of thinking about how we know God in the liturgy by arguing that the liturgy “provides both conceptions of God and activities of certain kinds such that knowing how to perform those actions under those conceptions is a species of what I call ritual knowledge.”63 In providing “conceptions of God,” liturgy provides propositional knowledge of God. For example, a Scriptural reading that includes the proposition “God is love” is a way a participant in the liturgy

84  Seeing the Face of Christ acquires the propositional knowledge that God is love. Yet, Cuneo insists Christianity is not a “body of propositions” but “a way of life that is thoroughly practical.”64 Knowing God is not merely acquiring propositional knowledge, but “a species of practical knowledge.”65 By this, he means we know God in learning how to engage God. Because the liturgy includes repeated practices that teach us how to engage God, it yields, in addition to propositional knowledge, “ritual knowledge,” or a kind of “knowing how.”66 In this case, knowing how refers to knowing how to engage God. Cuneo’s practical, or ritual, knowledge, is slightly different than what Wolterstorff calls “object-knowledge,” which counts as personal knowledge when the object is a person.67 For Wolterstorff, liturgy shows us what God is like—e.g., God is a person, a listening person, worthy of praise, etc.—so that we acquire personal knowledge of God. In the liturgy, we are relating to a person. Both prayers and songs, for instance, are often interpreted by congregants as addressed to God. Wolterstorff distinguishes his view from Cuneo’s: “My point has been that one can come to know God by coming to know how to address God properly. Cuneo’s point is that knowing how to address God properly is itself a component of knowing God.”68 Despite their differences, both Cuneo and Wolterstorff suggest that propositional knowledge of God is available in the liturgy, but insist that liturgy primarily communicates another kind knowledge—practical, or ritual, knowledge for Cuneo and personal knowledge for Wolterstorff. The kinds of knowing are not mutually exclusive, and it may be that one can acquire propositional, practical/ritual (Cuneo), and personal knowledge (Wolterstorff) in the liturgy. We have seen, however, that while Gregory does not eschew other ways of knowing God, a primary way we know God is by participation in God. Chapter 2 thus developed participatory knowledge alongside (not “instead of”) other ways of knowing God. But does the liturgy communicate what I have called participatory knowledge of God? Participatory knowledge emphasizes not only how we engage God, but especially how God engages us. Since Cuneo and Wolterstorff both focus on how we acquire knowledge of God by how we address God, more will need to be said about what it might mean to be engaged by God, or participate, in the liturgy.69 To say more about this, Sarah Coakley’s account of liturgy is especially helpful. She says, “well-conducted liturgy gives us a particular kind of access to ‘truth’ that only liturgy can supply,” but only because of “a particular epistemic apparatus and form of cognition is being trained precisely is the performance of liturgy itself.” 70 Specifically, the liturgy trains “one’s sensibility to the presence of Christ” in the liturgy, sacraments, and community.71 In the liturgy, we are attentive to Christ’s presence because we develop, borrowing a concept from Origen and Gregory, “spiritual senses” by which we “not only sense Christ himself, but actually sense as he senses.”72 Coakley’s “spiritual senses” come very close to what I have called participatory knowledge, since it evinces a kind of “first-person” knowing.

Seeing the Face of Christ 85 Our participation in the liturgy becomes a manner we participate in God. More than speaking to God, we are actually united to him. Coakley adds, “liturgy is, therefore, on this view not an ‘affective’ complement to intellectual reflection, but rather the means of a full integration of all aspects of embodied selfhood into the life of Christ.”73 On Coakley’s reckoning, the “spiritual senses” are a way of liturgical practice whereby the participant senses Christ in the liturgy. But do “spiritual senses” really involve the senses? In his influential Platonisme et theologié mystique, Jean Daniélou argued that Gregory, following Origen, developed a “doctrine” of the “spiritual senses” in which “sensing God” is only a spiritual, or non-material, affair.74 Daniélou’s understanding of the spiritual senses is similar to what I have called seeing-as-contemplation.75 Coakley convincingly argues, however, that in Gregory’s later works “we begin to get the emerging sense of an epistemological continuum between ordinary sensation and perception (which is subject to the effects of the fall) and ‘spiritual sensation’ as it leads us into the transformed life of resurrection.”76 She adds that this means “our perceptual capacities have labile and transformative possibilities.”77 With her emphasis on the sensory, Coakley’s understanding of the spiritual senses is closer to what I have termed seeing-as-vision.78 Following Coakley, I understand Gregory’s spiritual senses as including sensory realities. This does not mean every example of a spiritual sense involves a sensory reality, but it does mean that the senses are not, as Daniélou argued, only non-sensory. Rather, the spiritual senses are a way we are united to God as we sense him. The spiritual senses, then, can yield what I have called participatory knowledge. In Gregory’s terminology, this means the spiritual senses are a way of receiving the divine activities (ἐνέγειαι) into oneself and knowing God through that reception. Of course, seeing or knowing Christ in the liturgy is predicated on the prior conclusion that Christ is present in the liturgy. Yet, I have argued that the words and actions of the Church, understood as the Body of Christ, can be understood as the words and actions of the Church because Christ is united to the Church. For this reason, Cuneo and Wolterstorff are correct in their assessment that the liturgy can yield propositional, ritual, or personal knowledge of God, but I add that, on the basis of Christ’s unity to the Church, participatory knowledge is also possible. By our participation in Christ through the liturgy, we form, as Coakley argues, spiritual senses that unite us to God through the sensory realities we experience. To adapt Coakley’s language, with the spiritual senses we can sense certain sensory realities but also participate in Christ by sensing those realities “as he senses” and thereby be “integrated” into Christ’s body. In this understanding, the individual participants in a gathered worship service can, in the liturgical practices and enactments of that service, form spiritual senses of the kind Gregory imagines such that they are united to Christ through sensory experiences.

86  Seeing the Face of Christ Even if it is true that the liturgy is a way one can sense or experience God, it is far from clear how this works for nonbelievers. If the liturgy does not offer knowledge of God for all, then its use to the hiddenness problem is limited. The following section considers the degree to which nonbelievers can know God in the liturgy.

A Liturgy for Nonbelievers? The purpose of liturgy is manifestly not apologetic nor evangelistic. Expressed succinctly, the primary purpose of liturgy is the worship of God, and a secondary purpose is the formation of his Church. If this is so, its relevance to nonbelievers appears to be limited. The liturgy is open to nonbelievers, but when a nonbeliever participates in the liturgy, what is he doing? The conclusion that God is known in the Church’s liturgy is relevant to the hiddenness problem only if that conclusion has some bearing on nonbeliever participation in the liturgy. Can nonbelievers participate in the liturgy in such a way that knowledge of God can be communicated to them as well? Wolterstorff has already tackled the question of what nonbelieving participants do in the liturgy. Because of its inclusive nature, some of the participants in the liturgy are “persons who lack Christian faith.”79 Although “lack of faith” can be understood in several ways, Wolterstorff has in mind those who lack firm belief in God or the Christian message.80 In the context of the hiddenness argument, we can call such persons “nonbelievers.” Now, suppose we assume one cannot worship that in which one does not believe.81 On this assumption, the motivation of a nonbeliever for attending a worship service cannot be to worship God. Wolterstorff suggests two possible motivations for why a nonbeliever might attend the liturgy: “trying it out and hanging on.”82 One might “try it out” because of an interest in faith or even the Church community, even while lacking belief at that time. Similarly, a Churchgoer might “hang on” because of a desire to rekindle belief or remain in the community, despite having lost belief. Even if the nonbeliever does not attend the service for the purpose of worshipping God, he or she is still involved in acts of worship—e.g., they proclaim “thanks be to God!” or sing a hymn of praise. So, what are they doing? On the significance of liturgical actions, Wolterstorff insists that intentions matter. The liturgical actions of nonbelievers do not carry the same significance as the same actions do for believers because the nonbeliever might merely be “going through the motions.”83 The “relevant principle,” says Wolterstorff, of whether or not a liturgical action counts as the purpose of that action—that is, whether a singing a worship hymn is actually an act of worship towards God—is: “if a participant performs some prescribed verbal or gestural action with the intention of not thereby performing whatever be the act of worship prescribed to be performed thereby,

Seeing the Face of Christ 87 then he has not performed that act of worship; otherwise he has.”84 As this principle shows, the intentional states of the participant are critical. The importance of intention in an act of worship, however, does not mean actions that lack the intention to worship are meaningless. Wolterstorff adds, As we saw, however, it’s possible even for those who lack faith to thank God, to praise God, and so forth. They can do so on the off-chance that God does exist and is worthy of thanks and praise. But if they lack faith that God exists, then presumably they will not be in the state of being thankful to God; so their action of thanking God won’t satisfy the sincerity condition for that action. They will also not be in the state of regarding God as meriting no gratitude; so their action of thanking God won’t satisfy the in-sincerity condition for thanking God. Their action of thanking God is done neither sincerely nor insincerely.85 On Wolterstorff’s reckoning, nonbelievers can approach God with good intentions even if that intention is not to worship God. They do so, he says, “on the off-chance that God does exist and is worthy of thanks and praise.” Well-intentioned nonbelievers are therefore open to the possibility that their liturgical enactments engage God—or God can engage them through their liturgical enactments. A nonbeliever’s attentiveness to the ways God could be known in the liturgy, however, does not guarantee she will know God in the liturgy. There are at least two reasons for this. First, the practices of a particular liturgy could be warped such that they no longer hold the capacity of giving knowledge of God. Like The Problem of Sin demonstrates, examples of “rogue agency” in the empirical Church mean some liturgical practices of a particular Church community could push us further from God rather than draw us in. This is why it is especially important to emphasize the historical practices of the Church. Practices like reading Scripture or reciting Creeds have been practiced in most times and places of the Church in part because they have shown to consistently give us knowledge of God and point us toward him. A second reason the liturgy may not provide knowledge of God is because of the failures of a particular community. That is, even if a particular community uses the historical practices in the liturgy, it may still be ineffective because of the examples of “rogue agency” among one or many of the individual members. In this case, the members serve as kinds of distractions from what God is trying to do. Nonetheless, a well-intentioned nonbeliever can know God in the liturgy. The liturgy is a place where Christ is present, even present in such a way that he can be sensed. The easiest example is Scripture proclaimed in the service. Through the reading of Scripture, the nonbeliever can acquire both propositional and personal knowledge. She might acquire propositional knowledge from the propositions she hears about the nature of God

88  Seeing the Face of Christ or God’s dealings with humanity. She might acquire personal knowledge because the Scriptures, read and proclaimed, are God’s communication and revelation to us. The nonbeliever can also participate in communal prayers. In confessing her sins or asking God for protection along with the rest of the community, she lends her voice to the one voice of the community and is a part of that prayer despite her nonbelief. One might object, still, to the claim that a nonbeliever can acquire knowledge of God in liturgical enactments. Because she does not believe God exists, perhaps reading Scripture or reciting a creed will not contribute to her knowledge of God because it will not be interpreted as God speaking nor even understood as communicating true propositions.86 In response, consider an analogy of human relationships. Suppose your friend Joy invites you over to her house and calls her friend Jack. The three of you discuss many different topics before Joy reveals to you that Jack is your favourite author. This is difficult to believe because Jack is very famous, but you hesitantly continue talking to placate Joy. You still do not believe this is Jack—or at least not the famous Jack you admire. You could go on having multiple conversations with Jack, doubtful that it is the real Jack but also open to the idea that just maybe Joy is telling you the truth. In this scenario, you are having personal conversations with Jack and even learning about him despite the fact that you lack belief that you are relating to the real Jack. Suppose later you are finally convinced: this is the Jack who has written your favourite books. Even if you have just learned that you have in fact been conversing with Jack, your previous conversations—during which you did not believe you were speaking to Jack—will count as contributions to your propositional and personal knowledge of Jack. As all analogies for God are, this analogy is imperfect. For one, God is not just another person like we are persons and relating to him does not work just like it does for other persons. What the analogy is supposed to show, however, is that our interactions with another person can count as contributions to our knowledge of that person, even if we do not initially believe that we are interacting with that person. So, a nonbeliever’s participation in the liturgy can contribute to her knowledge of God even if she does not believe in God while performing liturgical enactments. One might be tempted to think this requires a non-doxastic, or non-cognitive, account of faith for the nonbeliever.87 But this response does not imply that the nonbeliever has faith. Rather, it states a nonbeliever can interact with God, even if she does not recognize her actions as carrying that significance. In short, nonbelief turns out not to be an insurmountable barrier to acquiring knowledge of God. A sceptic might object to this analogy for a crucial reason: in the example, the person on the other line is talking back but God does not talk back. Wolterstorff, however, calls God a “liturgical agent”88 and says “God is active in the liturgy.”89 Liturgical actions contain what he calls “continuant locutions,” or speech-acts that continue past some

Seeing the Face of Christ 89 historical event.90 For instance, after the reading of Scripture, it is common for the leader of the service to proclaim “This is the Word of the Lord,” suggesting that the words read in Scripture are God speaking not merely in the past but to us in the present.91 He suggests something similar happens in the sermon: “Perhaps the basic function of the sermon is to convey to the listeners, in its own distinct way, the continuant discourse of God that the reading aloud of Scripture already conveyed to them and to make clear how that continuant discourse applies to their lives.”92 However sceptical the nonbeliever may be that these are indeed the words of God, they are nonetheless examples of God speaking back in the liturgy. There is one final point worth considering. The previous section sketched an account of knowing God in the liturgy through the development of “spiritual senses.” Can a nonbeliever develop spiritual senses? While it is perhaps easier to imagine how the Christian, indwelt by the Holy Spirit, develops spiritual senses, the key feature of the development of such senses is Christ’s engagement of us. If Christ is uniquely present in the Church by the power of the Spirit, the nonbeliever’s participation in gathered worship could become more and more attentive to the work and presence of Christ in the Church in ways that she could not before—even if she continues to lack belief. As participants in the inclusive gathered worship service of the Church, nonbelievers are, even if in a limited or provisional way, participants in the gathered body of Christ. As such, the nonbeliever can be caught up in the practices and worship of the Church. She might, for example, recite the creeds with the Church even if she lacks the specific propositional beliefs recorded therein. By doing so, it is plausible that, by the power of the Spirit, she is carried along by the beliefs and enactments of the Church. Through this kind of participation, the nonbeliever in the gathered Church community can receive knowledge of God regardless of any experience that may or may not accompany it.

Conclusion Gregory’s account of “seeing” an invisible God in visible realities can, by Gregory’s own reckoning, be understood as seeing God in the Church. A later Christian controversy over icons took up the same problem—seeing the invisible in the visible—but in the context of gathered worship. These earlier developments support the contention of this chapter that the liturgy of the Church can mediate knowledge of God. This is true, in at least some cases, even for nonbelievers. The inclusivity and availability of the liturgy is thus one way God is making himself knowable to nonbelievers. This first role of the Church is therefore relevant to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. The following chapter turns our attention to the role of exclusive ecclesiological enactments.

90  Seeing the Face of Christ

Notes 1 Gregory of Nyssa, Homilies on the Song of Songs, trans. Richard A. Norris, Writings from the Greco-Roman World, v. 13 (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012), 403. 2 The distinction between Church Gathered and Church Scattered is one I have heard before, but I could not find any reference for its origination. 3 Although the Church Gathered and Church Scattered is a distinction I have heard elsewhere, this distinction is my own. The distinction is not evaluative, as if the Church’s exclusive roles are bad because they are exclusive. Exclusivity is appropriate in certain circumstances, even in the life of the Church. 4 An et res, GNO III/3, 13; PG 46, 28; Roth 34-35. Roth’s translation, in Gregory of Nyssa, On the Soul and Resurrection, trans. Catherine P. Roth, Popular Patristics Series (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1993). 5 Because of this, the following examination of Gregory’s work focuses especially on sight. However, most (if not all) of my conclusions apply to the other senses as well. 6 e.g., Ex. 33:20; 1 Tim. 1:17; 1 Tim. 6:16; 1 John 4:12. 7 This bears no intentional relation to Wittengenstein’s “seeing-as.” 8 Tamsin Jones Farmer says of Gregory’s view: “Our inability to comprehend God fully is never overcome but, rather, the realization of its lack is a positive achievement in which God has properly been revealed in ‘the seeing that consists in not seeing’ because that which is sought transcends all knowledge, being separated on all sides by incomprehensibility as by a kind of darkness.” See Tamsin Jones Farmer, “Revealing the Invisible: Gregory of Nyssa on the Gift of Revelation,” Modern Theology 21, no. 1 (January 1, 2005): 73, https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1468-0025.2005.00275.x. 9 Verna E. F. Harrison, Grace and Human Freedom according to St. Gregory of Nyssa (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992), 76–77. 10 David Bentley Hart, The Hidden and the Manifest: Essays in Theology and Metaphysics (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017), 131. 11 Harrison, Grace and Human Freedom According to St. Gregory of Nyssa, 39. 12 Macr; GNO VIII/1, 409; PG 46, 993; Corrigan 50. 13 Eccl I, GNO V, 284-285; PG 44, 624; Musurillo 84. Musurillo’s translation. 14 Translations my own unless otherwise noted. I closely consulted the translation in: Gregory of Nyssa, Catechetical Discourse: A Handbook for Catechists, trans. Ignatius Green, Popular Patristics Series 60 (Yonkers, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2019). 15 Or Cat, GNO III/4, 21-22; PG 45, 25; Green 77. 16 Or Cat, GNO III/4, 21-22; PG 45, 25; Green 77. 17 Or Cat, GNO III/4, 21-22; PG 45, 25; Green 77. Green’s translation. 18 This letter was formerly attributed to Basil as Letter 38 To Gregory his Brother. Recent scholarship, however, has argued for Gregorian authorship. Following this consensus, I assume Gregory is the author. The letter does not appear in PG or GNO, however, so I only provide Silvas’s translation. For more on Gregorian authorship, see Gregory of Nyssa, Gregory of Nyssa: The Letters, ed. Anna Silvas, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, v. 83 (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2007), 247; for a Greek text of the letter, see Basil of Caesarea, Letters 1–58, trans. Jeffrey Henderson, vol. I, Loeb Classical Library 190 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1926), 196–226. 19 I follow Silvas by transliterating these words. 20 Epist 35, Silvas 259. 21 Gregory clarifies that one sees the “unbegotten beauty” in the begotten and emphatically not “the unbegottenness of the Father,” which would amount to

Seeing the Face of Christ 91 “complete identity without distinction.” Instead, one needs both unity and distinction. Letter 35, 259. 22 Epist 35, Silvas 259. 23 Epist 35, Silvas 259. 24 Largely for this reason, I leave πρόσωπον untranslated. For more on its semantic range, see John J. Lynch, “Prosōpon in Gregory of Nyssa: A Theological Word in Transition,” Theological Studies 40, no. 4 (December 1, 1979): 728–38; and the entry for “Prosopon” in: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, eds., The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands; Boston: Brill, 2009). 25 Lynch, “Prosōpon in Gregory of Nyssa,” 733. 26 Lynch, “Prosōpon in Gregory of Nyssa,” 731. 27 Cant VIII, GNO VI, 246; PG 44, 941; Norris 259. 28 Cant VIII, GNO VI, 256; PG 44, 949; Norris 269. Norris’s translation. 29 Cant VIII, GNO VI, 256; PG 44, 949; Norris 269. 30 Cant VIII, GNO VI, 256; PG 44, 949; Norris 269. 31 Cant VIII, GNO VI, 257; PG 44, 949; Norris 271. 32 Cant XIII, GNO VI, 383; PG 44, 1047; Norris 403. 33 Hans Boersma, Embodiment and Virtue in Gregory of Nyssa: An Anagogical Approach (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2013), 206. 34 Interestingly, but perhaps without consequence, the epistemological role of πρόσωπον is reversed in each case. It is in virtue of seeing the πρόσωπον that one sees the Father, but in virtue of seeing the Church one sees the πρόσωπον. 35 John Behr, The Nicene Faith: Formation of Christian Theology, vol. 2, The Formation of Christian Theology, Part 1 (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2004), 472. He quotes the passage from Cant and translates πρόσωπον as “countenance.” Thus, his comment should be read as a reference to πρόσωπον. 36 Hart, The Hidden and the Manifest, 124. 37 That is, I am not ruling out Church services because they do not fall into the categories of “high Church” or “liturgical,” as churches are sometimes labeled. 38 Nicholas Wolterstorff offers a narrower definition of liturgy. He says liturgy refers to a specific Church practice in which “the participants together performing scripted verbal, gestural, and auditory actions, the prescribed purpose of their doing so being both to engage God directly in acts of learning and acknowledging the excellence of who God is and what God has done, and to be engaged by God.” This is closer to my understanding, however, than the broader definition of James K. A. Smith, who understands liturgy as something like mere formative practices. See: Nicholas Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically: Philosophical Reflections on Religious Practice (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018), 18–30; James K. A. Smith, Desiring the Kingdom: Worship, Worldview, and Cultural Formation, Volume 1 of Cultural Liturgies (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2009), 24–26. 39 Colossians 1:15. 40 F. F. Bruce, The Epistles to the Colossians, to Philemon, and to the Ephesians (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1984), 58. Bruce comments on Colossians 1:15: in Christ the “invisible has become visible.” 41 OFP, 1.2.6; Behr 24. 42 Frances Young, God’s Presence: A Contemporary Recapitulation of Early Christianity (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 160–61. 43 Young, God’s Presence, 160. 44 Young, God’s Presence, 158. 45 Ian A. McFarland, The Divine Image: Envisioning the Invisible God (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005), 28.

92  Seeing the Face of Christ 46 McFarland, The Divine Image, 29. 47 I only compare the iconoclasts to Origen and the iconodules to Irenaeus in this specific sense. I am not claiming that they follow either thinker in this, or any other, view. 48 Natalie Carnes, Image and Presence: A Christological Reflection on Iconoclasm and Iconophilia (Stanford, UK: Stanford University Press, 2017), 183. 49 I speak, of course, only of radical iconoclasm and not, like many modern reformed views, of a kind of mere iconoclasm that resists the use of icons. 50 McFarland, The Divine Image, 29. 51 McFarland, The Divine Image, 29. So, passages like “you cannot see [God’s] face; for no one shall see [God] and live” (Exodus 33:20) were thus interpreted in light of passages like “no one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known” (John 1:18). 52 Ian A. McFarland, “What Does It Mean to See Someone? Icons and Identity,” in The Image of God in an Image Driven Age: Explorations in Theological Anthropology, ed. Beth Felker Jones and Jeffrey W. Barbeau (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2016), 159. 53 John of Damascus, Three Treatises on the Divine Images, trans. Andrew Louth, Popular Patristics Series (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003), 22. 54 To allay fears that natures themselves are not visible, I am happy for this to refer to Christ’s human nature as particularly instantiated. 55 Gregory argues Christ has a “twofold existence” such that some predicates apply to one nature while other predicates apply to the other. See: Epist 32; Silvas 229–30. Gregory’s solution to predicating seemingly contradictory things of Christ (in this case, visibility and invisibility) is similar to Timothy Pawl’s modern attempt to defend the coherence of the claims of the incarnation in: Timothy Pawl, In Defense of Conciliar Christology: A Philosophical Essay, Oxford Studies in Analytic Theology (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016). 56 John of Damascus, Three Treatises on the Divine Images, 22. 57 McFarland, The Divine Image, 32. 58 Carnes, Image and Presence, 183. 59 Carnes, Image and Presence, 183. 60 Nicholas Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically: Philosophical Reflections on Religious Practice (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018), 209–10. 61 Tom Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology: The Priestly Catholicity of the Church, vol. Vol. I (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019), 150. 62 Cant, GNO VI 7; PG 44, 760; Norris, 7. Norris’s translation. 63 Terence Cuneo, Ritualized Faith: Essays on the Philosophy of Liturgy (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016), 145. 64 Cuneo, Ritualized Faith, 147–48. 65 Cuneo, Ritualized Faith, 149. 66 Cuneo, Ritualized Faith, 149. 67 Nicholas Wolterstorff, “Knowing God Liturgically,” Journal of Analytic Theology 4, no. 1 (May 6, 2016): 3. 68 Wolterstorff, “Knowing God Liturgically,” 15. 69 This is not meant to be a criticism of Cuneo or Wolterstorff and, furthermore, how we engage God and how God engages us are not necessarily different. 70 Sarah Coakley, “Beyond ‘Belief’: Liturgy and the Cognitive Apprehension of God,” in The Vocation of Theology Today : A Festschrift for David Ford, ed. Tom Greggs, Rachel Muers, and Simeon Zahl (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2013), 133. 71 Coakley, “Beyond ‘Belief,’” 134. 72 Coakley, “Beyond ‘Belief,’” 143. 73 Coakley, “Beyond ‘Belief,’” 144.

Seeing the Face of Christ 93 74 Jean Daniélou, Platonisme et théologie mystique: essai la doctrine spirituelle de saint Grégoire de Nysse (Paris: Aubier, Éditions Montaigne, 1944). 75 See also: Sarah Coakley, “Gregory of Nyssa,” in The Spiritual Senses: Perceiving God in Western Christianity (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 38. 76 Coakley, “Gregory of Nyssa,” 45. 77 Coakley, “Gregory of Nyssa,” 48. 78 At the 2019 Helsinki Analytic Theology (HEAT) conference, Siiri Toiviainen Rø (University of Helsinki) presented a paper on Coakley’s interpretation of Nyssen. She argued Coakley is guilty of what Coakley accuses Daniélou of: allowing her interpretation of Gregory to be “intertwined with the theological trends of her time.” The paper has yet to be published, however, and I reference it here only to draw attention to the fact that scholarship is ongoing on this matter. 79 Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically, 97. 80 Wolterstorff, 97. He says: “Lacking Christian faith comes, of course, in degrees. For our purposes here, let’s say their lack of faith takes the form of not having faith in God and Jesus Christ and not having faith that the claims made in the Apostle’s Creed are true.” However, he does later clarify that he means lack of faith, not lack of belief (p. 100). By faith, he means “trust, not cognitive assent” (p. 100). These issues were discussed in greater detail earlier, but I use “nonbelief” and “nonbelievers” because of Schellenberg’s argument. Although Wolterstorff clarifies that his project is about faith, not belief, the same ideas could apply to belief. 81 Whether this claim is defensible depends on how one defines “worship.” If worship requires some sort of explicit, conscious confession, then it is difficult to see how this assumption could be denied. Yet, it may be that worship does not require such a confession. In either case, I assume this for the sake of argument. 82 Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically, 99. Of course, there are a myriad of other reasons why a nonbeliever might attend a church service. It could be to satisfy the request of a friend or for a sociological experiment, for example. But here Wolterstorff has in mind a nonbeliever with some desire to attend the liturgy for, lacking a better term, religious reasons. 83 Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically, 105–06. 84 Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically, 107. 85 Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically, 120. 86 There are exceptions, however, since a nonbeliever could believe that Jesus “was crucified under Pontius Pilate” without believing in God. 87 For an overview of doxastic, or cognitive, accounts of faith versus non-cognitive accounts of faith, see Chapters 2, 3, and 4 of Jonathan L. Kvanvig, Faith and Humility (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018). 88 Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically, 209–10. 89 Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically, 229. 90 Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically, 221–26. 91 Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically, 218. 92 Wolterstorff, Acting Liturgically, 227.

Bibliography Basil of Caesarea. Letters 1–58, translated by Jeffrey Henderson. Vol. I. Loeb Classical Library 190. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1926. Behr, John. The Nicene Faith: Formation of Christian Theology. Vol. 2. The Formation of Christian Theology, Part 1. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2004.

94  Seeing the Face of Christ Boersma, Hans. Embodiment and Virtue in Gregory of Nyssa: An Anagogical Approach. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2013. Bruce, F. F. The Epistles to the Colossians, to Philemon, and to the Ephesians. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1984. Carnes, Natalie. Image and Presence: A Christological Reflection on Iconoclasm and Iconophilia. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2017. Coakley, Sarah. “Beyond ‘Belief’: Liturgy and the Cognitive Apprehension of God.” In The Vocation of Theology Today : A Festschrift for David Ford, edited by Tom Greggs, Rachel Muers, and Simeon Zahl. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2013. ———. “Gregory of Nyssa.” In The Spiritual Senses: Perceiving God in Western Christianity, 36–55. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2011. https:// doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139032797.005. Cuneo, Terence. Ritualized Faith: Essays on the Philosophy of Liturgy. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016. Daniélou, Jean. Platonisme et théologie mystique: essai la doctrine spirituelle de saint Grégoire de Nysse. Paris, France: Aubier, Éditions Montaigne, 1944. Farmer, Tamsin Jones. “Revealing the Invisible: Gregory of Nyssa on the Gift of Revelation.” Modern Theology 21, no. 1 (January 1, 2005): 67–85. https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1468-0025.2005.00275.x. Greggs, Tom. Dogmatic Ecclesiology: The Priestly Catholicity of the Church. Vol. I. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019. Gregory of Nyssa. Catechetical Discourse: A Handbook for Catechists, translated by Ignatius Green. Popular Patristics Series 60. Yonkers, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2019. ———. Gregory of Nyssa: The Letters, edited by Anna Silvas. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, Vol. 83. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2007. ———. Homilies on the Song of Songs, translated by Richard A. Norris. Writings from the Greco-Roman World, Vol. 13. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012. ———. On the Soul and Resurrection, translated by Catherine P. Roth. Popular Patristics Series. Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1993. Harrison, Verna E. F. Grace and Human Freedom according to St. Gregory of Nyssa. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992. Hart, David Bentley. The Hidden and the Manifest: Essays in Theology and Metaphysics. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017. John of Damascus. Three Treatises on the Divine Images, translated by Andrew Louth. Popular Patristics Series. Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003. Kvanvig, Jonathan L. Faith and Humility. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018. Lynch, John J. “Prosōpon in Gregory of Nyssa: A Theological Word in Transition.” Theological Studies 40, no. 4 (December 1, 1979): 728–38. Mateo-Seco, Lucas Francisco, and Giulio Maspero, eds. The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, translated by Seth Cherney. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. McFarland, Ian A. The Divine Image: Envisioning the Invisible God. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005.

Seeing the Face of Christ 95 ———. “What Does It Mean to See Someone? Icons and Identity.” In The Image of God in an Image Driven Age: Explorations in Theological Anthropology, edited by Beth Felker Jones and Jeffrey W. Barbeau. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2016. Pawl, Timothy. In Defense of Conciliar Christology: A Philosophical Essay. Oxford Studies in Analytic Theology. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016. Smith, James K. A. Desiring the Kingdom: Worship, Worldview, and Cultural Formation. Volume 1 of Cultural Liturgies. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2009. Wolterstorff, Nicholas. Acting Liturgically: Philosophical Reflections on Religious Practice. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018. ———. “Knowing God Liturgically.” Journal of Analytic Theology 4, no. 1 (May 6, 2016): 1–16. https://doi.org/10.12978/jat.2016-4.130818221405b. Young, Frances. God’s Presence: A Contemporary Recapitulation of Early Christianity. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2013.

5

The Sacramental Life Experiencing Christ in Baptism and the Eucharist

The mystery of godliness is constituted, and salvation achieved by participating in the sacramental customs and symbols.1 (Gregory of Nyssa)

The Church Gathered Inclusive presents one way to discern the activity of Christ through the Church. But it is less clear how the Church Gathered Exclusive might help us discern Christ’s activity through the Church—and so be relevant to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. It is easy to see why: any ecclesial enactments that exclude nonbelievers initially seem like poor candidates for ways nonbelievers can experience Christ in the Church. But in this chapter, I shall argue otherwise. An exclusive ecclesial enactment is any enactment of the gathered Church reserved only for some persons but not others. The most prominent example of ecclesial enactments are the sacraments of baptism and eucharist. There may be other ecclesial enactments that count as “exclusive,” but I shall focus only on baptism and eucharist.2 The extent to which these sacraments are exclusive varies by tradition. For example, some traditions practice “open-­ table,” which makes the eucharist available to any participant of the liturgy— including nonbelievers. The sacramental practice of most traditions, however, is exclusive to some extent. To call a practice “exclusive” is not intended to be a negative evaluation: in principle or in practice, there is nothing necessarily wrong with communities engaging in exclusive acts. But even if their exclusivity is an unequivocal good, it does pose a challenge for their relevance to the hiddenness problem. Following Gregory of Nyssa’s thinking on the sacraments of the Church, I argue that the sacraments are a unique “genus” of ecclesiological or divine activity that are efficacious in uniting us to Christ and that they are relevant to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness.

Gregory on the Sacraments In his discourse for catechumens, 3 Oratio catechetica magna (Or cat), Gregory surveys basic outlines of Christian theology before devoting the final section, the “conclusion,” to baptism and eucharist.4 Because the DOI: 10.4324/9781003346951-6

The Sacramental Life 97 rhetorical purpose of the work is catechetical guidance, it ought not be understood as systematic sacramental theology.5 But Gregory’s reflections on the sacraments offer several insights into the sacramental practice of the Church. In particular, the sacraments invite us to imitate to Christ: like a soldier is “trained” in tactics and shall “practice what is shown to him,” so we receive the sacraments to “follow the leader of our salvation by imitation [μιμήσεως].”6 Our human nature limits our capacity for the imitation of Christ, but in the sacraments “we imitate, as the inferiority of our nature will allow, the transcendent power.”7 We do so because the sacraments, infused with “abundant typology” throughout Scripture, invite us into the “history of salvation” and, more specifically, into the life of Christ.8 While baptism and eucharist extend such an invitation, each sacrament is, also, distinct. It is worth considering what Gregory says about each in turn. On Baptism A comprehensive survey of Gregory’s view on baptism is beyond the scope of this book. But he does offer several reflection points that are helpful. In In diem luminum (Diem lum), Gregory uses Christ’s baptism as a starting point to reflect on our own baptism. But there are several incongruities. Our baptism, but not Christ’s, pledges the remission of sins, “release from bondage, and close relation to God.”9 These benefits of baptism are not given by the water itself, but rather by “God’s command.”10 Yet, the water should not be understood as merely accidental. He says, “the water serves to express the cleansing.”11 The sacraments are essentially physical. They are physical because “humans are a combination and not simple.”12 That is, for Gregory, humans include a physical component and a non-physical component. The water is for “the body, that which is seen, and the sensory” while “the invisible Spirit, called by faith” is “for the soul.”13 But Gregory is careful not to separate the water from faith absolutely. He warns against thinking of the water as too mundane because “the activity is great [τὸ γὰρ ἐνεργοῦν μέγα].”14 The water is just water, but “the water renews one in a spiritual renewal when grace, from above, blesses it.”15 Gregory appeals to mystery to explain this—he compares it to human reproduction, how does “seed make a man?”—but grounds that mystery in the “power and activity of God [τοῦ θεοῦ δύναμις καὶ ἐνέργεια].”16 In Diem lum, Gregory portrays baptism as a physical, but also a graced, act in the sense that the material activity is infused with the power and activity of God by God’s command. Gregory makes similar points in Or cat. Baptism is an appropriate means for our washing because of our “compound [nature].”17 We are washed in water because we are physical and not merely spiritual. And in the water, we follow the imitation of Christ. Specifically, “we act out the salvific burial and resurrection” of Christ.18 Gregory is clear that this is more than a story we tell ourselves about our baptisms. In the waters of baptism, “the divine activity [τῆς θείας ἐνεργείας]” is at work.19 He emphasizes this point

98  The Sacramental Life for good measure: the divine activity “becomes active [ἐνεργὸς γίνεται] in the water.”20 In our baptism, we are touched by God’s activity such that we become “a participant [μετουσίᾳ] in purity, and the divinity is truly pure.”21 God has “promised he will be present in what takes place.”22 Of course, God’s unique presence in the water does not mean that God ceases to be present everywhere. 23 But in baptism, we “have familiarity with the divine itself.”24 The very power present in baptism is reason enough to restrict its practice, for Gregory. He says it is not for everyone, but only those with “eagerness for the good.”25 Baptism ought not to be received carelessly, so the disposition of the baptizand is important. 26 Elsewhere, he says it is for those who “receive it with fear.”27 But when undertaken properly, baptism invites us into the very life of Christ. In De vita Moysis (Vit moys), he calls it “mystical water” because it puts our passions to death.28 It puts out passions to death because “we share the death of the one who died for us” by “being buried in the sacramental water through baptism.”29 This death is thus not a physical death (or “the death common to our nature”) but follows the pattern of Christ’s willing and voluntary death—“so that by imitating his death we may also imitate his resurrection.”30 From Gregory’s reflections in these passages, two conclusions can be safely drawn about Gregory’s views of baptism. First, the physicality of baptism is critical. It is important because of the “compound” nature of humanity. The water remains water, but it is infused with the power of God who freely gives grace in the water. This leads to the second conclusion: God promises to be active in baptism. Gregory refers to baptism as God’s “pledge of immortality.” In the “mystical” water of baptism, we encounter God’s activity and grace. In Gregory’s view, baptism thus includes a physical and divine component that are not at odds: the activity of God works through the element of water. On the Eucharist The eucharist is a different activity than baptism, but for Gregory it is not only “complementary” to baptism but holds such an “intimate unity” to it so “as to be inseparable.”31 The eucharist “carries what was started in Baptism to completion,” causing our bodies to participate in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ.32 Like baptism, eucharist is, for Gregory, a participation in Christ. In De perfectione (Perf), he refers to “the mystery [τὸ μυστήριόν]” that includes a “participation in the Logos, who became food and drink presented and received without distinction by those who seek him.”33 Gregory’s discussion of the eucharist in Or cat centres, as it does for baptism, on the “twofold” nature of humanity.34 The human person is a “harmonious unity of both soul and body.”35 The soul, he says, “mingles” with God “by faith.”36 Faith is “the source of salvation” for the soul,37 but “the body comes to participation, and mingling with the savior, in a different way.”38 Gregory compares the eucharist to the healing power of

The Sacramental Life 99 a medicinal drug. A poisoned body needs an antidote. Like poison, death is a destructive force in need of medication. The eucharist functions as an antidote to the evil that infects our nature because it is an act of Christ who “remakes [our bodies] into his own nature.”39 In this case, the antidote is being remade in Christ’s image because of the medicine of the eucharist. The antidote, like most medicines, must be received. For Gregory, it matters not only that we receive it, however, but how we receive it. For him, the promises of the eucharist are fulfilled for “the faithful [πεπιστευκόσι].”40 The faithful are those who receive bread and wine as the body and blood of Christ and, in so doing, allow their bodies to be “remade into the divine dignity by the indwelling of the Word of God.”41 Gregory also uses an agrarian metaphor: “[Christ] sows himself in all the faithful through the flesh whose composition [derives] from wine and bread, mixing with the bodies of the faithful, so that, by union with the immortal, man might become a partaker of incorruption.”42 The medicinal and agrarian analogies suggest that, as with baptism, the physicality of the elements is critical. From these brief reflections, two conclusions can be safely drawn about Gregory’s views of the eucharist. First, the physical elements of the eucharist are essential because we have physical bodies. Our bodies, like our souls, are in need of an antidote, but the antidote, too, must be physical. Second, the eucharist includes participation in Christ. Mateo-Seco characterizes Gregory’s view as “realism,” or the conviction that the bread and wine really are the body of Christ.43 While this can mean several things,44 Gregory at least insists the eucharist is nothing less than Christ giving himself to us.45 When we receive it with a proper disposition, it is efficacious in communicating Christ to us. What then shall we conclude about Gregory’s view of the sacraments? For Gregory, the sacraments are physical realities God uses to enable participation in himself. In this understanding, Gregory avoids two extremes. On the one hand, he avoids the view that the physical elements are special on their own. He insists that we ought not “submit to bondage to created realities”46 and explicitly repudiates the view that the sacraments alone are salvific.47 On the other hand, he avoids the view that the physical elements are only elements. There is a holiness to each, bestowed by God, so that we ought not be “careless or indiscriminate” when we receive the sacraments lest we bring judgment on ourselves by partaking “unworthily.”48 God has promised to be present in the sacraments and they have a sanctifying role in the lives of those who receive them. Gregory’s reflections are a good start. But they are just a start. In the following section, I shall constructively engage what Gregory’s reflections might mean for sacramental theology and practice.

Participation in Christ and the Efficacy of the Sacraments It is clear that, for Gregory, the sacraments are significant “means of grace,” to borrow a common description for the sacraments. But there are several unanswered questions that are underdetermined by Gregory’s

100  The Sacramental Life reflections, like: what is a sacrament? And what work do the sacraments actually do for those who receive them? Clear answers to these questions are critical to demonstrate how, if at all, the sacraments are relevant to divine hiddenness. What Is a Sacrament? A final or definite answer to this contentious question is, I hope, unnecessary. But it is worth considering what, if anything, makes the sacraments unique. What common features, that is, do baptism and eucharist share that non-sacraments do not? In his Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Tom Greggs worries about the “disproportionate concern about the genus” of “sacrament.”49 He explains: “it should not be doubted that something particular happens in baptism and something particular in Holy Communion, but these particulars are not the same particular: these actions do not belong uniquely to the same genus.”50 He offers several reasons for his concern about sacrament as “genus.”51 But two worries are especially fundamental in his critique: first, that sacrament qua genus distorts the Church’s purpose and, second, that sacrament qua genus distorts God’s grace. For the first worry, Greggs thinks sacrament qua genus distorts the Church’s purpose by causing the Church to lose sight of her mission “for the world.”52 An emphasis on exclusive enactments orients the Church’s attention inward instead of “fully and completely towards the other (both divine and creaturely) for whom it exists.”53 Baptism and eucharist maybe “essential components”54 of the Church, but they are “dominical ordinances among others which are given to focus the believer and the community away from themselves.”55 In short, to focus on sacrament qua genus “is to focus disproportionately on two visible marks of the church over others, and to afford them a status above all else or a connection which exists between Holy Communion and Baptism alone (over against other aspects of the church’s life and identity).”56 Greggs’s worry is well taken. If the Church’s sacramental practice causes a neglect of her outward mission, then her mission is indeed distorted. But it is worth considering just what the Church’s purpose or mission is. Greggs says the Church’s “purpose”—as community of “praise, worship, and adoration of God (its vertical relation)”—is to be a “community of witness (horizontal) to the world” and it “exists only towards its end: it exists only in its provisionality, in its instrumentality.”57 Plainly, “when there is no world to which to witness, there is no church, since the church has lost its purpose as an anticipatory, provisional, and proleptic community.”58 Greggs appears to endorse something close to what Simon Chan calls an instrumental view. On this view, the Church’s “basic identity can be expressed in terms of its functions: what it must do to fulfill God’s larger purpose.”59

The Sacramental Life 101 In contrast to the instrumental view, Chan defends the ontological view. On this view, the Church is “the expression of God’s ultimate purpose itself” and “God’s end in creation.”60 On Chan’s ontological view, the role of sacraments is conceived in a fundamentally different way because “to be a Christian is to be incorporated into the church by baptism and nourished with the spiritual food of the body and blood of Christ in the Eucharist.”61 For Chan, sacrament qua genus is essential because the sacraments play a unique role in uniting us to Christ’s body. The contrast between Greggs’s instrumental view and Chan’s ontological view illustrates that Greggs worry only sticks only under certain assumptions about the basic purpose or mission of the Church. Greggs’s first worry is still a valuable one, in that it warns about an overemphasis of the exclusive enactments at the expense of the Church’s outward mission. But if we, like Chan, adopt an ontological view—and if forced to choose, this is where I would chart Gregory—then we can avoid Greggs’s first worry. Greggs’s second worry is that sacrament qua genus distorts God’s grace. He says, “setting aside the sacraments as ‘means of grace’ confuses categories, or rather overlimits the way in which the grace of God reaches humanity.”62 In particular, he refers to Ulrich Zwingli’s fear “that we might identify two means of accessing salvation—one through the cross of Christ and one through the sacraments.”63 Zwingli’s fear, however, is only warranted insofar as the sacraments are severed from Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. We have already seen that this is manifestly not the case in Gregory. Instead, the sacraments are a means of our participation in Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. Pointedly, we receive the sacraments “so that by imitating his death we may also imitate his resurrection.”64 Of course, the connection between Christ’s death and the sacraments is not unique to Gregory. The Apostle Paul writes, “we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life” (Rom. 6:4).65 He makes a similar connection for the eucharist: “the cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a sharing in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a sharing in the body of Christ?” (1 Cor. 10:16). Like his first worry, Greggs’s second worry is still valuable because it warns against practicing or conceiving of the sacraments in a manner divorced from Christ’s death. Nevertheless, a sacramental theology or practice rooted in Paul or Gregory is not in danger of Zwingli’s fear. Rather than an alternative means of grace alongside the cross, the sacraments are instead a means by which we participate in Christ’s crucifixion and death. Greggs’s worries remain valuable warnings for proper sacramental practice, but neither mandate that sacrament qua genus be abandoned. What, then, is the genus of sacrament? What, that is, distinguishes the sacraments from other ecclesial enactments? I propose this definition of sacrament as a way to constructively develop Gregory’s reflections on the

102  The Sacramental Life sacraments while remaining faithful to them: a sacrament is an exclusive ecclesial enactment through which God’s grace is communicated to those who receive them with a proper disposition through contact with particular physical realities. Two features from this definition especially distinguish the sacraments from other ecclesial enactments. First, the sacraments are exclusive in the sense that they are available only to some participants of the Church. While not every Christian denomination would accept that eucharist is exclusive, most traditions do accept that the sacraments are exclusive in some sense—even if how the “in some sense” is understood varies by tradition. Second, the sacraments communicate God’s grace by contact with particular physical realities. God can operate through any physical reality (e.g., a burning bush) but, for Gregory, God has “pledged” to be consistently present in the particular elements of water, bread, and wine. God’s presence is assured for all who receive them properly. On this definition, the sacrament is indeed a genus of ecclesial activity. It is a label that applies, for example, to baptism and eucharist, but not the public reading of Scripture or the preaching of a sermon. A further key feature of the sacraments, however, is that they communicate God’s grace. I know turn to consider how to understand this communication. The Efficacy of the Sacraments Several different views of the sacraments agree that the sacraments are efficacious. That is, they are effective in communicating God’s grace in some way. The degree to which they are efficacious, or how they are efficacious, is hotly contested. I have no intentions of resolving this debate, but I shall sketch some ways of understanding their efficacy that constructively engages Gregory’s reflections on the sacraments. An initial divergence in the nature of the sacraments is the difference between the realist view and the memorialist view. This divergence is illustrated by the difference on the eucharist between Zwingli, who thought “the presence of Christ in the elements is symbolic,”66 and Martin Luther, who was convinced of real “divine action” in the elements.67 The realist view can be understood in several ways, but the key feature is that God is somehow really present in the elements. The memorialist insists on the opposite: the value of the sacraments is not God’s unique presence in the physical material but rather their memorial or symbolic value.68 The distinction between the realist and memorialist views will be useful in mapping the following attempts to explain the efficacy of the sacraments. James Arcadi’s account is an example of a realist view.69 He says he is in the “Corporeal Mode,” which states that “Christ’s body and blood become present in some fashion related to the consecrated elements.”70 He grounds his view of the eucharist in the incarnation.71 He calls the proposal “sacramental impanation,” which “holds that the sacramental union [that is, the elements of bread and wine and Christ’s body] is of the same kind of

The Sacramental Life 103 union as the hypostatic union—which itself is of the same kind of union as the natural union between body and soul.”72 Appealing to the concepts of instrumental union and extension, he argues Christ’s human body is extended in the bread and wine like the Word is extended in Christ’s human nature.73 For Arcadi, the efficacy of the eucharist is explained by Christ’s physical presence in the eucharist. A second account is from Joshua Cockayne, David Efird, Gordan Haynes, August Ludwigs Daniel Molto, Richard Tamburro, and Jack Warman. They argue the eucharist is an occasion for “shared-attention,” or “a kind of mutual awareness between persons”—between, that is, the recipient of the eucharist and Christ.74 Even without speaking or enacting other acts of communication, the eucharist, like a special remembrance meal shared between long-married lovers, can communicate something to those who receive it.75 Because of this act of shared-attention, the communicant and Christ engage in a kind of “interpersonal union.”76 This view could work in the memorialist or realist view.77 On this proposal, the efficacy of the sacraments refers to a kind of personal, shared experience between Christ and us. A third account is Michael Rea’s proposal that the sacraments can be an example of Parfit-style “quasi-memory.”78 He explains, “as Parfit characterizes them, quasi-memories, or ‘q-memories’, are apparent memories that are genuinely about someone’s experiences, though not necessarily about experiences of the person having the q-memory.”79 For example, Dolly has genuine memories, but Dolly’s clone has q-memories. If Dolly’s clone remembers the event “running in green pastures” that occurred to Dolly (and not Dolly’s clone) prior to Dolly’s cloning, then the memory “running in green pastures” is not a genuine memory of Dolly’s clone but a q-memory. According to Rea, something analogous happens in the sacraments such that they mediate a second-person experience of God and are therefore examples of “mediated experiences of God’s goodness.”80 By second-person experience, he means “a conscious awareness of another person as a person.”81 While they might be more than this, baptism and eucharist are commemorative acts that are linked to a memory of an event.82 Rea argues, “like q-memory, and like certain kinds of narrative, commemorative events, in the right context and undertaken in the right ways, mediate the presence of the events which they commemorate.”83 He draws two conclusions: first, “the right sort of participation in liturgical acts mediates the presence of God” and, second, “the extent to which the divine presence is mediated depends importantly upon the (trainable) sensibilities that one brings to the experience.”84 On Rea’s proposal, the efficacy of the sacraments refers to the mediated presence of God in a way analogous to a q-memory. In surveying these three accounts, I am not suggesting that they are mutually exclusive. In fact, I shall here construct a Gregorian Proposal that borrows features from the three accounts above. As “Gregorian,” I do not imply that the proposal is explicit in Gregory. Rather, it attends to features

104  The Sacramental Life of Gregory’s sacramental reflection to draw conclusions about the efficacy of the sacraments. There are three features of my Gregorian proposal. First, the Gregorian Proposal is similar to Arcadi’s by emphasizing the physical elements. By receiving the bread and wine of the eucharist, for example, we physically ingest Christ. In that ingestion, Christ is disseminated throughout our bodies.85 Second, like the shared-attention proposal, the sacraments should be received with proper disposition and attention. They ought not be received lightly, but with some recognition of their mystical power. Third, the sacraments, like Rea’s q-memory proposal, mediate prior events. In the case of baptism and eucharist, the sacraments mediate Christ’s life, death, and resurrection to us. These three features sketch an outline of how the sacraments are efficacious in the Gregorian proposal. The efficacy of the sacraments, however, includes not only how the sacraments are efficacious, but what they effect. For the Gregorian proposal, there are three main effects of the sacraments. First, the sacraments unite us to Jesus Christ and, therefore, to God. By receiving the sacraments, we become, by the power of the Spirit, imitators of Christ such that we participate in him. In that participation, we are united to his body. Ian A. McFarland lucidly states this effect: “Eucharist and baptism retain a distinct place in Christian faith and practice because it is in them that Christians not only perceive but also become the body.”86 That is, in the sacraments the “many members” are united to the “one body.” Second, in virtue of the unity to Christ’s body, the sacraments unite us to the Church. According to the view of the Church sketched in Chapter 3, the second effect can only be conceptually, and not really, distinguished from the first effect. By receiving the sacraments, we are united to other members of the Church. Third, in virtue of our participation in Christ, the sacraments sanctify us. In Gregorian terms, this is understood as a transformation, by our participation, into an ever-greater likeness of Christ. This is a work of the Spirit through the physical elements.87 These three features of my Gregorian Proposal and their effects are left underdeveloped on purpose. My goal is not to develop this proposal, but show how the sacraments are relevant to divine hiddenness. For this purpose, the Gregorian Proposal is sufficient. And it is to this purpose that I now turn.

The Sacramental Life: Baptism, Eucharist, and Divine Hiddenness The Gregorian Proposal offers a way of understanding the efficacy of the sacraments. But on this view, and on the definition of sacrament I offered, the sacraments are exclusive ecclesial enactments. That is, they are available only for certain members of the Church. But insofar as the sacraments are exclusive, it is not clear how they offer a way of discerning Christ’s work through the Church or are relevant to the hiddenness problem. To

The Sacramental Life 105 conclude this chapter, I shall argue that the sacraments are invitational to nonbelievers in at least two ways: the sacraments proclaim the gospel and the sacraments encourage a proper disposition. By being invitational to nonbelievers, I argue, they are plausibly efficacious in uniting nonbelievers to Christ.88 Proclaiming the Gospel The first way the sacraments are invitational to nonbelievers is by their unique proclamation of the gospel: the “good news” that Jesus Christ is God with us, that he died for the world and, in doing so, defeated evil and death through his resurrection and ascension.89 The sacraments proclaim this message by being physical reenactments of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. For this reason, Ian A. McFarland argues that the sacraments count as “Protocols for Discerning the Body [of Christ].”90 In the eucharist, for example, Christians take [Christ’s] body into their own and thus become part of that body. In this way, Christians are what they eat in a very literal sense, and it is for this reason that discernment of the body entails a proper understanding of one’s own ‘contingent status as a member of the larger body of Christ.’91 McFarland recognizes the role of the eucharist in “one’s own” discernment of Christ’s Body, but he also explores how it proclaims Christ to outsiders. In conversation with William Cavanaugh’s Torture and Eucharist, McFarland argues that the eucharist is specifically a proclamation against the powers of this world. Cavanaugh describes the eucharist as “an alternative economy of pain and body.”92 It is an implicit criticism of our own economies, understood as all the ways the world interacts with itself, especially politically. Cavanaugh adds that whereas a dominant state power “creates victims; Eucharist creates witnesses, martyrs.”93 However, Cavanaugh insists the eucharist only has this proclamatory capacity if grounded in the physical reality of the elements. He specifically criticizes “the history of Eucharistic practice in the Catholic tradition” that resulted in a body of Christ “abstracted from the concrete realities of particular human bodies in a way that rendered the life of the church static, timeless, and profoundly dis-embodied.”94 Instead, he argues, the eucharist “functions as a means of establishing Christ’s body as an ongoing, dynamic reality in time and space.”95 The physical elements are critical because they consistently present the Body of Christ as a broken and bloody and, in doing so, “proclaim the Lord’s death until he returns” (1 Cor. 11:26). The proclamation of Christ’s death in the eucharist, says McFarland, assumes a “principle of reconciliation” that can be “deliberately violated.”96 The eucharist testifies

106  The Sacramental Life to a historical event—the unjust torture and sacrifice of Christ—that the members of the Church, as the Body of Christ, are called to embody. So, he concludes, “where the community does not live out the reconciliation the Eucharist both represents and effects, Christ cannot be seen, and God cannot be known.”97 On the view sketched by McFarland, the sacraments play both an ontological and an imaginatively didactic role in forming the Church’s role as mediator of divine revelation. They are “ontological” because the sacraments unite individual members to Christ. McFarland says, “the Eucharist is the means by which the church makes the body of Christ manifest in the world at large because it is the means by which the church quite literally becomes Christ’s body.”98 Yet, the sacraments are also what I would call “imaginatively didactic.” By imaginatively didactic, I mean instructive or educational, but in an imagination-forming sense rather than in a propositionally informational sense. As physical enactments, the sacraments teach congregants, but they do not teach by the recitation of facts. Instead, the enactments themselves embody what it means to be the Body of Christ: namely, by laying down one’s life for others. However, the sacraments can be similarly imaginatively didactic even for those who do not receive them. First, they are a way of discerning where the body of Christ is manifest. Because the sacraments of baptism and eucharist are imitations in Christ’s death, the outsider thus has a picture of how the body of Christ is to engage the world. Insofar as the Church imitates Christ by laying down her life for the sake of the world, she is a mediator of Christ. Insofar as she fails in this task, she fails to mediate Christ. Second, the actual sacramental enactments themselves proclaim to outsiders what Christ has done, and is doing, for them. Baptism and eucharist are the gospel acted out. As reenactments of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection, they are testaments to the good news of what Christ has done in history and now does in the lives of those who submit themselves to him. The sacraments are invitational, therefore, for those who witness them. The nonbeliever who participates in or even observes the liturgy can also observe the sacramental practice of the Church. To the one who observes, the sacraments proclaim good news to all people and summon all to receive God’s goodness by participating in Christ’s death and resurrection. This invitation is not spelled out in propositional terms, but it is rather acted out in the way the sacraments are practiced. Regardless of other commitments, the nonbeliever is invited into the sacramental practice of the Church when she witnesses the sacraments being performed. A Proper Disposition A second way the sacraments are invitational is by calling the recipient to receive them with a proper disposition. As an exclusive enactment, the sacraments are not practiced indiscriminately.99 This fact is telling because

The Sacramental Life 107 the sacraments are a way one knows God. The implication of their exclusivity is that one’s knowledge of God could be conditioned by or even depend on one’s stance towards him. By being exclusive, the sacramental practice of the Church insists that one may need to consider one’s own thoughts, dispositions, or practices as a barrier to knowing God. How the exclusivity is understood depends on the sacrament. Minimally, as an initiation rite, baptism is only for those committed to Christianity or to the Church.100 Although there are different ways of understanding the exclusivity of the eucharist, I shall understand it minimally as for the baptized only. Accordingly, neither baptism or eucharist can be received without some level of commitment to Christianity and the life of the Church. Does such a commitment exclude nonbelievers? It is probable that a commitment to Christianity or the life of the Church does exclude some nonbelievers. But does it exclude nonbelievers necessarily? That depends on what such a commitment requires. A commitment to Christianity and the life of the Church is typically preceded by, or even the result of, certain beliefs (e.g., that Jesus is God and rose from the dead). But it would seem that such beliefs are not required for such a commitment. Analogously, consider how the commitment of fidelity made in marriage is normally preceded by, or the result of, a feeling of love or attraction for one’s partner, but the commitment of marriage is plausible without such attraction. This is because commitment is a matter of will, not assent to particular propositions. If nonbelievers could commit to Christianity or the life of the Church, then, they could be candidates to receive the sacraments despite their nonbelief. Still, one might think that receiving the sacraments should require more than mere commitment. My definition of sacrament, in fact, includes receiving the sacraments with a proper disposition. By disposition, I mean an orientation or stance towards something, someone, or some state of affairs. On this understanding, dispositions are necessarily relational because they are directed towards something or someone.101 A proper disposition may conceivably be only mere commitment, but it is plausible that it requires more than this. Even so, a “proper disposition” could be a wide umbrella. The devout believer, for instance, might receive the sacraments in full assurance of faith and a disposition of love towards God. In the following, however, I examine the minimal disposition for receiving the sacraments for the sake of determining under what conditions, if any, nonbelievers can receive the sacraments. Donald G. Bloesch offers one way to understand the proper disposition to receive the sacraments.102 Baptism, he says, is an expression of “personal faith” and obedience to Christ,103 whereas the eucharist is “open to all who are baptized and profess faith in Jesus Christ.”104 If the exclusive marker of the sacraments is a disposition of faith, can nonresistant nonbelievers plausibly receive the sacraments under certain conditions? Schellenberg’s understanding of nonbelief is strictly cognitive because it refers to a lack of

108  The Sacramental Life belief that God exists. Insofar as faith in Christ requires the belief that God exists, nonbelievers cannot have a disposition of faith. One may think that faith does not require the belief that God exists. For example, Daniel Howard-Snyder offers an account of faith as a “complex propositional attitude” in which “faith that p” includes the following: “(i) a positive evaluation of p, (ii) a positive conative orientation toward p, (iii) a positive cognitive stance toward p, and (iv) resilience to new counter-evidence to p.”105 Howard-Snyder’s is a “propositional” account of faith, or faith that, and is different than, for instance, faith in or on faith.106 It is not itself a proposition, but a “propositional attitude.”107 For him, a “positive cognitive stance” does not necessarily include belief. However, a positive cognitive stance does require that one believe “that p is likely or p is twice as likely as not, and so on.”108 Under this condition, disbelief certainly does not count as a positive cognitive stance and, plausibly, neither does nonresistant nonbelief. However, one might argue that faith does not require any cognitive states or stances related to God’s existence.109 One could emphasize that faith refers to faith in, or a disposition of trust or allegiance. Yet, on this understanding, faith must be directed towards something or someone. If so, faith still involves some kind of belief or knowing. Even so, it may still not involve certain cognitive states related to God’s existence. It could include a kind of de re belief rather than de dicto belief.110 Schellenberg, however, is sceptical that this kind of view is relevant to the hiddenness argument.111 Indeed, it is difficult to make sense of how one could have faith in something or someone without some propositional content undergirding it even if that propositional content is incomplete or partially misguided. Faith in God may not require certainty that God exists, but it does require, I think, what Howard-Snyder calls “a positive cognitive stance” towards God. Insofar as the sacraments must be received in a disposition of faith, therefore, nonbelievers are excluded from receiving the sacraments. There may be, however, other ways to understand a proper disposition other than faith. In the following, I offer one alternative: a disposition of hope.112 Hope (ἐλπίς) in the New Testament can be characterized as “looking forward to something with some reason for confidence respecting fulfillment.”113 The Apostle Paul says, “for by hope we were saved. But hope seen is not hope. For who hopes for that which he sees? If we hope for that which we do not see, we await it with patience.”114 Paul argues that hope is unseen, by which he means that hope entails a lack of the kind of epistemic certainty we might have about sensory realities.115 Hope can refer either to something that has yet to happen or something that has happened but doubt about the outcome. For example, I could hope Scotland wins their upcoming soccer match. Yet, I could also hope England wins their soccer match even if the match has already occurred. I could be unaware that the match has occurred and think, “I hope they win.” I could also know the match has occurred but, because I have yet to learn the score, still think,

The Sacramental Life 109 “I hope they have won.” In either case, the outcome is secured but I am uncertain as to its specifics.116 A disposition of hope, therefore, includes a relation to some state of affairs that one is not positive has obtained or will obtain. Hope also includes “looking forward to something.” Since hope is not necessarily directed towards a future event, the “looking forward to” can be better characterized as some desire for something. In defining faith, Howard-Snyder says faith that p includes “(i) a positive evaluation of p, (ii) a positive conative orientation toward p.”117 A positive evaluation refers to a desire for something while by “positive conative orientation” HowardSnyder seeks to rule out certain cases in which one lacks a desire that p but nonetheless cares that p or wishes p to obtain.118 Yet, even cares that or wishes that includes desire, even if a weaker (or second-order) one.119 Accordingly, I shall understand (i) and (ii) to mean that one has at least some desire that p. Borrowing from Howard-Snyder, I contend hope includes (i) and (ii). In short, hope includes at least some desire that p. Thus far, a disposition of hope includes at least some desire that p where p is some state of affairs that one is uncertain whether it has obtained or will obtain. In some uses of the word hope, this understanding of hope is sufficient. For instance, it is intelligible for someone to say, “I hope the White Sox will win the World Series, but I know they will not.” Even if interpreted as the weaker, “I hope the White Sox will win, but I know it is unlikely that they will,” hope is severed from confidence that p. On this understanding, hope is basically a desire or want. Yet, on the New Testament understanding of hope that p, there is some reason for confidence that p will obtain. Howard-Snyder’s definition of faith includes “(iii) a positive cognitive stance toward p.” Although a positive cognitive stance toward p does not necessarily include belief that p, it does include a “probabilistic belief” that p is likely.120 Hope does not require (iii), but it could include something similar: hope that p includes some reason for confidence that p will obtain. This includes a range of possibilities for cognitive stances. New Testament authors, for example, sometimes use “hope” to describe states of affairs they believe will happen or have happened,121 but elsewhere use “hope” to describe more uncertain events.122 Even in uncertain events, however, hope includes some reason for confidence that p. I shall understand this as more than, for example, merely metaphysical possibility, but rather something like plausibility. Hope is not baseless, but rather is reasonable and plausible. Still, there is room for doubt—and plenty of it. One need not be certain, or even fully confident, that p to hope that p, but rather one needs some reason for confidence. On the understanding of hope I have sketched, then, a disposition of hope that p is a desire that p and some reasonable confidence that p where p refers to a state of affairs that has not obtained or that one is not sure whether it has obtained. What does it mean to receive the sacraments with a disposition of hope? For Gregory, we have a reason for confidence that the sacraments are efficacious because God has promised to be present in the sacraments. God

110  The Sacramental Life “has always promised to be present with those who call upon [him],” so no more demonstration is needed to show that Christ is present in the sacraments.123 For the sacraments, he insists that “what is enacted is activated [ἐνεργούμενον] by God.”124 In short, “God has promised he will be present in what takes place” and includes “his own power … in the work.”125 For the Gregorian proposal, God’s promises give the receivers of the sacraments reason for confidence that God is present in them. The nonbeliever, however, does not believe in God. How can they have a disposition of hope towards the sacraments? George Bernanos said faith is “90 percent doubt and 10 percent hope.”126 The definition of faith aside, Bernanos makes a helpful point about the nature of hope (and faith): it is compatible with significant doubt. Yujin Nagasawa, borrowing from John Hick, offers a suggestion for what the clash between doubt and hope can look like: “‘cosmic optimism,’ according to which ultimately all is good on a cosmic scale.”127 It is not, he clarifies, “epistemic confidence but an attitude” that includes “an opportunity to embrace cognitive and epistemic humility.”128 The cosmic optimist embraces cognitive and epistemic humility by remaining agnostic about, for instance, the existence of God, but holds on to the good in the world as somehow indicative of the structure of reality. Cosmic optimism provides a template for nonbelievers receiving the sacraments with a disposition of hope. The nonbeliever can receive the sacraments in a kind of, if I may adapt Nagasawa’s phrase, sacramental optimism. That is, she can receive the sacraments in hope that God’s promises are true and shall be a means of grace in her life as they are in the lives of others. Even without belief that God exists, the nonbeliever can receive the sacraments under these specific circumstances. This account remains faithful to the exclusivity of the sacraments, but also allows for, as Gregory consistently calls the sacraments, mystery. Under these specific circumstances, the sacraments are not given out indiscriminately, but rather to those who receive them in hope that God will work in them as he has promised. In summary, with a commitment to Christ or the Church and a disposition of hope, the nonbeliever could receive the sacraments in a way that remains faithful to their exclusivity. The conditions under which a nonbeliever can receive the sacraments may be rare, but nonetheless the nonbeliever has a possible path to participate in the efficacious grace of God by her reception of the sacraments.

Conclusion The sacraments are a unique category of God’s grace. They are a way that we are united to God by God’s activity through particular physical realities. And yet they are exclusive. They are not to be given indiscriminately, but with care to those who receive them with a proper disposition. While the exclusivity of the sacraments initially causes problems for any view that

The Sacramental Life 111 wishes to show their relevance to divine hiddenness, the sacraments are relevant to divine hiddenness because they are invitational to nonbelievers. They are invitational in at least two ways. First, the sacraments proclaim the gospel by acting out the gospel story, and so they are uniquely imaginatively didactic. Second, the sacraments are invitational to nonbelievers by inviting them to receive with a proper disposition. I have sketched one way to understand this disposition: a disposition of hope. As I have sketched it, it is possible for nonbelievers to receive the sacraments under certain conditions. The previous chapter and this one have centred on the Church Gathered toward developing my ecclesiological response. But the Church does not cease to be Christ’s body when she is not gathered together. The following chapter shall consider the role of the Church as Church Scattered—or as she exists as “many members” scattered through the world.

Notes 1 Gregory of Nyssa, Contra Eunomium III, ed. Johan Leemans, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, Vol. 124 (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2014), 217. 2 Christian traditions differ on what counts as a sacrament. I refer only to baptism and eucharist because, first, virtually all Christian traditions agree that baptism and eucharist are sacraments and, second, Gregory focuses on the two in particular. Hereafter, “sacrament” or “sacraments” refer to baptism and eucharist. 3 Gregory of Nyssa, Catechetical Discourse: A Handbook for Catechists, trans. Ignatius Green, Popular Patristics Series 60 (Yonkers, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2019). 4 Green argues Gregory follows an ancient, well-known rhetorical structure: introduction—narrative—proof—conclusion. See Green’s introduction in Catechetical Discourse, 20–21. 5 Green says this is “not systematic theology” in which Gregory offers his “sacramental theology.” See Green, Catechetical Discourse, 23. 6 Or cat, GNO III/4, 86–87; PG 45, 88; Green 139. Translation Green’s. 7 Or cat, GNO III/4, 89; PG 45, 89; Green 141. 8 Giulio Maspero, “Christian Initiation,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 133. 9 Diem lum, GNO IX, 224; PG 46, 580; NPNF 519. Translation found in: Hans Boersma, Embodiment and Virtue in Gregory of Nyssa: An Anagogical Approach (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2013), 182. 10 Diem lum, GNO IX, 224; PG 46, 581; NPNF 519. 11 Diem lum, GNO IX, 224; PG 46, 581; NPNF 519. Wilson’s translation. 12 Diem lum, GNO IX, 225; PG 46, 581; NPNF 519. 13 Diem lum, GNO IX, 225; PG 46, 581; NPNF 519. 14 Diem lum, GNO IX, 225; PG 46, 581; NPNF 519. 15 Diem lum, GNO IX, 227; PG 46, 584; NPNF 520. 16 Diem lum, GNO IX, 227; PG 46, 584; NPNF 520. 17 Or cat, GNO III/4, 91; PG 45, 92; Green 142. The word is συγκπρίματος. Green’s translation, given here, reflects the assumed “nature.” 18 Or cat, GNO III/4, 89; PG 45, 89; Green 141. 19 Or cat, GNO III/4, 92; PG 45, 92; Green 144. 20 Or cat, GNO III/4, 92; PG 45, 92; Green 144.

112  The Sacramental Life 21 Or cat, GNO III/4, 92; PG 45, 92; Green 144. Green’s translation. 22 Or cat, GNO III/4, 85; PG 45, 85; Green 138. He adds later, “the divine presence [in the sacraments] is not in doubt.” Green’s translation. 23 Or cat, GNO III/4, 92; PG 45, 92; Green 144. 24 Or cat, GNO III/4, 92; PG 45, 92; Green 144. Green’s translation. 25 Or cat, GNO III/4, 87; PG 45, 88; Green 139. Green’s translation. 26 Or cat, GNO III/4, 102–05; PG 45, 103–04; Green 154–56. 27 Inst, GNO VIII/1, 44; PG 46, 289; Callahan 129. Callahan’s translation. 28 Vit Moys, GNO VII/1, 72; PG 44, 363; Ferguson and Malherbe 84. Ferguson and Malherbe’s translation. 29 Antirrh, GNO III/1, 226–27; PG 45, 1260; Callahan 248. 30 Antirrh, GNO III/1, 226–27; PG 45, 1260; Callahan 248. 31 Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco, “Eucharist,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 293. 32 Mateo-Seco, “Eucharist,” 293. 33 Perf, GNO VIII/1, 191; PG 46, 268; Callahan 108. 34 Or cat, GNO III/4, 93; PG 45, 93; Green 144. 35 Or cat, GNO III/4, 93; PG 45, 93; Green 144. 36 Or cat, GNO III/4, 93; PG 45, 93; Green 144. 37 Or cat, GNO III/4, 93; PG 45, 93; Green 144. 38 Or cat, GNO III/4, 93; PG 45, 93; Green 145. 39 Or cat, GNO III/4, 93; PG 45, 93; Green 145. 40 Or cat, GNO III/4, 98; PG 45, 97; Green 149. 41 Or cat, GNO III/4, 96; PG 45, 96; Green 148. 42 Or cat, GNO III/4, 97–98; PG 45, 97; Green 149. Green’s translation. 43 Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco, “Eucharist,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 295. Gregory is not working familiar eucharistic categories like “transubstantiation” or “consubstantiation” or “real presence.” To categorize Gregory within this debate would be anachronistic, but for my purposes, this conclusion is enough: the bread and wine really are the body and blood of Christ. 44 Later theological debates about the eucharist prove that a “realism” about the eucharist is open to interpretation. See the early chapters in: George Hunsinger, The Eucharist and Ecumenism: Let Us Keep the Feast (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2008); James Arcadi, An Incarnational Model of the Eucharist (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 45 Mateo-Seco, “Eucharist,” 295. 46 Or cat, GNO III/4, 100–01; PG 45, 100; Green 151–52. 47 Or cat, GNO III/4, 101; PG 45, 100; Green 152. 48 Perf, GNO VIII/1, 191; PG 46, 268; Callahan 108. Callahan’s translation. By the word “unworthily,” Gregory quotes Paul in 1 Cor. 11:28. 49 Tom Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology: The Priestly Catholicity of the Church, Vol. I (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019), 152. 50 Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Vol. I:158. 51 Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Vol. I:150–58. For instance, he says the term “sacrament” is coined “comparatively late” by the Church (by Hippolytus and Tertullian) and challenges the Biblical basis for it. Yet, these are ancillary criticisms and, by themselves, do not hold much weight. For one, “comparatively late” is clearly relative and, when compared to much Christian language, it is comparatively early. As for the Biblical basis, he himself quotes C. K. Barrett as saying that the lack of language for the reality in the New Testament is hardly enough to deduce the lack of that reality.

The Sacramental Life 113 52 He makes this case in Chapter 4 of “The Priestly Ontology and the Church’s Life for the World.” Tom Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology: The Priestly Catholicity of the Church, Vol. I (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019), 113–45. 53 Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Vol. I:40. 54 Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Vol. I:151. 55 Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Vol. I:153. 56 Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Vol. I:150. 57 Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Vol. I:40. 58 Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Vol. I:40. 59 Simon Chan, Liturgical Theology, 21. 60 Simon Chan, Liturgical Theology: The Church as Worshiping Community (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2006), 21. 61 Chan, Liturgical Theology, 24. 62 Tom Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology: The Priestly Catholicity of the Church, vol. Vol. I (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019), 159. 63 Greggs, Vol. I:160. 64 Antirrh, GNO III/1, 227; PG 45, 1260; Callahan 248. Callahan’s translation. 65 cf. Col. 2:12. 66 Tom Greggs follows Zwingli in his view and elsewhere calls his a “non-­efficacious account” (p. 196). Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Vol. I:209–10. 67 Justo L. Gonzalez, The Story of Christianity: The Reformation to the Present Day, Vol. 2 (New York, NY: HarperOne, 2010), 64. 68 Greggs, for instance, focuses on their “semiotic value.” Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology, Vol. I:151. 69 The following proposals are proposals for the efficacy of the eucharist rather than the sacraments generally. However, the basic outline of each proposal could be extended to include baptism, too, so I shall treat them as proposals for the efficacy of the sacraments. 70 James Arcadi, An Incarnational Model of the Eucharist (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 14. 71 He uses something similar to what I have called an incarnational metaphysic. 72 Arcadi, 242. 73 Arcadi, An Incarnational Model of the Eucharist, 243. 74 Joshua Cockayne et al., “Experiencing the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist,” Journal of Analytic Theology 5, no. 1 (April 12, 2017): 182. 75 Cockayne et al., “Experiencing the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist,” 187. 76 Cockayne et al., “Experiencing the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist,” 192. 77 See fn. 13: Cockayne et al., “Experiencing the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist,” 192. 78 Michael C. Rea, “Narrative, Liturgy, and the Hiddenness of God,” in Metaphysics and God: Essays in Honor of Eleonore Stump, ed. Kevin Timpe and Eleonore Stump (London, UK: Routledge, 2009), 89. 79 Rea, “Narrative, Liturgy, and the Hiddenness of God,” 89. 80 Rea, “Narrative, Liturgy, and the Hiddenness of God,” 90–91. 81 Rea, “Narrative, Liturgy, and the Hiddenness of God,” 91. 82 Rea, “Narrative, Liturgy, and the Hiddenness of God,” 91. 83 Rea, “Narrative, Liturgy, and the Hiddenness of God,” 92. 84 Rea, “Narrative, Liturgy, and the Hiddenness of God,” 93. 85 “Disseminates” is borrowed from Wilson’s translation of Or cat in NPNF, 505. 86 Ian A. McFarland, The Divine Image: Envisioning the Invisible God (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005), 146. 87 I recognize that there are some remaining unanswered questions or ambiguities about the relationship between the physical sacramental elements, the physical body of the ascended Christ, and the physical individual humans of the Church

114  The Sacramental Life that receive the sacraments. In particular, if all are the “body of Christ,” are all three of these strictly and metaphysically identical? I think no, and I think Gregory thinks no, but are rather three different senses in which Christ is present in the world. However, my purpose in investigating these issues is only to relate the sacraments to the problem of divine hiddenness. Accordingly, a variety of accounts of this issue and others are compatible with my arguments. For two works on the eucharist that deal with these questions in more detail and with which I am sympathetic, see John Williamson Nevin, The Mystical Presence: And the Doctrine of the Reformed Church on the Lord’s Supper, ed. Linden J. DeBie and W. Bradford Littlejohn, The Mercersburg Theology Series (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2012); James Arcadi, An Incarnational Model of the Eucharist (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2018).   88 That is, I argue the sacraments are actually efficacious for the nonbeliever in certain circumstances. One may think, however, that the sacraments are not efficacious for the nonbeliever. John Williamson Nevin, for example, says the “grace of the sacrament comes from God” and that grace is “truly present” even if received by a nonbeliever, but adds that “unbelief may make it of no effect” even if the “intrinsic value” of the sacrament remains. For Nevin, the grace of the sacrament is no less present when received by a nonbeliever, but it may be less efficacious. I shall outline two ways the sacraments are relevant and efficacious for the nonbeliever, but what Nevin says remains true: it may be that one’s unbelief does bar one from receiving the full benefits of the grace present in the sacrament even when that grace is otherwise present. See Nevin, The Mystical Presence, 106.   89 The comprehensive gospel message of Christianity includes more than this, but this brief summary is sufficient for my purposes.   90 McFarland, The Divine Image, 62. He defends the label “protocol” by saying it “has the merit of connoting, on the one hand, a relatively formal, mutually agreed set of conventions directed toward a particular end without, on the other, suggesting either inflexible procedure or guaranteed results” (p. 63).   91 McFarland, The Divine Image, 130.   92 William T. Cavanaugh, Torture and Eucharist: Theology, Politics, and the Body of Christ (Oxford, UK: Wiley-Blackwell, 1998), 206.   93 Cavanaugh, Torture and Eucharist, 206.   94 Ian A. McFarland, The Divine Image: Envisioning the Invisible God (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005), 132.   95 McFarland, The Divine Image, 132.   96 McFarland, The Divine Image, 134.   97 McFarland, The Divine Image, 134.   98 McFarland, The Divine Image, 132.   99 Some traditions practice “open-table,” or giving the eucharist to anyone who wants it, including nonbelievers. However, most Christian practice includes some restriction on who can receive the sacraments and I shall understand them as exclusive enactments. 100 Or, for example, in the case of infants, some commitment to the Church on one’s behalf. It is not, for my purposes, important what exactly the commitment entails. 101 It is plausible that some uses of disposition diverge from this understanding and are more general. For example, “Mr. Tumnus is kind” may be understood as “Mr. Tumnus has a kind disposition.” However, even as a general statement, this is relational because Mr. Tumnus’s kindness is directed towards others. 102 Donald G. Bloesch, The Church: Sacraments, Worship, Ministry, Missions (Downers Grove, IL: Intervarsity Press, 2002), 163. 103 Bloesch, The Church, 157–59. 104 Bloesch, The Church, 163. He then specifies that this may not include “inauthentic” faith.

The Sacramental Life 115 105 Daniel Howard-Snyder, “Propositional Faith,” American Philosophical Quarterly 50, no. 4 (2013): 370. 106 Howard-Snyder, “Propositional Faith,” 357–59. 107 Howard-Snyder, “Propositional Faith,” 359. 108 Howard-Snyder, “Propositional Faith,” 361. 109 See, for instance, Chapter 3 of Jonathan L. Kvanvig, Faith and Humility (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018). 110 As in Ted Poston and Trent Dougherty, “Divine Hiddenness and the Nature of Belief,” Religious Studies 43, no. 2 (2007): 183–98. 111 See J. L. Schellenberg, “On Not Unnecessarily Darkening the Glass: A Reply to Poston and Dougherty,” Religious Studies 43, no. 2 (2007): 199. 112 By hope, I mean a propositional account of hope. That is, hope in this account refers to a propositional attitude towards something or someone (e.g., I hope that p) rather than merely an emotion or feeling (e.g., I hope in p). For more, see Howard-Snyder, “Propositional Faith,” 358. 113 BDAG, ἐλπίς. 114 Romans 8:24–25. The first sentence can be translated “in hope we were saved” (cf. NRSV, ESV). 115 There are a number of controversial issues here, including what it means to be certain and whether things we see also includes certainty. These issues, however, are peripheral for my purposes. I am here only trying to sketch the logic of hope in the New Testament. 116 Hope does not require a complete lack of certainty, however. Yet, the New Testament implies that it does include a lack of positivity like one might expect to receive from our senses. We hope, after all, for “that which we do not see” (Rom. 8:25). 117 Daniel Howard-Snyder, “Propositional Faith,” American Philosophical Quarterly 50, no. 4 (2013): 367. 118 Howard-Snyder, “Propositional Faith,” 362–63. He uses the example of a woman diagnosed with cancer who no longer desires to live because of the diagnoses, but nonetheless wishes to survive for the sake of her children. 119 On higher/lower or first/second order desires, see Eleonore Stump, Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and The Problem of Suffering (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2012), 124–26. 120 Daniel Howard-Snyder, “Propositional Faith,” American Philosophical Quarterly 50, no. 4 (2013): 361. 121 cf. Colossians 1:5; Titus 1:2; Heb. 3:6, 6:18. 122 cf. 1 Corinthians 16:7; Philippians 2:19, 23. 123 Or cat, GNO III/4, 84; PG 45, 85; Green 137. 124 Or cat, GNO III/4, 85; PG 45, 85; Green 138. Green’s translation is “accomplished” rather than “activated.” 125 Or cat, GNO III/4, 85; PG 45, 85; Green 138. 126 Yujin Nagasawa, “Silence, Evil, and Shusaku Endo,” in Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives, ed. Eleonore Stump and Adam Green (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 257. 127 Nagasawa, “Silence, Evil, and Shusaku Endo,” 257. 128 Nagasawa, “Silence, Evil, and Shusaku Endo,” 258.

Bibliography Arcadi, James. An Incarnational Model of the Eucharist. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2018. Bloesch, Donald G. The Church: Sacraments, Worship, Ministry, Missions. Downers Grove, IL: Intervarsity Press, 2002.

116  The Sacramental Life Boersma, Hans. Embodiment and Virtue in Gregory of Nyssa: An Anagogical Approach. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2013. Cavanaugh, William T. Torture and Eucharist: Theology, Politics, and the Body of Christ. Oxford, UK: Wiley-Blackwell, 1998. Chan, Simon. Liturgical Theology: The Church as Worshiping Community. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2006. Cockayne, Joshua, David Efird, Gordon Haynes, Daniel Molto, Richard Tamburro, Jack Warman, and August Ludwigs. “Experiencing the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.” Journal of Analytic Theology 5, no. 1 (April 12, 2017): 175–96. Gonzalez, Justo L. The Story of Christianity: The Reformation to the Present Day. Vol. 2. New York, NY: HarperOne, 2010. Greggs, Tom. Dogmatic Ecclesiology: The Priestly Catholicity of the Church. Vol. I. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019. Gregory of Nyssa. Catechetical Discourse: A Handbook for Catechists, translated by Ignatius Green. Popular Patristics Series 60. Yonkers, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2019. ———. Contra Eunomium III, edited by Johan Leemans. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, Vol. 124. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2014. Howard-Snyder, Daniel. “Propositional Faith.” American Philosophical Quarterly 50, no. 4 (2013): 357–72. Hunsinger, George. The Eucharist and Ecumenism: Let Us Keep the Feast. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Kvanvig, Jonathan L. Faith and Humility. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018. Maspero, Giulio. “Christian Initiation.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 133–36. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. Mateo-Seco, Lucas Francisco. “Eucharist.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 293–97. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. McFarland, Ian A. The Divine Image: Envisioning the Invisible God. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005. Nagasawa, Yujin. “Silence, Evil, and Shusaku Endo.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives, edited by Eleonore Stump and Adam Green. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016. Nevin, John Williamson. The Mystical Presence: And the Doctrine of the Reformed Church on the Lord’s Supper, edited by Linden J. DeBie and W. Bradford Littlejohn. The Mercersburg Theology Series. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2012. Poston, Ted, and Trent Dougherty. “Divine Hiddenness and the Nature of Belief.” Religious Studies 43, no. 2 (2007): 183–98. Rea, Michael C. “Narrative, Liturgy, and the Hiddenness of God.” In Metaphysics and God: Essays in Honor of Eleonore Stump, edited by Kevin Timpe and Eleonore Stump, 76–96. London, UK: Routledge, 2009. Schellenberg, J. L. “On Not Unnecessarily Darkening the Glass: A Reply to Poston and Dougherty.” Religious Studies 43, no. 2 (2007): 199. Stump, Eleonore. Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and the Problem of Suffering. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2012.

6

Mirrors of God The Scattered Images of God

The mirror that is human nature does not become beautiful until it has drawn close to the Beautiful and been formed by the image of the divine Beauty.1 (Gregory of Nyssa)

The Church Gathered, I have argued, shines light on the Problem to Divine Hiddenness. In the liturgy and sacraments, at least, the nonbeliever has a way to experience Christ in the Church as she gathers together for worship. Yet, the Church’s relevance to divine hiddenness does not stop within the walls of the Church. Neither does the Church cease to exist when the individual members are not gathered together in worship. The Church is both “one body” and “many members.” The “many members” may indeed be gathered as one, but they might also be “scattered”—scattered, that is, in their respective communities. This chapter shall focus on the Church as she is scattered throughout the world by reflecting on her role to reflect Christ to the rest of the world. The reflective role of the “many members” of the Church is best seen in a theological theme that may initially seem out of place in an ecclesiological response: the imago Dei. 2 The imago Dei, or the image of God, however, is more tightly connected with ecclesiology than it may seem at first glance. Indeed, Ian A. McFarland argues the image must be interpreted ecclesiologically because it “rules out the reduction of the imago dei to any attribute or property possessed by individual human beings in isolation from their relationship to Christ,” but rather conceives of the image as an “incorporation under a single head.”3 The Church and the image of God cannot be divorced. Interpreting the image well includes “looking at the rest of the human family with whom [Christ’s] own life is bound up through the incarnation.”4 As we shall see, for Gregory of Nyssa the image bearers are precisely those “many members” united to Christ’s body. 5 In focusing on the role of the Church Scattered, then, I shall centre on how individual members of the Church reflect God. And this, I shall argue, is relevant to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. DOI: 10.4324/9781003346951-7

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The Imago Dei in Scripture and Gregory Gregory of Nyssa has much to say about the imago Dei. But what he says builds on the prior foundation of Scriptural reflections on the image. Before turning our attention to Gregory, then, we shall begin with the Scriptural texts and what these texts say about the nature of God’s image-bearing humans. “In His Image”: The Scriptural Texts In the Genesis creation narrative, God creates humankind “in his image.”6 Whereas contemporary, rival creation narratives—such as the Mesopotamian Enuma Elish—characterized human creation as an afterthought and humanity’s role as servanthood to various gods,7 Genesis emphasizes humanity’s relationship to God and valued role in the created order. J. Richard Middleton clarifies that role by identifying two distinct, but interconnected, features of the image.8 The representative feature, functional or vocational in nature, refers to “delegation, or sharing in God’s rule.”9 God has “delegated to humans a share in his rule of the earth,”10 which functionally means “humans are like God in exercising royal power on earth.”11 The representational feature refers to likeness such that humans are analogies or similarities of God.12 To illustrate the difference, consider how a daughter can representationally image her mother through physical or personality traits, but representatively image her mother by acting on her mother’s behalf. The image of God thus includes a capacity (representational feature) and responsibility (representative feature).13 Humanity fails, however, in both image-bearing capacity and responsibility by the “fall” into sin. In the post-fall world, “image” (also translated as “idol”) takes on a mostly negative sense in scripture by referring to a statue or idol worshipped in God’s stead,14 but there are notable exceptions. Genesis records, “when God created humankind, he made them in the likeness of God” and adds that Adam became “the father of a son in his likeness, according to his image.”15 The purposeful similarity between these uses and the use of image language at creation implies the created image is “not obliterated by the fall.”16 Wenham’s conclusion is strengthened by another exception, when God warns Noah and his sons against murder, “for in his own image God made mankind.”17 The implication is humanity remains image-bearers post-fall to some degree. The New Testament sometimes uses image (εἰκών) in the negative sense,18 but the Apostle Paul uses it in a mostly positive sense.19 While he applies image language to humanity, that application is Christological. He calls Christ “the image of God” and “the image of the invisible God.”20 He says those foreknown by God are predestined “to be conformed to the image of his Son.”21 The representational and representative features are implied in Paul’s use of image language. On Romans 8:29, for example, Robert

Mirrors of God 119 Mounce says, “what is predestined is that we become like Christ” and take a “family resemblance” to him, 22 while Haley Goranson Jacob argues it is understood as “functional conformity.”23 She adds, “believers are called even in the present to represent God within creation and to cooperate with God to bring redemption to that creation.”24 Paul’s “image” therefore shows similarity to the image described in Genesis. Paul’s application of image language, however, also diverges from Genesis in at least two ways. First, for Paul the image is a work in progress or under construction. It is something “φορέσωμεν,” (“we will bear”), but it is not merely a future event since we are “ἀνακαινούμενον” (“being renewed”; Col. 3:10) and “μεταμορφούμεθα” (“being transformed”; 2 Cor. 3:18). Whereas in Genesis the image is bestowed, Paul assumes a process of renewal or transformation. A second divergence is Paul’s explicit application of the image to Jesus Christ. Humans are not made in the image of God (general) but the image of Christ (specifically) who is the image of God. 25 This brief jaunt through the Scriptural texts is not meant to be comprehensive. Three points from the Scriptural texts stick out as especially important for the remainder of this chapter. First, the image of God given to humans assumes a capacity and responsibility to reflect God into the world. Second, the image is not totally lost at the fall. And third, Paul suggests the image needs restoration and recalibration around Jesus Christ. Despite Paul’s differences from the Genesis narrative, Paul is not contradicting Genesis, but clarifying and expanding it. F. F. Bruce says the image bestowed in Genesis, on Paul’s telling, is “a copy or reflection of the archetype image, that is to say God’s beloved Son.”26 In step with Bruce, Craig Keener identifies two ideas presupposed by Paul: “God has stamped his image on people through his logos, or wisdom, which was his archetypal image” and “mentally beholding the supreme deity transformed one into that deity’s likeness.”27 He adds that the second presupposition pertains to how one is transformed into the image: as looks to Christ, one is transformed into the image of Christ.28 In the following section, we shall see how Gregory develops these ideas in his articulation of what it means to be restored in the image of God. Gregory of Nyssa The image of God “occupies an important place in Gregory’s anthropological thought.”29 It is central to his understanding of what it means to be a human person. While the theme is present in several of Gregory’s texts, I shall especially focus on De hominis opificio (Op hom) and In Canicum canticorum (Cant). Op hom30 is the first in a trilogy of works reflecting on theological anthropology and includes a sustained reflection on what it means for humanity to be created in God’s image.31 Gregory makes a claim that sounds curious

120  Mirrors of God to modern ears: “all of humanity is included in the first creation.”32 The “πλήρωμα” (fullness or completion) “of all humankind,” further, is “in one body.”33 There is a divergence in interpretation on how to make metaphysical sense of this. Johannes Zachhuber and David Bentley Hart, on the one hand, favour a collective account of universals, for which a universal refers to the collection of all individuals of that nature. Zachhuber comments, “all mankind is in the same way the object of God’s creation.”34 Hart argues, “the pleroma of all persons who come into existence throughout time, who together constitute, as in a single body, the one humanity that God first willed in fashioning a creature in his image.”35 On the other hand, Richard Cross argues Gregory “rejects this claim … and instead opts for an immanentist theory of universals,” where human nature properly refers to one, indivisible substance.36 The implications of Gregory’s reflections that I shall focus on, however, are consistent with either interpretation.37 There is an implicit distinction in Gregory’s view of the pre-fall image and post-fall image. The image at creation, or pre-fall, includes likeness to God in “the form of the archetypal Beauty.”38 Unlike some other theologians, 39 he “does not make a distinction between image and likeness as two different things; they express one notion.”40 Gregory’s pre-fall image includes both representational and representative features. He describes the image as God painting a “portrait to resemble his own beauty,” inscribing attributes to the human nature such as “purity, impassibility, blessedness, alienation from all evil, and all those similar attributes which, through them, form men into the likeness of God.”41 Yet, it also includes an “exercise of royalty” since humans were “made to rule the rest” because they are in the “likeness of the King.”42 In Op hom, Gregory’s reflections are primarily aimed at the prefall image, but two conclusions emerge about the post-fall image. First, humanity retains the image after the fall, but is obscured by another image. He describes humanity’s embrace of “passion [πάθη]” as “partaking [συμμετέσχε]” in the attributes of another (non-divine) nature and showing favour to “the irrational life [τῶν ἀλόγων ζωὴ].”43 Consider how one might carve a face on a statue that already has a face, such that it bears “a double likeness to opposite things.”44 Likewise, the image remains after the fall, but is obscured. Second, the degree to which the image retains its pre-fall features varies by individual. The image can keep “its likeness to the prototype” but it can also be “perverted” so that it is “no longer an image of the prototype.”45 He contrasts Jechoniah, who “has obliterated the beauty of his nature by the pollution of wickedness,” and Moses, for whom “the form of the image was kept pure.”46 The post-fall image therefore remains, but may be so obscured as to not properly be called an image. While Op hom centres on the pre-fall image, Cant’s primary focus is the post-fall image. Cant47 includes fifteen homilies on the Song of Songs. The image of God is a repeated theme, culminating in an extended reflection on the image in the final homily. Cant uses similar language as Op Hom to

Mirrors of God 121 describe the pre-fall image: human nature came to be as a copy of the true light and removed from darkness in its likeness [ὁμοιότητι] to the beauty of the archetype.48 But he turns to clarify how the image is restored to what it was created to be. The restoration of the image depends on an important component of Gregory’s anthropology: the fundamental malleability of the human nature or soul. Human nature “is formed according to that which it looks upon.”49 At the fall humanity “took the form of the serpent” but when it turns from evil to “face the good … it looks on the archetypal beauty.”50 When “drawn close to the light it becomes light.”51 He uses a number of metaphors or themes to describe the same reality—“draws near to,” “imitates,” “looks upon” or “sees”52 —but “the one motif that pervades Gregory’s thought most thoroughly” is that of the mirror. 53 He says, “the mirror [κάτοπτρον] that is human nature does not become beautiful until it has drawn close to the Beautiful and been formed [ἐνεμορφώθη] by the image of the divine Beauty.”54 Hart comments, Such is the soul’s ‘glassy essence’ that it cannot help but assume the aspect of that toward which it is turned, and thus its intrinsic mutability and plasticity make of it also a ‘stable’ surface in which anything—however noble or debased—can be made manifest. Human nature, says Gregory, is a mirror that takes on any appearance, bears the impression of any form, and is molded solely by the determinations of free will.55 Unlike other theologians, Gregory does not understand malleability as intrinsically good or evil. 56 It is neutral: the individual can direct her mirror towards, and so reflect, either evil or God. Human nature is thus a “receptacle” through which it “mirrors” another. 57 The restoration occurs only when the individual is oriented towards God. In homily fifteen, Gregory clarifies how one mirrors God in an extended reflection on the line: “I am for my kinsman, and my kinsman is for me” (Song of Songs 6:3). He says, For we learn in these words that the purified soul is to have nothing in herself, nor look upon anything else, except God. But she must rather cleanse herself of every material concern and thought, as her whole being is transposed into the intelligible and immaterial realm to make herself an image [εἰκόνα] of the archetypal beauty.58 On the basis of this passage, one might worry that Gregory endorses a thoroughly Platonic or neo-Platonic mysticism by which one is “transposed” from the sensible to the intelligible realm.59 However, Andrew Louth argues that while Platonism or neo-Platonism draws a fundamental distinction between sensible and intelligible, Gregory draws his fundamental

122  Mirrors of God distinction between created and uncreated.60 Gregory’s spirituality, or mysticism, is thus fundamentally different than the Platonic version since there is “no possibility” of the soul leaving its created nature and passing into the uncreated.61 Instead, the transposition refers to the act of God making himself known. Louth argues the soul has “no experience of God except in so far as God makes such experience possible. It is the unknowability of God which leads to Gregory’s insistence that it is only in virtue of the Incarnation … that we can know Him at all.”62 Our restoration in the image of God is therefore understood as a restoration in accordance with the way God condescends to us: the incarnation. Continuing his commentary on Song of Songs 6:3, Gregory considers how the incarnation effects the restoration of the image, She who says I am for my kinsman, and my kinsman is for me says she is formed to the form of Christ, having recovered her own beauty, the first blessedness of our nature, adorned according to the image and likeness of the first, the only, and true beauty.63 He explicitly connects being “conformed to Christ” with being conformed “to the image and likeness of the first, the sole, and the true beauty.” The imitation or mirroring of Christ is, for Gregory, equivalent to the imitation or mirroring of God.64 Yet, this imitation or mirroring is not merely parroting behaviour, but “an authentic participation in the divine good.”65 Gregory says, “the true life … is Christ … manifested in us.”66 The Apostle Paul is a good example of how Christ is manifested through our own lives. Paul, says Gregory, “became the palpable dwelling of the impalpable Nature in that it was no longer he who lived, but he shows Christ living in him and gives proof of Christ speaking in him.”67 Like Paul, the individual restored in the divine image is not herself beauty or light, but only a mirror through which beauty and light can shine. An image-bearer is one restored in the image of Christ such that she has the capacity to reflect Christ to others. In summary, Gregory’s reflections on the image of God follow the Scriptural use of image in several ways. His view includes representative responsibility and representational capacity, but the post-fall image is understood as a work in progress and Christological. In turning the “mirror” of our nature towards Christ, we reflect Christ. I have already suggested an implication of this view: for Gregory the mirror of human nature effected by our participation in Christ means Christ is manifested through us. We are mirrors through which the divine can shine.

Mirrors of God: The Imitation of Christ Gregory’s reflections on the imago Dei are a good start. But there are several ways that theologians understand or have understood the image.68 Before turning to the hiddenness problem, I shall first constructively develop some

Mirrors of God 123 of Gregory’s reflections toward how I understand what it means to be made in God’s image.69 Modern discussions on theological anthropology have developed a number of themes, accounts, or models related to the image of God. Many of these different accounts, models, or ways of understanding the image are compatible both with the texts surveyed above and the arguments of this chapter.70 Since the goal of this chapter is to apply insights from the image of God to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness, I shall not defend one particular account or understanding of the divine image against others.71 Instead, I shall understand the image as minimally that which (a) is given by God; (b) is Christological; (c) includes representative and representational features; and (d) needs restoration after the fall. While the specifics of these components could be controversial, Marc Cortez nonetheless lists these components as “areas of general consensus” among differing views.72 Taking cues from Gregory, I shall say a bit more about (b) and one interpretation of (c). Imaging God, Imaging Christ For Gregory, the image of God is Christological. He explains, “it is Christ himself who is the model of creation in the beginning” and the incarnate Christ reveals the pattern of the image’s restoration.73 Gregory’s reasoning follows the theological scheme “exitus-reditus,” which includes a “going out” from God and “returning” to him.74 In this scheme, there is a “connection between the plan of God the Father and the events of the life of Christ.”75 On this way of thinking, the image includes a “going out” (exitus) from the Father at creation, but the exitus is understood in light of the “returning” (reditus), or the Christological restoration of the image.76 Humanity is created in the image of God (exitus), but this is realized in our restoration in the image of Christ (reditus).77 So, the image given at creation is itself an image of Christ and the image restored is restored through Christ.78 In fact, the very possibility of our imaging God is because God has an eternal image.79 Humanity is in the image only by imaging the image of God.80 The claim that the image of God at creation is Christological, however, is not without controversy. In modern theological literature on the image, a Christological account is one among many.81 Gregory’s account is Christological in the ways outlined above, but it would be anachronistic to categorize his as a Christological account to the exclusion of other understandings of the image.82 Nevertheless, Gregory’s Christological understanding bears similarity with some modern Christological accounts. Oliver Crisp, for example, says a Christological account consists of humans being “ectypes of the archetype of the divine image and Christ.”83 That is, Christ is the “principal image-bearer” and human persons are “those that are being conformed to the divine image by being united to Christ.”84 This

124  Mirrors of God is consistent with Gregory’s view, but, as Crisp recognizes, this view creates a worry: it suggests image-bearers are only those redeemed by Christ and, therefore, does not extend to all of humanity. In short, on this view some persons do not count as images of God.85 Gregory’s view, however, has a solution to this problem. Every human person is created in God’s image, but the image is only effective as an image—that is, only effective in its representative and representational features—when the image is restored. Consider, again, Gregory’s statue analogy. The statue represents the image of God in persons. At the fall, the image is obscured—as if one carved an extra, different face on top of the statue’s existing face. By carving an extra face, the original face is not removed. But it is concealed or obscured. As an “image,” the statue would be mostly ineffective. The image would remain, but is rendered useless. The solution according to Gregory is a Christological restoration. By undergoing such a restoration, the image-bearer can once again “mirror” Christ. Mirrors of Christ: Reflecting God into the World Borrowing language from Middleton, I have suggested that the image includes representative and representational features. There are several interpretations of these features, but a Gregorian interpretation could go something like this: image-bearers have the capacity and responsibility to reflect God into the world. This is what Gregory has in mind by imaging or mirroring God. But what does it mean to “mirror” God? Mirroring God is closely aligned with Gregory’s notion of participation.86 Mirroring is a divine action through an individual. As involving a divine and human subject, Verna E. F. Harrison describes Gregory’s view as a “synergy of grace and freedom.”87 The creation of the human person in God’s image in the first place is grace because it is a gift. But humanity chose sin over God and, in doing so, failed at their image-bearing vocation. Because of this fallen choice, the individual will is required for the restoration of the divine image. The role of the individual is to direct, as much as she can, the mirror that is her nature towards God—or direct her attention towards God. Her role, however, is subordinate to God’s grace. It is subordinate because God’s grace “makes the largest contribution to completing the good act, and in the end it surpasses the limit of human effort.”88 In addition, the very role of the individual is itself grace.89 The individual can only direct her attention towards God because of God’s work in her life. When she does so, by God’s grace, God shines through her. What practices are involved in turning one’s attention toward God can vary, but the result is the same: God’s activity shines through us as if we were mirrors of God.90 Like Gregory’s notion of participation, what it means to “mirror” God is well expressed through the divine virtues.91 Imaging or mirroring God is, says Harrison, synonymous with “participation in the divine attributes or energies that constitute the virtues.”92 For example, “God’s purpose in

Mirrors of God 125 creating us was to enable us to participate in his own goodness.”93 We do not participate in God’s goodness by merely parroting good actions or exhibiting moral qualities. Rather, we mirror God when we reflect God’s own goodness. The virtues include, in Gregory’s words, nothing less than “to put on Christ.”94 Goodness is therefore not a third thing that we and God exhibit but, rather, is a divine activity (ἐνέγεια) active within us. In short, “our virtues … are really divine attributes in which we participate.”95 The motif itself contains a helpful analogy. Consider how a mirror can reflect the rays of the sun. In order to shine with the light of the sun, the mirror directs its gaze toward the sun (the individual’s directing her attention toward God), but the light of the sun (divine activity; virtue) which shines off the mirror (participation in God) depends primarily on the sun (God). On its own, the mirror cannot shine with light. But when directed toward the sun, the mirror shines almost as brightly as the sun itself. Like a mirror reflecting the light of the sun, the individual cannot, on her own, exhibit virtue. Yet, when directed towards God, she exhibits the divine virtue. The virtue she exhibits is not her own, but God’s virtue shining through her. “Mirroring God” refers, then, to God’s virtues reflecting through one’s life. If we mirror God by reflecting divine virtues, what are the effects of mirroring God? For one, mirroring God enables our own unity with God because we come to know God. We have, like I called it in Chapter 2, participatory knowledge of God. But mirroring God also has external effects. For Gregory, mirrors of God are conduits for divine revelation. Gregory illustrates this with rich language, If a person … having rendered his whole life a perfume by the fragrance of his daily doings … he does not have it in him to look intently upon the divine Word itself any more than upon the disc of the sun. Nevertheless, he sees the sun within himself as in a mirror. For the rays of that true and divine Virtue shine upon the purified life through the inward peace that flows from them, and that they make the Invisible visible for us and the Incomprehensible comprehensible, because they portray the Sun in the mirror that we are.96 The image bearer knows God “within himself,” but also makes the “Invisible visible” for others. He even suggests the light shining from a mirror can reflect off others, too. That is, a person restored in Christ’s image can shine with the divine virtues so brightly that other persons not yet restored in that image can have a kind of participation in divine virtue through the image-bearer. To buttress his point, Gregory appeals to human examples. The prime example is the Apostle Paul, who “shows Christ living in him and gives proof of Christ speaking in him.”97 In virtue of his imitation of Christ, he was a “divine incense” by “providing himself for others” who, according to their own dispositions, “the sweet smell became either life-giving or

126  Mirrors of God death-dealing.”98 Paul is only one example. Gregory sees the mirroring of God as natural, “for who would be so illogical as not to glorify God when he sees the pure life of a believer in firmly established in virtue in him?”99 In short, the mirror of God is, by God’s grace, a mediator of divine revelation. She, like a mirror reflecting the sun, shines with divine virtues such that other people can see God in her life.

The Revealing Mirror: The Image of God and Divine Hiddenness Gregory’s mirror motif is a theological infrastructure by which we can see how the Scattered Church—or individuals restored in Christ’s image—are relevant to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. The basic conclusion of the mirror motif is that individual humans are potentially good mediators of divine revelation. Testing this against Schellenberg’s hiddenness argument, I shall argue that the basic conclusion of the mirror motif undercuts a main assumption of Schellenberg’s argument. After showing a flaw in the argument, I shall respond to some potential objections. The Not Open Principle and Mediation of Relationship In his argument against God’s existence from divine hiddenness, Schellenberg places God’s perfect love at the centre.100 Love includes, at least, openness to relationship. But what does it mean to be “open” to relationship with another? To determine whether or not a person is open to relationship at a particular time, Schellenberg offers a “Not Open Principle” (NOP): Necessarily, if a person A, without having brought about this condition through resistance of personal relationship with a person B, is at some time in a state of nonbelief in relation to the proposition that B exists, where B at that time knows this and could ensure that A’s nonbelief is at that time changed to belief, then it is not the case that B is open at the time in question to having a personal relationship with A then.101 Elsewhere, he sums up the basic idea of the principle well: openness to relationship entails not being closed to a relationship such that one is “not through one’s own actions or omissions making it impossible for the other” to participate in relationship.102 On NOP, A’s nonbelief makes it impossible for A to relate to B. It may be that B can do nothing about this—A is stuck in A’s nonbelief, for whatever reason, and B is helpless. In that case, it is possible for B to be open to relationship with A. But supposing B can change A’s nonbelief to belief but does not, B is not open to a relationship with A at that time.

Mirrors of God 127 If and when B does change A’s nonbelief to belief, then A is at what Chris Tucker calls this the “relating position,” by which he means a position where one can “participate in a meaningful and conscious relationship … just by trying to do so.”103 Of course, it may be that A—now knowing that B loves A and is open to relationship—is not interested in a relationship with B. So, just because A moves into the relating position does not mean a relationship will obtain. But the key factor is that A now possibly can relate to B. For B to be open to relationship with A, B, at least, must put A in the relating position, insofar as B can. As a principle, NOP purports to determine who is or is not open to relationship. For this reason, it is easy to see why it is critical for Schellenberg’s hiddenness argument. The argument works on the assumption that there is some nonresistant nonbeliever out there who God has not put in the relating position, but he could have done so. On NOP, this means plainly: God is not open to a relationship with that nonbeliever at that time. In the argument, that is the conclusion that undergirds the premise that God does not perfectly love that nonresistant nonbeliever. But is NOP a good principle for determining who is or is not open to relationship? To test NOP, we can plug other examples of love to see if it holds up. Schellenberg, it seems, would have little objection to this. He argues that love, even divine love, is exemplified in “the paradigms of love known to us, such as loving parents or siblings or friends.”104 Human examples of love illuminate certain characteristics about our concept of love. As I argued in Chapter 2, we must be careful to avoid conflating divine and human love. But it remains true that divine love is, at least, analogous to human love, and I agree with Schellenberg that, minimally, the paradigms of human love help fill out our concept of love. The worry about conflating divine and human love aside, my goal here is to show that the NOP is not a good principle for determining who is, or who is not, open to relationship. To do so, I shall look closely at one human example that shows a flaw in the NOP. To see the flaw in NOP, consider a storyline from the movie The Terminal (2004). Enrique (Diego Luna), a food service worker at an airport, is in love with Dolores (Zoe Saldana), a security guard at the same airport. Dolores is unaware of Enrique’s love nor does she know Enrique exists. Enrique fears that introducing himself to Dolores could backfire. That is, he worries that approaching her could lead to her initial rejection of a relationship with him and that a rejection could make a lasting relationship less likely. So, Enrique decides to remain initially concealed and pursue relationship with Dolores through their mutual friend, Viktor (Tom Hanks). Viktor’s prior close friendship with Dolores makes him a good candidate to mediate Enrique’s love to Dolores. He tells her about a “mystery man” who cares deeply for her. Initially, as Enrique feared, Dolores is uninterested. Yet, through Viktor’s gentle persistence, Dolores softens to the idea of relationship because she trusts Viktor and his evaluation of the mystery man.

128  Mirrors of God In order to determine whether or not Enrique is open to relationship with Dolores prior to introduction, the characters can be plugged into NOP: Necessarily, if Dolores, without having brought about this condition through resistance of personal relationship with Enrique, is at some time in a state of nonbelief in relation to the proposition that he exists, where Enrique at that time knows this and could ensure that her nonbelief is at that time changed to belief, then it is not the case that Enrique is open at the time in question to having a personal relationship with Dolores then. In the example, Dolores is “in a state of nonbelief in relation to the proposition that [Enrique] exists” but has not “brought about this condition through resistance of personal relationship with the man.”105 In the Schellenbergian sense, she is a nonresistant nonbeliever. According to Schellenberg’s Principle, Enrique is not open to a relationship with Dolores. But something is clearly wrong with this conclusion. Enrique’s actions, including his decision to remain initially concealed from Dolores, are aimed at entering into a personal relationship with Dolores.106 Enrique is not only open to relationship— he desires a relationship with Dolores and actively pursues it. Is it possible for Enrique to pursue relationship with Dolores and yet not be open to a relationship with her? No, not if openness is in any way reflective of a lover’s desire and work to be in relationship with another. The better conclusion is that NOP is not a good principle for determining openness. The problem with NOP that The Terminal exposes is the time requirement. Call the first time that fulfils the following conditions the critical time: a lover knows the beloved exists; the beloved is in a state of nonresistant nonbelief toward the lover; and the lover knows this and could put the beloved in the relating position. NOP assumes that at the critical time the lover will put the beloved in the relating position because the relating position is required for relationship. However, this is a mistaken assumption. Even if the relating position is required for relationship, it does not follow that the lover’s putting the beloved in the relating position at the critical time is the action most likely to yield a lasting, personal relationship. Instead, initial concealment for a time must be seen as compatible with openness to relationship and, therefore, compatible with love. However, the reason initial concealment is compatible with openness to relationship in The Terminal is because of a critical ingredient of the example: Viktor. Enrique recognizes that introducing himself to Dolores at the critical time is not the strategy most likely to yield a lasting, personal relationship, but, instead, he chooses mediation through Viktor. He believes mediation through Viktor is more likely to yield his desired result. The appeal of mediation follows from what we can call the Mediation Assumption: all else being equal, a person is more likely to respond positively to something or someone if introduced by a trustworthy friend.107 Suppose Charles meets a stranger,

Mirrors of God 129 Wilcox, at a party. According to the Mediation Assumption, a lasting, personal relationship is more likely if Charles and Wilcox are introduced by a mutual friend they each trust, Cordelia, than if they bumped into each other at the punch bowl. The reason is that Cordelia can heighten their interest in each other and that could be decisive in forming a relationship. This is how Viktor’s mediation works in The Terminal: it takes some convincing, but Dolores’s relationship with Viktor is clearly influential—and arguably decisive—in her decision to enter into a relationship with Enrique. On the Mediation Assumption, it is plausible that God remains concealed from some persons for a time because of love instead of in spite of it. The first half of this chapter argued that God does indeed use mediators in this way. The Scattered Church are the “many members” of the Church restored in the image of God such that they become mirrors of Christ. These image-bearers are through whom God is accomplishing his purposes on earth. They have a representative responsibility—to represent Christ on earth as members of his Body—and a representational capacity—to reflect Christ to the rest of the world. If this Scriptural and theological motif is taken seriously, God intends—and has always intended—human persons, his image-bearers, to have a significant role in divine revelation. Images of God have, that is, a capacity and responsibility to spread knowledge of God to others. And this is not only for their own moral formation, but can actually make a lasting, personal relationship with God more likely. In short, God’s pursuit of relationship through the image-bearing mediator is analogous to how Enrique pursues relationship with Dolores: he uses, that is, a mediator to express his love for the purpose of pursuing a lasting personal relationship with another. Before moving onto potential objections to my claims, I want to first summarize the claims I have made. I have defended two basic claims in this chapter so far. First, that individual human persons have a capacity and responsibility to reflect God. This revelatory role of the Scattered Church can be understood as a kind of mediation: God uses people to accomplish his purposes. Second, the NOP is not a good principle for determining who is, or is not, open to relationship at a particular time. Since examples, like the one I offered from The Terminal, can be imagined in which a lover pursues relationship with a beloved while remaining concealed from the beloved, initial concealment must be compatible with love and openness. Enrique’s concealment from Dolores, and his mediation through Viktor, is analogous to how God’s concealment from nonbelievers, and mediation through image-bearers, can be loving. If these claims hold, then we have a reason to doubt Schellenberg’s hiddenness claims. A Response to Potential Objections There are, however, several potential objections to these claims. I shall respond to three: First, that my human example is not a good example of a lover; Second, that my human example, and mediation generally, only

130  Mirrors of God works if the nonbeliever is resistant; and third, that the God-human relationship is so different from the human-human relationship that my example is irrelevant to the hiddenness argument. The first objection: you might think that the example drawn from The Terminal is not a good one because Enrique is a bad example of a lover. For example, maybe Enrique’s love for Dolores from afar is interpreted as more “creepy” than “loving.” If that is true, we might wonder whether Enrique’s actions really are loving. In the context of the movie, I doubt whether Enrique’s actions should properly be called “creepy” but, for the sake of argument, suppose they are creepy. In response to this objection, consider three brief points. First, regardless of how we interpret Enrique’s actions, recall that the standard of NOP is openness to relationship. Even if Enrique’s actions are more “creepy” than “loving,” surely we would still say he is open to relationship with Dolores. If that’s true, then NOP still fails. Second, the objector would need to say more about what makes Enrique’s actions creepy. If it is merely the fact of loving another without introducing yourself, then an objector of this sort will have an uphill battle ahead of them. A lover facing forbidden love or an unknowing beloved is not an especially rare scenario, in real life or in fiction. To tag them all as “creepy” strikes me as extremely counterintuitive. If there is something about Enrique’s love in particular that makes him creepy, then it would seem easy to imagine a different, yet similar scenario, without the supposed “creepy” features of Enrique’s love. Third, one can imagine examples from non-romantic love where NOP fails. Consider, for instance, how parents of a long-since kidnapped son may initially avoid putting him in the relating position for fear that he might recoil. If the parents have any reason to think the son might initially reject them, they have a reason for remaining concealed initially—and pursuing a lasting personal relationship with their son in some other way.108 The parents are clearly open to a relationship with their son at the time they remain concealed but choose to refrain from putting him in the relating position for relational purposes. For these three reasons, it is difficult to see how this first objection mounts any great difficulty for my position. The second objection: you might think that mediation is only a good strategy for a lover if there is some kind of resistance in the beloved. Consider The Terminal example. Enrique does not put Dolores in the relating position immediately because, we assume, he fears rejection. And, indeed, when Viktor first approaches Dolores about the mystery man, she is uninterested in a relationship. If she were truly nonresistant, you might think, Viktor’s mediation is unnecessary. However, recall that Schellenberg’s “nonresistant nonbelief” is simply a state of nonbelief that is not caused by resistance. We can call this kind of nonresistance doxastic nonresistance because it is indexed to nonbelief. In the example, Dolores is only a resistant nonbeliever in the Schellenbergian sense if her nonbelief (in Enrique) is caused or influenced by her resistance. But there is no evidence for this. We can safely assume, that is, that if Enrique had simply walked up and introduced

Mirrors of God 131 himself to Dolores, then Dolores would believe that Enrique exists. In the Schellenbergian sense, therefore, Dolores is a nonresistant nonbeliever. But even if Dolores is doxastically nonresistant, you might think that she is some kind of resistant. Suppose we could have what we will call interaction resistance towards another. To be interaction resistant, one is resistant if one is resistant to communicating with another. For example, if I am in a state of interaction resistance with respect to Sebastian, then I may find him annoying and prefer not to interact with him at all. This is clearly different than doxastic resistance because I believe that Sebastian exists. But suppose I find Sebastian’s sister Julia pleasant enough to interact with, but I am resistant to a lasting personal relationship with her. This we can call relationship resistance, or a state of being resistant to a lasting personal relationship with another person. For the sake of maximizing kinds of resistance, suppose interaction or relationship resistance could take an active or potential form. The active form refers to current or present resistance, while the potential form refers to resistance if the persons met. So, in the potential form, Rex could lack belief that Anthony exists but have a kind of potential (interaction or relationship) resistance such that if Rex’s nonbelief were changed to belief then Rex would be resistant to Anthony.109 Now back to The Terminal example. Dolores is not doxastically nonresistant at the critical time, but she is plausibly resistant in another way. And the objector might think that some kind of resistance is required for mediation to be a good strategy. In response to this objection, consider two points. First, Dolores need not have been resistant in any way. The example is only designed to show that initial concealment is consistent with openness to relationship. Enrique may conceal because he expects resistance from Dolores, but he might conceal for other reasons. Perhaps Enrique thinks Dolores would be interested in a relationship with him, but he knows something about the circumstances of her life (e.g., a personal tragedy or a pending promotion) that would make a relationship at the present time more challenging. All Enrique needs to consider initial concealment plus mediation a good strategy is some reason for thinking that a lasting personal relationship will be more likely at a later time. That could be because of some resistant in Dolores, but it need not be because of resistant. A second point of rejoinder is that even if many or all examples in which mediation is a good strategy include resistance, this is not a problem for my claim that NOP fails. But even moving beyond whether NOP is a good principle for determining who is or is not open to relationship, when we consider the nonbelievers and God we have more reason, not less, to think they are resistant in some way. In Chapter 2, I argued that, according to the doctrine of sin, all persons are resistant to God in some way. So, if mediation is somehow tied to resistance in the beloved, then for God we have more reason for thinking mediation is a good strategy and a loving action.110 Resistance to God, furthermore, could even include a kind of potential resistance that even the nonbeliever is even unaware of. In short,

132  Mirrors of God different kinds of resistance suggest a need for mediation, but this is not a problem for my claims that NOP fails as a principle and mediation is a strategy God adopts to pursue relationship with nonbelievers. The third objection: you might think that my example is irrelevant to the hiddenness argument because the God-human relationship is so different from the human-human relationship. The objector could use my own words against me, pointing to the vast differences between divine and human love outlined in Chapter 2. The objector could continue further by granting that my human examples spell trouble for NOP but insist that NOP is a good principle for God. Schellenberg, after all, admits that “examples can be imagined” when a lover might conceal at the critical time for the sake of love.111 He uses the example of a father, Fred, who finds his long-lost daughter, Sally, after years of searching only to find Sally in the middle of a task very important to her (e.g. the Olympics) that cannot be postponed.112 Since completing this task would be a great good for Sally, and Fred’s putting her in the relating position might inhibit her performance in the task, he remains concealed at the critical time because he loves her and sees her completion of this task as contributing to her flourishing. Schellenberg is sceptical, however, that examples like these do much for the hiddenness argument because he insists all goods are “relationship-compatible goods” for God.113 But there is an important difference between Schellenberg’s examples and my own: I have not argued that God initially conceals for some other good, but for the sake of relationship. In Schellenberg’s example, Fred is actually not open to relationship with Sally at the critical time because he believes a relationship would inhibit the realization of some other good for her. My point, however, has been that God is interested in and open to a relationship at the critical time, but he conceals because he thinks that it’s a better strategy for entering into a relationship with the nonbeliever. The good for which God conceals is itself relationship. The objector could press further by suggesting that mediation is never a good strategy for God because God is perfect. You might think that if God is as good and beautiful as described by the Christian tradition, then he is necessarily more attractive than any mediator. But this objection needs one of two assumptions to work and both are questionable. The first assumption is that a beloved’s rejection of a lover is always located in deficiencies in the lover. But this seems clearly false. Rejection or resistance might be because of a deficiency in the lover, but it may be because of external factors—or even factors in the beloved. The second assumption is that human persons always respond to the beautiful or the good. But, once again, this seems clearly false. However obvious a poor decision it is to those around them, humans often make decisions based on other desires besides being united with what is true, good, and beautiful. God’s perfection, therefore, is not necessarily more compelling to one than a less beautiful or good mediator. The objector can parry this by directing attention away from God’s perfection and instead toward human imperfection: human mediation is not a

Mirrors of God 133 good idea for God because humans are imperfect. Dustin Crummett points out that the imperfection of human mediators could take two forms: it may be a simple failure of believers to communicate with nonbelievers or a positive hindrance in the words or actions of believers such that nonbelievers are put off by the idea of a relationship with God.114 Crummett adds that human mediators are imperfect for a different reason: they are temporally and spatially limited.115 This objection shall receive further attention in the following chapter, because it applies to several arguments I have made. But for now, it is enough to say that mediation is still plausibly a better strategy for God even if the mediator is limited. In any individual case of nonbelief, God may, for all we know, have options available to him that will yield a lasting personal relationship at a later time. Indeed, if God knows, or even has reasons to suspect, a nonbeliever will not enter into a relationship with him when put in a relating position at a particular time, then God may withhold the relating position at that time for relationship or even for the sake of other goods.116 The limitations of the mediator, therefore, do not necessarily show that initial concealment is inconsistent with openness or even that mediation is itself a poor option for God.

Conclusion In this chapter, I have centred on the nature of the Church Scattered. I argued that the Church Scattered is composed of several individuals—the “many members”—being restored in the image of God. As those being restored in Christ’s image, the “many members” are mediators of divine revelation. They have a capacity and responsibility to mirror God to the rest of the world. Upon this theological scaffolding, I developed a response to Schellenberg’s hiddenness argument. The argument, and the NOP especially, pays insufficient attention to the roles that mediators may play in relationship formation. In many examples of human love, it is plausible that a lover remain concealed for a time and pursue relationship through a mediator. The lover’s pursuit of relationship through a mediator shows that the lover’s initial concealment is itself an act of love: it is for the sake of love and for the sake of relationship. Because of all this, NOP is not a good principle for determining openness to relationship and mediation is a strategy God uses to pursue relationship with some nonresistant nonbelievers. Since beginning my ecclesiological response in Chapter 3, I have continued to emphasize the nature and roles of the Church towards a response to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. In each chapter, I have surveyed several ecclesiological themes and showed how each is relevant to the hiddenness problem. But showing the relevance of several ecclesiological themes to the hiddenness argument hardly constitutes a response to the problem. I now turn, in a final chapter, toward tying these threads together to formulate a response to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness.

134  Mirrors of God

Notes 1 Gregory of Nyssa, Homilies on the Song of Songs, trans. Richard A. Norris, Writings from the Greco-Roman World, Vol. 13 (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012), 163. 2 Two notes about my use of certain words in this chapter shall help with continuity and clarity. First, by “individual” I mean an individual human being. I often use “individual” to emphasize the role of human persons united to Christ even when they are isolated from the gathered Church. However, an “individual” is not necessarily a human. In this chapter, by “individual” I refer only to the individual human. Second, when discussing the human as an image of God, I mean that humanity is created in the image. I shall try to be clear about what commitments about the image are, and are not, required for my argument, but I typically avoid particular accounts of what the image is. Indeed, the argument of this chapter is compatible with many different accounts of what the image is. 3 Ian A. McFarland, The Divine Image: Envisioning the Invisible God (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005), 55. 4 McFarland, The Divine Image, vii. 5 One may wonder whether the whole of what McFarland calls “the human family” is created in the image of God or only certain humans. Later parts of this chapter, in conversation with Gregory’s thought, shall address this question. 6 Genesis 1:27 (NRSV). 7 Victor P Hamilton, The Book of Genesis (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1990), 140. 8 J. Richard Middleton, The Liberating Image: The Imago Dei in Genesis 1 (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2005), 88. 9 Middleton, The Liberating Image, 88. 10 Middleton, The Liberating Image, 88. 11 Middleton, The Liberating Image, 88. 12 Middleton, The Liberating Image, 88. 13 Barth identifies similar features of the image but argues the image is relational. That is, the human is created as “a ‘Thou’ whom God can confront as an ‘I’” (p.  182). See Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, Vol. III.1, The Doctrine of Creation (London, UK: T&T Clark, 2010), 150–83; Marc Cortez, Theological Anthropology: A Guide for the Perplexed, Guides for the Perplexed (London, UK: T & T Clark, 2010), 26–27. 14 cf. “… they made their abominable images” (Ezekiel 7:20). 15 Genesis 5:1–3. 16 Gordon J Wenham, Genesis 1–15, Word Biblical Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2014), 127. 17 Genesis 9:6. 18 For instance, all of Revelation’s ten uses refer to the “image of the beast” (e.g., Rev. 13:14, 14:9–11, 19:20). 19 Only once is it negative, for Paul, when the glory of God is exchanged for “images” resembling creation rather than God (Romans 1:23). 20 2 Corinthians 4:4 and Colossians 1:15. 21 Romans 8:29. 22 Robert Mounce, Romans: An Exegetical and Theological Exposition of Holy Scripture (Nashville, TN: Holman Reference, 1995), 189. 23 Haley Goranson Jacob, Conformed to the Image of His Son: Reconsidering Paul’s Theology of Glory in Romans (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2018), 10. 24 Jacob, Conformed to the Image of His Son, 251.

Mirrors of God 135 25 Peter T. O’Brien, however, suggests Colossians 3 undercuts this. He argues, in opposition to “some modern writers” who understand this passage as designating “Christ as the creator,” Colossians 3:10 (“being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator [κτίσαντος]”) must refer to God the creator. Pace O’Brien, this specific use of image should still be understood Christologically. For one, the “creator” refers to the creator of “the new self,” identified as Christ by Paul elsewhere in the passage (Col. 3:1,4) Additionally, all other applications of image in Paul are Christologically understood. Indeed, O’Brien concedes that, even if Col. 3:10 refers to the creator God, it must be read in light of Col. 1:15: “this restoration of the divine image is nothing other than their transformation into the image of Christ” (p. 191). Peter T. O’Brien, Colossians, Philemon, Word Biblical Commentary (Waco, TX: Thomas Nelson, 1982), 191–92. (Note on this source: O’Brien’s commentary has been determined by its publisher, Zondervan Academic, to “not follow commonly accepted standards for the use and documentation of secondary sources.” But this determination does not change the points made here.) 26 F. F. Bruce, The Epistles to the Colossians, to Philemon, and to the Ephesians (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1984), 58. 27 Craig Keener, 1–2 Corinthians (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 169–70. 28 Keener, 1–2 Corinthians, 170. 29 Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco, “Imitation,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 502. 30 There is not yet an edition of Op Hom in GNO, so Greek references are PG only. Translations are my own unless otherwise noted, but I closely consult Harold Wilson’s in NPNF. Gregory of Nyssa, “On the Making of Man,” in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Philip Schaff, trans. H. A. Wilson, Vol. V, Second Series (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1994). 31 Giorgio Maturi, “De Hominis Opificio,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 544–45. 32 Op hom, PG 44, 185; NPNF XVI, 16. 33 Op hom, PG 44, 185; NPNF XVI, 17. 34 Johannes Zachhuber, Human Nature in Gregory of Nyssa: Philosophical Background and Theological Significance (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 1999), 146. 35 David Bentley Hart, The Hidden and the Manifest: Essays in Theology and Metaphysics (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017), 123. 36 Richard Cross, “Gregory of Nyssa on Universals,” Vigiliae Christianae 56, no. 4 (2002): 373. Cross argues Zachhuber’s view of Gregory relies too heavily on Epist. 38 and Op hom and fails to attend to other texts in Gregory. He further argues that the texts in Op hom he analyzes do not require a collective view. He adds there are difficulties for each account, however, and that Gregory is not systematic on this point. 37 Whatever theory of universals one prefers, the image at creation “extends equally to all.” Op hom, PG 44, 185; NPNF XVI, 17. 38 Op hom, PG 44, 136; NPNF III, 2. 39 Irenaeus and Clement, for example, distinguish between image, which humanity retains after the fall, and likeness, which needs restoration. Regardless, the purpose of the distinction is to hold both the image as being part of post-fall humanity but also in need of restoration. See David Cairns, The Image of God in Man, The Fontana Library of Theology and Philosophy (London, UK: Collins, 1973), 75–85.

136  Mirrors of God 40 J. T. Muckle, “The Doctrine of St. Gregory of Nyssa on Man as the Image of God,” Mediaeval Studies 7 (1945): 56. 41 Op hom, PG 44, 137; NPNF V, 1. 42 Op hom, PG 44, 136; NPNF IV, 1. 43 Op hom, PG 44, 192; NPNF XVIII, 1. Wilson translates ἀλόγων, here and elsewhere, as “brute.” 44 Op hom, PG 44, 192; NPNF XVIII, 3. 45 Op hom, PG 44, 180; NPNF XVI, 3. Wilson’s uses “subject” in his translation (“perverted from its subject … no longer an image of the subject”), but I assume the subject refers to the prototype and I reflect that in my translation. 46 Op hom, PG 44, 193D; NPNF XVIII, 8. Wilson’s translation. 47 Translations my own unless otherwise noted, but I closely consult the English translation in: Gregory of Nyssa, Homilies on the Song of Songs, trans. Richard A. Norris, Writings from the Greco-Roman World, Vol. 13 (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012). 48 Cant, GNO VI, 51; PG 44, 793; Norris 57. 49 Cant, GNO VI, 150; PG 868; Norris 163. 50 Cant, GNO VI, 150; PG 868; Norris 163. 51 Cant, GNO VI, 150; PG 869; Norris 163. 52 In Vit moys, he compares this to being “imprinted” with good. The good then impresses itself upon the soul and, in doing so, changes it. See Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses, trans. Everett Ferguson and Abraham J. Malherbe, The Classics of Western Spirituality (New York, NY: Paulist Press, 1978), 65. 53 Hart, The Hidden and the Manifest, 122. 54 Cant, GNO VI, 150; PG 868; Norris 163. Norris’s translation. 55 Hart, 125. 56 Richard Norris comments: “Gregory is perhaps the first Christian teacher to state a positive view of the mutability that was taken to be proper to human beings in virtue of their createdness. Origen seems to have pictured changeability simply as a perpetual liability to departure from the good. Gregory, by contrast, envisages it as empowering an unending process of approximation to the Divine, the limitless Good, with the result that changeability becomes, perhaps somewhat paradoxically, the mirror in human nature of God’s infinity.” Richard Norris, footnote in Homilies on the Song of Songs, Homily 8, p. 265. 57 Verna E. F. Harrison, Grace and Human Freedom According to St. Gregory of Nyssa (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992), 31. 58 Cant, GNO VII, 439; PG 44, 1093; Norris 467. 59 Andrew Louth, The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition: From Plato to Denys, 2nd Edition (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2007), 78–79. 60 Louth, The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition, 78–79. 61 Louth, The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition, 79. 62 Louth, The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition, 79. 63 Cant, GNO VI, 439; PG 44, 1093; Norris 467. 64 Mateo-Seco, “Imitation,” 503. 65 Mateo-Seco, “Imitation,” 502. 66 Cant, GNO VI, 439; PG 44, 954; Norris 277. 67 Cant, GNO VI, 91; PG 44, 824; Norris 101. 68 For different accounts of the image, see Marc Cortez, Theological Anthropology: A Guide for the Perplexed, Guides for the Perplexed (London, UK: T & T Clark, 2010), 1–37. 69 This is far from comprehensive, but meant instead to give an overview. Even when it is not explicitly referenced, my views of the image are heavily influenced by Ian A. McFarland’s The Divine Image. For a more in-depth study of the

Mirrors of God 137 place of the image in Christian theology, see McFarland’s exceptional work: Ian A. McFarland, The Divine Image: Envisioning the Invisible God (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005). 70 For instance, I suspect all of the proposals surveyed by Cortez could be understood as compatible with the texts and arguments of this chapter. However, it is beyond the scope of this chapter to determine which accounts are, or are not, compatible with these texts and the arguments of this chapter. 71 That is, the goal of this chapter is not an explication of the nature of the image. 72 Cortez does not list (a) exactly, but I take (a) to be inherent to the image and the least controversial component. He also does not use the terms in (c), but he says “to ‘image’ God means to ‘reflect’ God in creation” and it includes certain behaviors like “treating all human persons with dignity.” Of course, as Cortez notes, controversy arises when one is more specific. Yet, for my purposes, this brief outline of components shall suffice. See Cortez, 16–17. 73 Giulio Maspero, “Image,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 413. 74 Maspero says Christian use of this is a “Christianization of the Neo-Platonic schema” (537). For more, see especially the entries for “Theology of History,” “History,” “Economy,” and “Anthropology” in: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, eds., The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009). 75 Giulio Maspero, “Economy,” in The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, ed. Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, trans. Seth Cherney (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009), 537. 76 Gregory says, “He who heals our entire life necessarily embraces us through the two extremes, holding both our beginning and our end, to raise, from the two, him who has fallen” (Epist 3, GNO VIII/2, 25; Maspero 46). 77 See, for instance, Trid spat, GNO IX, 280; Maspero 413. 78 Gregory says, “… an image of the invisible God as well, so as to be configured to you in the very form that He assumed, and so that you might be newly configured by Him to the image of the archetypal beauty, to become that which you were from the beginning. Therefore, if we ourselves must become also images of the invisible God, it is proper that the form of our life be conformed to the model of life that is proposed to us.” See Perf, GNO VIII/1, 194; Maspero 413–14. Maspero’s translation. 79 So Hart says, “We can mirror the infinite because the infinite, within itself, is entirely mirroring of itself … We can become images of God that shine with his beauty because the Father always has his image in his Son.” David Bentley Hart, The Hidden and the Manifest: Essays in Theology and Metaphysics (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017), 128. 80 J. T. Muckle comments, “Christ Incarnate is the true image and exemplar of the invisible God; the Word became man that He might make us again the image of God, that we might be formed in the form which He assumed and be refashioned through Him to the beauty of the image of God which was man’s original endowment. Through him we become the image of the image, that is, in becoming like Him we become like to God.” See J. T. Muckle, “The Doctrine of St. Gregory of Nyssa on Man as the Image of God,” Mediaeval Studies 7 (1945): 67–68. 81 For a good overview of the modern debates, see Cortez, Theological Anthropology, 14–40. 82 Indeed, Gregory could be understood as supporting what Cortez calls the “structural” view. Muckle, for instance, identifies the content of Gregory’s image as immortality, a mind, and free-will. See Muckle, “The Doctrine of St. Gregory of Nyssa on Man as the Image of God,” 64–66.

138  Mirrors of God   83 Crisp, “A Christological Model of the Imago Dei,” 217.   84 Crisp, “A Christological Model of the Imago Dei,” 222.   85 In addition to theological or Scriptural problems, there are especially anthropological or ethical concerns with such a view.   86 Harrison says, “the image is actually the participation itself as well as the capacity to participate.” Verna E. F. Harrison, Grace and Human Freedom According to St. Gregory of Nyssa (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992), 89.   87 Harrison, Grace and Human Freedom According to St. Gregory of Nyssa, 215.   88 Harrison, Grace and Human Freedom according to St. Gregory of Nyssa (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992), 224.   89 Donald C. Abel says of Gregory’s view, “effort will not be a prerequisite for receiving grace, but will itself be a graced event.” Donald C. Abel, “The Doctrine of Synergism in Gregory of Nyssa’s De Instituto Christiano,” The Thomist: A Speculative Quarterly Review 45, no. 3 (1981): 447.   90 Examples of practices that direct our attention towards God include, but are not limited to, reading Scripture, contemplation, prayer, serving the poor, and involvement in the Church.   91 I rely on Harrison’s interpretation of Gregory, but Muckle also emphasizes he connection between the image and virtue. See J. T. Muckle, “The Doctrine of St. Gregory of Nyssa on Man as the Image of God,” Mediaeval Studies 7 (1945): 73.   92 Harrison, Grace and Human Freedom According to St. Gregory of Nyssa (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992), 215.   93 Harrison, 89.   94 Cant, GNO VI, 280; Norris 295. Norris’s translation.   95 Harrison, 94.   96 Cant, GNO VI, 90; PG 44, 824; Norris 101. Norris’s translation; emphasis added.   97 Cant, GNO VI, 88; PG 44, 821; Norris 97. Norris’s translation.   98 Cant, GNO VI, 91; PG 44, 824; Norris 101. Norris’s translation.   99 Or Dom III, GNO VII/2, 36; PG 44, 1153; Graef 49. 100 In Chapter 1, I surveyed Schellenberg’s argument in detail and do not rehearse the argument here. I shall, however, rehearse those features especially relevant to the Not Open Principle. 101 Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” 23. 102 Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 41. 103 Chris Tucker, “Divine Hiddenness and the Value of Divine–Creature Relationships,” Religious Studies 44, no. 3 (2008): 270. 104 Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” 18. 105 It might seem odd to say Dolores is in a state of “nonbelief” towards someone she has not met but recall that nonbelief refers only to lack of belief. 106 I use “actions” loosely, but I typically refer to concealment, which could also be called an omission. 107 I cannot think of counter examples to this, but for modesty’s sake I assume this is only generally true or tends to be true. 108 Like Enrique, the parents might attempt to mediate their love to their son in this case. Perhaps they attempt to introduce themselves through a friend of their son or someone their son knows and trusts already. 109 I assume these things or true for the sake of argument, but I am not committed to the possibility of resisting something you do not believe exists. I am only attempting to maximize forms of resistance. These forms of resistance, and God’s interaction with them, likely depend on counterfactuals of creaturely freedom, but I do not discuss that topic here. For a good discussion on it, see Tucker’s work: Chris Tucker, “Divine Hiddenness and the Value of Divine– Creature Relationships,” Religious Studies 44, no. 3 (2008): 269–87, https:// doi.org/10.1017/S0034412508009505.

Mirrors of God 139 110 On top of this, God could have ways available to him for preparing the nonbeliever not available to other persons. For example, Terence Cuneo argues “there could be ample, intimate, and lovely ways of being in relationship with God” even at times when a conscious relationship is not available. See Terence Cuneo, “Another Look at Divine Hiddenness,” Religious Studies 49, no. 2 (2013): 151–64. 111 Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 44. 112 Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 44. 113 Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 47. 114 Dustin Crummett, “We Are Here to Help Each Other,” Faith and Philosophy 32, no. 1 (2015): 50–52. 115 Crummett, “We Are Here to Help Each Other,” 58. 116 See Chris Tucker, “Divine Hiddenness and the Value of Divine–Creature Relationships,” Religious Studies 44, no. 3 (2008): 273–74, https://doi.org/10.1017/ S0034412508009505.

Bibliography Abel, Donald C. “The Doctrine of Synergism in Gregory of Nyssa’s De Instituto Christiano.” The Thomist: A Speculative Quarterly Review 45, no. 3 (1981): 430–48. Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics. Vol. III.1, The Doctrine of Creation. London, UK: T&T Clark, 2010. Bruce, F. F. The Epistles to the Colossians, to Philemon, and to the Ephesians. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1984. Cairns, David. The Image of God in Man. The Fontana Library of Theology and Philosophy. London, UK: Collins, 1973. Cortez, Marc. Theological Anthropology: A Guide for the Perplexed. Guides for the Perplexed. London, UK: T & T Clark, 2010. Crisp, Oliver. “A Christological Model of the Imago Dei.” In The Ashgate Research Companion to Theological Anthropology, edited by Joshua R. Farris and Charles Taliaferro. Ashgate Research Companion. Surrey, UK: Ashgate, 2015. Cross, Richard. “Gregory of Nyssa on Universals.” Vigiliae Christianae 56, no. 4 (2002): 372–410. Crummett, Dustin. “We Are Here to Help Each Other.” Faith and Philosophy 32, no. 1 (2015): 45–62. Cuneo, Terence. “Another Look at Divine Hiddenness.” Religious Studies 49, no. 2 (2013): 151–64. Gregory of Nyssa. Homilies on the Song of Songs, translated by Richard A. Norris. Writings from the Greco-Roman World, Vol. 13. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012. ———. “On the Making of Man.” In Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Philip Schaff, translated by H. A. Wilson, Vol. V. Second Series. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1994. ———. The Life of Moses, translated by Everett Ferguson and Abraham J. Malherbe. The Classics of Western Spirituality. New York, NY: Paulist Press, 1978. Hamilton, Victor P. The Book of Genesis. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1990. Harrison, Verna E. F. Grace and Human Freedom according to St. Gregory of Nyssa. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992.

140  Mirrors of God Hart, David Bentley. The Hidden and the Manifest: Essays in Theology and Metaphysics. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017. Jacob, Haley Goranson. Conformed to the Image of His Son: Reconsidering Paul’s Theology of Glory in Romans. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2018. Keener, Craig. 1–2 Corinthians. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Louth, Andrew. The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition: From Plato to Denys. 2nd Edition. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2007. Maspero, Giulio. “Economy.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 537–43. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. ———. “Image.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 411–15. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. Mateo-Seco, Lucas Francisco. “Imitation.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 502–05. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. Mateo-Seco, Lucas Francisco, and Giulio Maspero, eds. The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, translated by Seth Cherney. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. Maturi, Giorgio. “De Hominis Opificio.” In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa, edited by Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco and Giulio Maspero, translated by Seth Cherney, 544–45. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2009. McFarland, Ian A. The Divine Image: Envisioning the Invisible God. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005. Middleton, J. Richard. The Liberating Image: The Imago Dei in Genesis 1. Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2005. Mounce, Robert. Romans: An Exegetical and Theological Exposition of Holy Scripture. Nashville, TN: Holman Reference, 1995. Muckle, J. T. “The Doctrine of St. Gregory of Nyssa on Man as the Image of God.” Mediaeval Studies 7 (1945): 55–84. O’Brien, Peter T. Colossians, Philemon. Word Biblical Commentary. Waco, TX: Thomas Nelson, 1982. Schellenberg, J. L. “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief, edited by Adam Green and Eleonore Stump. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2015. ———. The Hiddenness Argument: Philosophy’s New Challenge to Belief in God. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2015. Tucker, Chris. “Divine Hiddenness and the Value of Divine–Creature Relationships.” Religious Studies 44, no. 3 (2008): 269–87. https://doi. org/10.1017/S0034412508009505. Wenham, Gordon J. Genesis 1–15. Word Biblical Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2014. Zachhuber, Johannes. Human Nature in Gregory of Nyssa: Philosophical Background and Theological Significance. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 1999.

7

Conclusion An Ecclesiological Response to Divine Hiddenness

…they make the Invisible visible for us and the Incomprehensible comprehensible, because they portray the Sun in the mirror that we are.1 (Gregory of Nyssa)

Over the course of this book, I have been constructing an ecclesiological response to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. But it remains incomplete. The pieces are all there, but I have yet to show how they fit together. In this final chapter, I shall do just that. Before showing how the pieces fit together, let’s recall what the pieces are. What have I argued up to this point? After surveying Schellenberg’s argument and various responses, I first argued that we primarily know God by participating in God. This way of knowing God, articulated by Gregory of Nyssa, sets up a contrast with Schellenberg’s way of knowing God. While not the only way, a primary way we participate in God is through our involvement in the body of Christ: the Church. On the basis of a Modified Animation Model of group agency in the Church, I argued that the agency of the Church can be understood as Christ’s agency through the Church. That is, when we properly understand the Church as the body of Christ, we see her as a mediator of divine revelation. But the obvious imperfections of the Church raise a serious worry: how are we supposed to discern Christ’s activity through the Church? To respond to this worry, I took a closer look at three roles of the Church: the Church Gathered Inclusive (the liturgy), the Church Gathered Exclusive (the sacraments), and the Church Scattered (individual believers restored in Christ’s image). I argued that each of these roles is relevant to the problem of hiddenness in different ways. Showing mere relevance to the problem, however, hardly constitutes a satisfactory response. Building on these prior conclusions, I shall, in this final chapter, formulate my ecclesiological response in three points. The objective of my ecclesiological response, that the three points attempt to fulfill, is to argue that the Church is a primary way to know God, which helps us to explain why God is hidden in the way he is. It helps explain, that is, how God can remain perfectly loving while some persons are in a state DOI: 10.4324/9781003346951-8

142  Conclusion of nonresistant nonbelief. I do not say, however, that these three points are the only way to make an ecclesiological response. I hope I have shown, in fact, that there are several ways the Church is relevant to the problem, many of which I leave underdeveloped. But the three points cumulatively form my ecclesiological response. After making my three points, I shall respond to one final objection.

An Ecclesiological Response The first point is that Schellenberg’s argument adopts assumptions that conflict with the Christian doctrine of God. My intention is that the second and third points are not only a response to Schellenberg, but have broader relevance to other versions of the hiddenness argument. This first point applies specifically to Schellenberg. Schellenberg’s argument is fundamentally ill-conceived because it adopts a conception of God grounded in human thoughts rather than in divine revelation. The difference in conception is especially relevant to the hiddenness argument with theological conceptions of human sin and divine transcendence. As I argued in Chapter 2, sin and transcendence are barriers to knowing God that Schellenberg’s argument does not sufficiently address. I grant, however, that the first point is perhaps especially unlikely to be compelling for the Schellenbergian. She could reasonably object that this point is guilty of question-begging. By definition, theological conceptions of God are developed out of purported divine revelation. But if we assume divine revelation is reliable, then we assume that God exists—and, therefore, assume the conclusion of the hiddenness argument to be false. The point is well taken. But I argued in the introduction that it is equally question-begging to bracket out appeals to revelation. It is hardly fair to insist “God is hidden” while ignoring his attempts at revelation. Insofar as God has revealed himself, then that revelation is the best data we have for the conclusion that God exists or for determining why God is hidden in the way he is. But supposing the Schellenbergian is unsatisfied with this retort, it is worth pointing out that the first point only says that Schellenberg’s assumptions are in conflict with the Christian doctrine of God. Whether or not this point is guilty of question-begging, this strikes me as a problem for Schellenberg. If the first point is right, he can either revise his conception of God or admit that his argument does not apply to the God Christians worship. Insofar as the assumptions from the argument conflict with the Christian doctrine of God, then those who worship the Christian God need not be bothered by the conclusion of his argument. I recognize that the first point creates something of an impasse. Schellenberg and the theologian adopt very different assumptions that make further discourse difficult. But I have already made clear that this point applies to Schellenberg’s argument as it stands. Even if Schellenberg’s

Conclusion 143 current version of the argument is in conflict with the Christian doctrine of God, his main concerns—abstracted from his conception of God— still have evidential and emotional force for the Christian God. For most Christians, after all, God loves all persons and is interested in relating to them. But many find relating to God difficult. The first point of the ecclesiological response says little about this general hiddenness problem. For this reason, the second and third points are necessary. Before articulating my second and third points, I want to clarify the intended scope of my response. In his response to Schellenberg, Dustin Crummett says his is a “partial response” rather than a “complete response” because it does not “address every, or almost every, case of hiddenness.”2 If by “address every, or almost every, case of hiddenness” Crummett means it provides an explanation for every individual instance of hiddenness, then I am sceptical whether a complete response is even possible. Indeed, I am sceptical whether we can identify with certainty the cause of any one case of divine hiddenness. To entirely explain why a nonbeliever is in a state of nonbelief requires information about the intentions of God or others that we do not have. Instead, the best a response to hiddenness can do is offer either possible or plausible explanations of hiddenness. A possible explanation of hiddenness is an explanation of hiddenness that could be true for all we know. A plausible explanation goes a little further by suggesting that an explanation of hiddenness is likely to be true in some or many cases of hiddenness even if we cannot be sure which ones. Possible or plausible explanations of hiddenness can still be “partial” in the sense that they refer only to certain cases of hiddenness. For example, a partial explanation might seek to explain why God is hidden from isolated nonbelievers, or nonbelievers who have never heard the gospel message. A response of this sort is clearly partial in the sense that it is not attempting to cover every case of hiddenness. A response still might be “complete,” however, by seeking to explain any individual case of nonresistant nonbeliever. A complete response in this sense would offer possible or plausible reasons why God is hidden that extend to any individual nonresistant nonbeliever. So, it is still a “complete” response even if it grants that it does not cover every case of hiddenness. My ecclesiological response aims for a plausible, complete explanation of hiddenness. In short, I understand my second and third points to offer plausible explanations of any individual case even if I am sceptical that they entirely explain every case. The second point is that we primarily know God by a sacramental participation in the body of Christ. By sacramental participation, I mean a reception by our involvement in the Spirit’s work through the Church, especially as outlined in Chapters 4 and 5. This point insists that knowing God is a unique way of knowing another person. This point helps explain divine hiddenness in several ways. First, the second point helps explain divine hiddenness because it suggests God is not hidden but knowable to all willing to know him in the specific

144  Conclusion way he desires to be known. In contrast to the second point, Schellenberg imagines God is known as we know other persons—first, propositionally and, second, personally. But the insistence that God is known in this way leads to frustrated expectations about how God is, or ought to be, interacting with humanity. Paul Moser articulates well a similar point about our expectations for knowing God. Rather than including “speculative arguments,”3 he insists that knowing God requires careful consideration as to the fittingness of the inquiry.4 Although critical of Schellenberg’s demand for propositional belief in God, Moser adopts a way of knowing God not unlike Schellenberg’s. For him, human inquiry of God is an “I-thou” relationship with God “in the second person,” such that inquiry of God is an “interpersonal inquiry.”5 Moser diverges from Schellenberg because he thinks God could initially conceal from a person for the purpose of moral formation or relational preparation,6 but he agrees with Schellenberg that the God relationship is personal in a way similar to other interpersonal relationships. However, my second point is that we primarily know God through a sacramental participation in the Church. This does not preclude what Moser calls “interpersonal inquiry” nor personal relationship with God. Indeed, I argued that what Gregory calls participatory knowledge likely does include both propositional and personal knowledge. Yet, a sacramental participation in the Church is a distinct way of knowing God that is not similar to how we know other persons. Our knowledge of God, therefore, may not include the kinds of interpersonal experiences that we typically experience with other persons. Insofar as we expect those experiences from God, or even make them a prerequisite for relating to God, then we have not positioned ourselves to relate to God as God desires to be known: by the Spirit’s presence in Christ’s body, the Church. An individual example of nonresistant nonbelief at a certain time does not mean God is uninterested in relating with that nonbeliever, but rather that God desires to be known by the nonbeliever in a certain way. Namely, God desires to be known by persons sacramentally participating in the Church. A second reason the second point helps explain divine hiddenness is that God’s concealment for a time invites persons to pursue knowledge of God within the Church so that they form a more accurate depiction of God. The second reason supports the first reason because it gives us a reason why God desires to be known in this particular way. Peter van Inwagen observes that the proposition “God wants people to believe in his existence” does not entail the proposition “God wants people to believe in his existence—and  he does not care why anyone who believes in him has this belief.”7 In addition to his final proposition, one might add: “and he does not care how anyone forms this belief or what other beliefs about him accompany this belief.” Instead, God makes the revelation of himself most effective—that is, most likely to produce accurate knowledge about who God is—through one’s sacramental participation in the Church. By

Conclusion 145 forming belief in God this way, other beliefs about who God is or how God is present in the world accompany belief. Schellenberg’s conception of God or expectations for how God must interact with us can lead to defective beliefs about God or ways of relating to God. N. N. Trakakis argues, in fact, that atheism is a “reasonable response to hiddenness” when one’s conception of God is a “demiurge, a watchmaker, one being amongst others rather than Being itself.”8 So, even if God does want people to believe in his existence, it is likely that he would also care how people came by that belief or what other beliefs accompanied it. A sacramental participation in the Church allows one to form a more accurate depiction of God because it is both Christological (an incorporation into Christ’s body) and pneumatological (by the power of the Spirit). The conception of God transmitted in the gathered worship of the Church is not a general, large-person-in-the-sky God, but the Father, Son, and Spirit who are actively and dynamically present in creation. The best way to learn about that active and dynamic present is by participating in God’s activity through the Church. One objection to the second point is that many people primarily know God in ways other than through a sacramental participation in the Church. To consider this objection, I shall take a closer look at the narrative of the Apostle Paul’s overwhelming experience of Christ on the road to Damascus.9 As a Jewish leader at the time of this experience, Paul presumably believes in God and is, therefore, not a nonbeliever.10 However, Paul does not believe that Jesus is the Christ or God, so his experience on the Damascus road is an example of God’s self-disclosure that serves to unveil truths about God that were previously hidden. Paul’s experience could be considered paradigmatic, or at least one prominent example, of the kinds of experiences other believers have with God’s self-disclosure. His narrative can be an objection to my second point because Paul’s overwhelming experience of Christ on the Damascus road is not a sacramental participation in the Church. Therefore, the objection goes, Paul knows Christ by some other way than a sacramental participation through the Church. My first rejoinder to this objection is that the second point says we primarily know God by sacramental participation in the Church, not that we only know God in this way. I have argued that God primarily wills to be known by a sacramental participation in the Church, but God is active outside of the Church. So, some persons may know God outside of the Church. This does not mean, however, that God is not primarily known by sacramental participation in the Church. My second rejoinder to this objection, however, is that even in examples of God’s revelation outside of the Church God is drawing people towards a sacramental participation in the Church. So, a sacramental participation in God is still central to God’s revealing activity. Paul’s narrative, in fact, especially supports this claim. When Paul asks who it is that is speaking to him, Christ responds, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.”11 Yet, Luke has

146  Conclusion already recorded Jesus’s death, resurrection, and ascension into heaven.12 So, how could Paul be persecuting Jesus? Luke gives the answer verses earlier, when Paul is recorded as persecuting “the disciples of the Lord” or “followers of the Way.”13 By identifying himself as the victim of Paul’s persecution, Christ identifies himself to Paul as members of the Church Paul is persecuting. According to the text, Jesus gives no other indication of who he is or what he expects of Paul except: “But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.”14 In the city, meanwhile, “the Lord” speaks to a disciple there, Ananias, and gives him instructions about Paul. It is only after Paul’s meeting Ananias, and Ananias’s insistence that Paul receive the Holy Spirit, that “something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored.”15 After this, Paul is baptized and stays “for several days” with the disciples in Damascus before he begins his ministry.16 Even in Christ’s rather spectacular revelation to Paul, Christ relies on Ananias, and the rest of the disciples in Damascus, to bring Paul into the Christian faith. A careful reading of the text suggests, in fact, that Paul’s encounter with Christ on the Damascus road is not the decisive moment for Paul relating to or knowing Christ.17 Indeed, the primary purpose of the encounter appears to be to tell Paul to go to Church—that is, the purpose is to direct Paul towards the group of believers in Damascus. It is there that Paul sacramentally participates in the Church through baptism, interacting with believers there, and receiving the Holy Spirit. It is only after his encounter with Ananias that the “scales fell away from his eyes, and his sight was restored.”18 This suggests that the encounter with Christ on the Damascus road is not on its own the transformative or decisive moment.19 Rather, the encounter directs Paul to a sacramental participation in the Church by which he is transformed through the restoration of his sight. In Chapters 4 and 5, I argued that a nonbeliever can follow Paul by sacramentally participating in the Church even without the overwhelming experience of Christ that Paul has. For nonbelievers who want to know God, this is indeed the best option for them since God is primarily known by a sacramental participation in the body of Christ. Nevertheless, a further objection could be raised that Paul’s overwhelming experience of Christ is the catalyst for Paul’s sacramental participation in the Church. In other words, even if the overwhelming encounter with Christ is not a necessary condition for Paul’s transformation, it is a sufficient condition. The objector could thus argue that nonbelievers would be happy to sacramentally participate in the Church after such an experience, but they are not given one. Paul’s encounter does appear to be rare insofar as those without faith in Christ do not typically convert after an audible or visual interaction with the risen and ascended Jesus. 20 Even if a lack of such an interaction does not preclude a nonbeliever’s sacramental participation in the Church, it might make it more likely. In my third point, I shall argue that Christ’s activity through mediators is at least one reason why Paul’s experience on the Damascus road is not typical.

Conclusion 147 The third point is that God’s dianthropic mediation is worth pursuing even at the cost of initial concealment. 21 By dianthropic mediation, I mean Christ’s action through human persons by the power of the Holy Spirit to make God known. 22 A good example of dianthropic mediation is what I described in Chapter 6: image bearers who participate in God are conduits for divine revelation. Critically, this is mediation because dianthropic mediation describes something God is doing through persons. In relation to the problem of hiddenness, dianthropic mediation is understood as a kind of strategy God employs to relate to nonbelievers through human believers, but it can include initial concealment.23 The third point helps explain divine hiddenness because it identifies a good worth pursuing for which God may initially conceal himself. The good of mediation can be expressed in two distinct but related goods that I shall consider here: Church-making and relationship-forming. The first good of dianthropic mediation is “Church-making,” or part of “God’s plan for knitting us together.”24 Augustine argues that the dependence of humans on other humans for knowledge is a good thing because it allows for souls to “intermingle with each other.”25 He uses Peter and Paul as examples: despite their experiences with an angel and the risen Christ, respectively, God uses the dianthropic mediators of Cornelius and Ananias to communicate important truths to them. God could have continued to use the angel when speaking to Peter, but “the human condition would be wretched indeed” if God were unwilling “to minister his word to human beings through human agency.”26 Instead, the communication of divine truths from one person to another is an occasion of “love, which ties people together in the bonds of unity.”27 For Augustine, God’s explicit communication of himself to nonbelievers would be unloving since it robs them of the opportunity to relate to others. The Church-making good of dianthropic mediation does not say that Church-making is possible only in case of God’s concealment nor that God is inactive. Instead, God is present and active in Church-making, even if it goes unrecognized. In a prayer from The Confessions, Augustine illuminates this by saying of his friend Alypius: “you brought about his correction through my agency, but without my knowledge, so that it might be clearly recognized as your work.”28 Through Augustine, God is working to correct the errors of Alypius rather than correct them himself. For Augustine, this allows for souls to “intermingle.” By working through other persons rather than by divine fiat, God is strengthening interpersonal bonds. Not only, in cases such as these, are two persons united to each other, but they are each also helping one another to be more united to God. This is a good that God pursues, even if at the expense of what may seem like, even if it is not, divine absence or hiddenness. The second good of dianthropic mediation is relationship formation. This point was made extensively in Chapter 6, so I will not rehearse the argument here. The basic contention is that it is plausible that God conceals

148  Conclusion for a time for the sake of relationship and, also, for the sake of love. God may choose mediation, even when it includes initial concealment, because it is more likely to yield a lasting personal relationship. Because of this, the lack of God’s presence at some time is not a sufficient reason to say that God is not loving or not open to relationship at that time. As with Church-making, one should not consider God absent from this mediation, but present through it—even if it means allowing the nonbeliever to remain in nonbelief for a time. A significant worry about my third point is The Problem of Imperfection. This problem may be the single best objection to the ecclesiological response. Succinctly, The Problem of Imperfection is that the Church is a poor mediator of God. Dustin Crummett distinguishes between two ways the imperfection can manifest: either through mere neglect or laziness or through a “positive hindrance.”29 That is, the Church might fail by omission or repellence. The objection can work on a theoretical level, but it is also empirical: in fact, there are many nonbelievers and, therefore, you could say God’s dianthropic mediation has been relatively unsuccessful. Crummett’s own reply to Schellenberg helps address the problem. He argues that God’s hiddenness is partially due to the responsibility God desires to give persons. In Chapter 6, I argued that image-bearers have a reflective capacity, but also a representative responsibility. As restored in Christ’s image, the “many members” are tasked with representing Christ on earth. Perhaps the best way to understand this, according to the image or mirror language, is that image bearers are Christ’s body on earth in the sense that they are physical or visible manifestations of Christ’s presence. They do this by, among other things, loving and self-sacrificially serving others. The responsibility assumed in image-bearing is a good, then, because it allows the members of the Church to participate in Christ’s work on earth and share in caring for creation. In addition to any inherent good of this participation, responsibility is also an opportunity for moral formation.30 On Gregory of Nyssa’s view of participation, we receive God’s grace but it necessarily involves our wills. Participation in God is, therefore, simultaneously a gift from God but, as part of the gift, we have some say in how or when we participate in God— or whether or not we will participate in God. Insofar as our imperfect wills are involved in fulfilling our responsibility, then we will at times fail in our responsibility. The responsibility of dianthropic mediation, therefore, may include some nonbelief for a time because mediators fail in their responsibility. Still, responsibility is itself a good because it allows us to participate in Christ’s work and is morally formative. An objector may be unconvinced that the goods of responsibility outweigh the evils.31 More pointedly, an objector may doubt that a loving God would allow some persons to remain in a state of nonresistant nonbelief just so some other persons could have a certain responsibility. I share the doubts of this objector. There is something intuitively troubling to me

Conclusion 149 about the idea that God would purposely conceal himself from some for the moral formation of others. I have only listed responsibility as one good, among others, that mediation might provide. But it is worth pointing out that a sacramental participation in the Church, as described in my second point, does not require the responsibility response. That is, a nonbeliever is not sealed off from knowing God because some irresponsible believer is responsible for his faith. Even if a human mediator is imperfect, the nonbeliever has an opportunity and a means to know God in the Church. The objector may persist further by arguing that, in fact, some nonbelievers cannot sacramentally participate in a Church. Crummett calls these “temporally and spatially isolated non-theists.”32 These are persons who live in a time and place where there is no Church community. Nonbelievers in this position may have no other means of learning about God except from either a human mediator or God himself. In response, the theologian could offer a variety of responses, depending on other theological commitments.33 For example, William Lane Craig suggests that some persons could suffer from “transworld damnation,” or that some persons may live apart from a relationship with God regardless of their temporal or spatial circumstances.34 On Craig’s proposal, spatially and temporally isolated nonbelievers are not a problem. For his part, Crummett thinks the responsibility given to believers by God has considerable explanatory power for such cases.35 Rather than God intentionally hiding, temporally and spatially isolated non-theists are the result of a failure on the part of believers—even if the chain of causes to such result extends very far into the past.36 The responses of Craig and Crummett aside, dianthropic mediation is still a plausible answer for spatially or temporally isolated nonbelievers. Even if certain nonbelievers are spatially or temporally isolated from other believers at time t, it does not follow that they will always be isolated at t. In other words, a lack of a dianthropic mediator at some time does not imply there will be a lack of mediator at all times. In fact, God does not even need a reason to think dianthropic mediation will be successful at some later times to initially conceal. Rather, all he needs is some reason for thinking that initial revelation could harm the prospects of a lasting personal relationship. For these cases, he may wait for a time in which revelation of himself is optimal. It may even be true that a nonbeliever dies as temporally or spatially isolated from other believers, but the theologian could still hold that nonbelievers of this sort (or of other sorts) will have an opportunity to relate to God after death.37 In fact, it may be that a nonbeliever is more likely to relate to God if God reveals himself after the death of the nonbeliever than before. This is a plausible explanation for the existence of spatially and temporally isolated nonbelievers. The existence of such a nonbeliever, therefore, does not entail that God is not loving toward or open to a relationship. In summary, by these three points, the Church explains the problem of divine hiddenness. The points do not explain every case of hiddenness, but,

150  Conclusion rather, they offer a plausible explanation for why God is hidden in the way he is. Insofar as they are plausible explanations, the existence of nonbelief is not a reason to doubt that God is loving.

A Response to a Final Objection Schellenberg does have one final protest. Even if Schellenberg were to grant that the Church helps us to explain why God is hidden in the way he is, Schellenberg’s final protest is “that God gets to set everything up in the first place.”38 It may be, this objection goes, that the circumstances of this world are such that initial concealment is an appropriate and loving action. But a perfectly loving God would never allow the circumstances in the first place. At the risk of being boring, I shall make only one, rather uncreative and stock point: God has given, and continues to allow, some degree of freedom to human persons, even when that freedom works contrary to their flourishing.39 In responding to the question “whether the will of God is always fulfilled?,” Aquinas responds in the affirmative but distinguishes between God’s antecedent will and his consequent will.40 Since God is the “universal cause,” everything that happens is within God’s consequent will.41 Nothing can be outside of the will of the ground and source of all reality. But some things (e.g., evil) happen that God does not desire to happen and thus are outside of God’s antecedent will. For example, God antecedently wills that all persons be saved, but consequently—because, Aquinas says, his justice demands it—wills that some be damned.42 Similarly, it is within God’s consequent will that the circumstances of this world be such that God’s initial concealment from a nonbeliever is sometimes an appropriate or loving action, but that does not mean it is within God’s antecedent will. Instead of a situation that God has desired to bring about, the circumstances of hiddenness are the result of freely formed desires, mental states, or dispositions. This final objection, therefore, is commensurate with wondering why God allowed genuine human freedom in the first place.43 By genuine human freedom, I mean whatever God-given capacity humans have that results in sin and many other evils.44 However, wondering why God allows genuine human freedom requires speculation about whether freedom is worth the negative states that result from it, but I am sceptical of our capacity to make such a judgment.45 But suppose we can helpfully speculate on the matter. Schellenberg’s own reasoning suggests that God would allow a high degree of human freedom, even at great cost. His notion of personal relationship includes consciousness, reciprocity, and deep sharing.46 The best interpretation of this is that two persons are involved with a high degree of autonomy. A programmed robot mimicking loving responses cannot meet the level of “deep sharing” between two

Conclusion 151 persons in love. The very idea of a Schellenbergian personal relationship includes a high degree of freedom, which includes the possibility of the negative circumstances or dispositions which might lead to divine concealment for a time.47

Conclusion In this book, I have offered an ecclesiological response to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. My response was theological by adopting a faith-methodology and using the resources of the Christian theological tradition. I especially engaged the ecclesiological thought of Gregory of Nyssa. Gregory’s ecclesiological thought consistently stressed the importance of a sacramental participation in the Church and illuminated what such participation includes in practice. By constructively developing Gregory’s work, I argued that the Church is not only relevant to the Problem of Divine Hiddenness but can be a response to the problem. The ecclesiological response, which I developed in this chapter out of my prior ecclesiological conclusions, is a combination of three points. The first point is that Schellenberg’s argument adopts assumptions that conflict with the Christian doctrine of God. The second point is that we primarily know God by a sacramental participation in the body of Christ. The third point is that God’s dianthropic mediation through persons is a good, even at the cost of initial concealment. For each point, I argued that it helps explain why God is hidden in the way he is. After defining and defending the points, I responded to various objections to them but concluded that the points still stand. Because of God’s activity through the body of Christ by the power of the Spirit, the existence of nonbelief is not incompatible with God’s perfect love. In conclusion, the Church is a solution to the Problem of the Divine Hiddenness.

Notes 1 Gregory of Nyssa, Homilies on the Song of Songs, trans. Richard A. Norris, Writings from the Greco-Roman World, Vol. 13 (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012), 101. 2 Dustin Crummett, “We Are Here to Help Each Other,” Faith and Philosophy 32, no. 1 (2015): 48. 3 Paul K. Moser, The God Relationship: The Ethics for Inquiry about the Divine (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 205. 4 Moser, The God Relationship, 1–9. 5 Moser, The God Relationship, 13–14. 6 Moser, The God Relationship, 57–66. 7 Peter van Inwagen, The Problem of Evil (Oxford, NY: Clarendon Press, 2006), 145. 8 N. N. Trakakis, “The Hidden Divinity and What It Reveals,” in Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 209.

152  Conclusion 9 Acts 9:1–9 (NRSV). 10 It should be noted, however, that examples of nonbelief in Scripture are difficult to find. It is widely assumed that God or the gods exist. In fact, the Christians were the so-called “atheists” because of their disbelief in the gods of the Roman empire. Nonetheless, cases like Paul’s are illuminating for thinking about how God reveals something about God that is hidden—both to nonbelievers and to those who have defective beliefs about him. 11 Acts 9:5 (NRSV). 12 Luke is the author of the Gospel of Luke and Acts. 13 Acts 9:1–2 (NRSV). 14 Acts 9:5–6 (NRSV). 15 Acts 9:17–18 (NRSV). 16 Acts 9:19 (NRSV). 17 For an extensive historical and theological treatment of this passage, see Craig S. Keener, Acts: An Exegetical Commentary: 3:1-14:28, 2013, 1597–1667. 18 Acts 9:18. 19 This is not to suggest that the encounter is not transformative or decisive. Clearly, it is. However, Paul is still literally—and presumably, to at least some degree figuratively—blinded until after his encounter with Ananias. Given Ananias injunction to “be filled with the Holy Spirit,” it is also apparently only after this encounter, and possibly even at the moment of baptism, that Paul receives the Holy Spirit. This is again suggestive of the importance of Paul’s interaction with the Church. 20 That is not to say that such interactions never happen. 21 The content of my ecclesiological response is clearly formed around the thought of Gregory of Nyssa. However, a very similar, albeit with different language, ecclesiological response could be formed around reformed thought. Tom Greggs, in particular, has highlighted the importance of mediation in the Church to reformed thinkers like Bonhoeffer and Barth. The Church, he says, “joins in Christ’s priestly work” and so “does not exist for itself but for the world on whose behalf it acts.” Indeed, the Church’s priesthood, exhaustively covered in Gregg’s recent Dogmatic Ecclesiology, is a critical part of her mediation to the world. That is a theme that, although important, is almost wholly ignored in this book. Much more work could be done on the relevance of the Church’s priesthood to the problem of hiddenness. I mention it here to suggest a different possible avenue for considering mediation than the one I do here. For more, see Tom Greggs, “Ecclesial Priestly Mediation in the Theology of Dietrich Bonhoeffer,” Theology Today 71, no. 1 (April 1, 2014): 81–91, https://doi.org/10.1177/0040573613518642; Tom Greggs, Dogmatic Ecclesiology: The Priestly Catholicity of the Church, Vol. I (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019). 22 This word is borrowed from N. T. Wright. Wright said this in a personal discussion and is quoted here with his permission. He added in personal correspondence, “feel free to credit me but actually the idea is Paul’s in the first place!” The word “dianthropic”—a combination of the preposition “through” (dia) and the noun “man” or “human” (anthropos)—comes from 1 Corinthians 15:21. And there are “obvious allusions” to Genesis 1–3, he adds, throughout 1 Corinthians 15. 23 Mediation may not include concealment in every case but in this context, I refer only to mediation that includes initial concealment of God. 24 This phrase is borrowed from Meghan Sullivan, who suggests that it could work as a kind of response to Schellenberg even though it is not the response she gives. Meghan Sullivan, “The Semantic Problem of Hiddenness,” in Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives, ed. Eleonore Stump and Adam Green (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 36.

Conclusion 153 25 Augustine, On Christian Teaching, trans. R. P. H Green (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2011), 5. 26 Augustine, On Christian Teaching, 5. 27 Augustine, On Christian Teaching, 5. 28 Augustine of Hippo, The Confessions, trans. Maria Boulding (New York, NY: Vintage, 1998), 107. 29 Crummett, “We Are Here to Help Each Other,” 50–52. 30 See, for example, responsibility responses to Schellenberg like Crummett’s and: Travis Dumsday, “Divine Hiddenness and the Responsibility Argument,” Philosophia Christi 12, no. 2 (2010): 357–71. 31 See Crummett’s response to this objection: Crummett, “We Are Here to Help Each Other,” 59–61. 32 Crummett, “We Are Here to Help Each Other,” 58. 33 For instance, a theologian committed to certain forms of Calvinism might prefer a different response than a theologian who is not. 34 For an evaluation of various understandings of Craig’s proposal, see Raymond VanArragon, “Transworld Damnation and Craig’s Contentious Suggestion,” Faith and Philosophy 18, no. 2 (April 1, 2001): 241–60, https://doi.org/10.5840/ faithphil20011826. 35 See Crummett’s article for a distinction between Crummett’s version of the responsibility argument and other versions. However, both versions could serve as a possible response to this particular objection. For example, other versions of the responsibility argument suggest God intentionally hides to secure the good of responsibility for believers. 36 Crummett, “We Are Here to Help Each Other,” 58. 37 For an overview of this possibility, see James Beilby, Postmortem Opportunity: A Biblical and Theological Assessment of Salvation after Death (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2021). 38 Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 45. 39 Some of this response is adapted from one of my articles: Derek King, “Love That Takes Time,” European Journal for Philosophy of Religion 13, no. 1 (May 2021). 40 ST, I.19.6. The distinction is not unique to Aquinas. John of Damascus similarly distinguishes between God’s antecedent/primary will (προηγούμενον θέλημα) and his consequent/secondary will (ἑπόμενον θέλημα). The Damascene’s understanding of the two wills is “not to be construed as a theological ditheletism” (or two separate wills in God) but “two aspects or modes of the same essential divine will.” See Peter C. Bouteneff, “The Two Wills of God: Providence in St. John of Damascus,” Studia Patristica 42 (2006): 295–96. 41 ST, I.19.6. 42 ST, I.19.6. 43 Indeed, Schellenberg is sympathetic to this sort of reasoning. He wonders why God would create “morally weak and impressionable persons” like us. Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 65–68. 44 I shall assume, that is, that human sin is the fault of human persons and not God. 45 My scepticism on this point is similar to but also different from what is often called “sceptical theism” (which I defined in Chapter 1). On sceptical theism, the defense given for some evil or set of evils is that we do not or could not know the reason(s) why God allows some evil or set of evils. The scepticism I offer here is similar to sceptical theism by suggesting that we are not in the epistemic position to properly evaluate something God has done or allowed. However, it is also different from sceptical theism because it does offer a reason why God allows some evil or set of evils. Namely, I have responded that God allows some degree of genuine human freedom and that that freedom is

154  Conclusion itself a good. My scepticism here is about our capacity to judge or evaluate the cosmic scale of good and evil when freedom is compared to the evil states that result from it. 46 J. L. Schellenberg, “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy,” in Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief, ed. Adam Green and Eleonore Stump (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 18. 47 Note that this is different than the “free-will defense” sometimes employed in response to the hiddenness argument. A free-will response posits that God must remain hidden in order to retain an element of free-will for persons (see especially Michael Murray’s “Deus Absconditus” in Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Here I make a case for “free-will” only to argue that certain negative dispositions might be a corollary of it. I am sceptical, as Schellenberg is, about whether “free-will” solves the hiddenness dilemma on its own. See Schellenberg, The Hiddenness Argument, 2015, 65–67.

Bibliography Augustine. On Christian Teaching, translated by R. P. H Green. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2011. Augustine of Hippo. The Confessions, translated by Maria Boulding. New York, NY: Vintage, 1998. Beilby, James. Postmortem Opportunity: A Biblical and Theological Assessment of Salvation after Death. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2021. Bouteneff, Peter C. “The Two Wills of God: Providence in St. John of Damascus.” Studia Patristica 42 (2006): 291–96. Crummett, Dustin. “We Are Here to Help Each Other.” Faith and Philosophy 32, no. 1 (2015): 45–62. Dumsday, Travis. “Divine Hiddenness and the Responsibility Argument.” Philosophia Christi 12, no. 2 (2010): 357–71. Greggs, Tom. Dogmatic Ecclesiology: The Priestly Catholicity of the Church. Vol. I. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019. ———. “Ecclesial Priestly Mediation in the Theology of Dietrich Bonhoeffer.” Theology Today 71, no. 1 (April 1, 2014): 81–91. https://doi. org/10.1177/0040573613518642. Gregory of Nyssa. Homilies on the Song of Songs, translated by Richard A. Norris. Writings from the Greco-Roman World, Vol. 13. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012. Inwagen, Peter van. The Problem of Evil. Oxford, NY: Clarendon Press, 2006. http://www.worldcat.org/oclc/64442816. Keener, Craig S. Acts: An Exegetical Commentary: 3:1-14:28. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2013. King, Derek. “Love That Takes Time.” European Journal for Philosophy of Religion 13, no. 1 (May 2021): 121–43. Moser, Paul K. The God Relationship: The Ethics for Inquiry about the Divine. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2017. Schellenberg, J. L. “Divine Hiddenness and Human Philosophy.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief, edited by Adam Green and Eleonore Stump. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2015.

Conclusion 155 ———. The Hiddenness Argument: Philosophy’s New Challenge to Belief in God. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2015. ———. The Hiddenness Argument: Philosophy’s New Challenge to Belief in God. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2015. Sullivan, Meghan. “The Semantic Problem of Hiddenness.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives, edited by Eleonore Stump and Adam Green. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016. https://doi.org/10.1017/ CBO9781139939621.003. Trakakis, N. N. “The Hidden Divinity and What It Reveals.” In Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief: New Perspectives. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2016. VanArragon, Raymond. “Transworld Damnation and Craig’s Contentious Suggestion.” Faith and Philosophy 18, no. 2 (April 1, 2001): 241–60. https://doi. org/10.5840/faithphil20011826.

Index

activity (energeia) 31–35, 42n33, 37–38, 53, 71n112, 97–98, 125 Anselm 30, 42n20–22, 44n56, 45n69, 45n84 Apostle Paul 13, 42n34, 51, 56, 75, 80, 101, 108, 118, 122, 125, 145 Aquinas, Thomas 19n10, 30, 42n21–22, 43n37, 61, 71n109, 150, 153n40 Arcadi, James 69n58, 102–104, 112n44, 114n87 Augustine of Hippo 30, 71n114, 147 Azadegan, Ebrahim 12 Balás, David 36, 45n69 baptism 96–107, 111n2, 113n69, 152n19 Barkenshield, Thorin 9 Barth, Karl 19n1, 44n56, 63, 134n13, 152n21 Bauckham, Richard 60 beauty 78, 90n21, 120–122 Bergmann, Michael 16 Bernanos, George 110 Blanchard, Joshua 13 Bloesch, Donald G. 107 blurred-lines worry 38 body of Christ 3, 18, 40, 50–54, 56, 59, 61, 63, 66n10–12, 67n13–14, 68n45, 75, 85, 89, 99, 101, 105–106, 114n87, 114n92, 142–143, 146, 151 Bonhoeffer, Dietrich 58, 63, 65 Bradshaw, David 31–33, 42n34, 43n46 Bruce, F. F. 91n40, 119 Carnes, Natalie 81–82 Cavanaugh, William 105 Chalcedonian Creed 55 Chan, Simon 100–101

Christ or Christology: body of Christ see body of Christ; image of God 4, 18, 35, 80–82, 92n52, 118–126, 129, 133, 134n2, 134n5, 135n39, 136n40, 137n80, 37n82, 138n91 Church: body of Christ see body of Christ; Church Gathered 4, 75–76, 90n2–3, 96, 111, 117, 141; Church Scattered 4, 75–76, 90n2–3, 111, 117, 133, 141; empirical church 63–66, 87; essential church 63–65; group agency see Group Agency; image of God see image of God; many members 4, 53–62, 71n112, 104, 111, 118, 133, 148; nature of 50–51; one body 51–56, 59, 65, 107, 117, 120; purpose of 100–101; sacraments of see sacraments Coakley, Sarah 17, 22n63, 84–85, 93n78 Cockayne, Joshua 57–61, 103 Cortez, Marc 123, 136n68, 137n70, 137n72, 137n82 cosmic optimism 110 Craig, William Lane 149 Crisp, Oliver 35–38, 46n105, 123–124 critical time 128, 131–132 Cross, Richard 36, 120, 135n36 Crummett, Dustin 133, 143, 148–149, 153n35 Cuneo, Terence 83–85, 92n69, 139n110 Daniélou, Jean 85, 93n78 Davies, Brian 29–30 Davis, Stephen 14 dianthropic mediation 147–151 diastema 33–34 disposition of hope 108–111

Index 157 Divine Transcendence 11, 20n25, 30–33, 41n17–18, 42n22 divine withdrawal 14 Dolly the Sheep 103 Dougherty, Trent 14 Dulles, Avery 34 Efird, David 103 Enuma Elish 118 epistemology 28–35 essence (ousia) 31–35, 38, 43n37, 53, 65 eucharist 51, 69n58, 80, 96–100, 102–107, 113–114n87, 114n88 exitus-reditus 123 faith 86–88, 93n80, 93n87, 97–98, 107–110 Fee, Gordan 52 Florovsky, George 51, 63, 65 four dimensionalism 64 freedom 13, 124, 150–151, 153n45 Fung, Ronald Y. K. 51–52, 67n14 Geist 59 Gregg, John A. F. 63 Greggs, Tom 83, 100–101, 113n66, 152n21 Gregorios, Paulos Mar 37 Gregory of Nyssa: An et res 76; anthropology of 119–121; Beat 31–32; Cant 78–79; Diem lum 97; Epist 35 77–79; human nature 119–120; image of God 120–122; knowledge 38–40; Maced 37; mirror see mirror; Op hom 119–121, 135n30; Or cat 77, 96–99; Perf 53–54; Platonism 85, 121–122; Tunc et ipse 53; Vit moys 98, 136n52 Group Agency: animation theory 57–60; authorization theory 57–58; functionalist theory 57–59 Group Eliminativism 57 Group Realism 57, 69n67 Harrison, Verna E. F. 37, 39, 77, 124, 138n86, 138n91 Hart, David Bentley 29, 77, 79, 120–121, 137n79 Haynes, Gordon 103 Hegel, George Wilhelm Friedrich 59 Hill, Jonathan 55 Holy Spirit 36–37, 40, 50, 58–59, 89, 70n88, 146–147, 152n19

hope 108–110 Howard-Snyder, Daniel 108–109 hypostasis 77–78 hypostatic union 35, 55, 69n54, 103 iconoclasm 81, 92n49 image of God (imago Dei) 118–126; Christological 80–82, 123–124, 137n80; fallen (broken) image 118–120; representational features of 118–119; representative features of 118–119 imitation 37, 53, 97, 106, 122, 125 Incarnational Metaphysic 54–56, 62, 68n49, 69n55, 82, 113n71 instrumental union 35, 103 Irenaeus 80–81, 92n47, 135n39 Jacob, Haley Goranson 119 John of Damascus 82, 153n40 John of the Cross 14 Keener, Craig 52, 119 Kierkegaard, Søren 15 Kipp, David 15 knowledge 40n1; participatory knowledge 38–40, 50, 84–85, 125, 144; personal knowledge 28–29, 38–40, 84, 88, 144; propositional knowledge 28–29, 38–39, 83–84 Küng, Hans 64 Lewis, C. S. 3 List, Christian 57–60, 70n70 liturgy 76, 79–80, 83–89, 91n38 logos 81, 98, 119 Louth, Andrew 121–122 love 8, 10–12, 84, 107, 126–133, 147, 151 Luther, Martin 63, 102 Macaskill, Grant 60 Macrina, Saint 77 Mateo-Seco, Lucas Francisco 99 McFarland, Ian A. 81–83, 104–106, 117, 135n5, 136n69 McKim, Robert 16, 23n81 mediation 76–78, 83, 126–133, 147–151 Mediation Assumption 128–129 Methodological Individualism 57–60, 70n71 Middleton, J. Richard 118, 124 mirror 78, 118–123, 124–126

158  Index Modified Functionalist Model 58 Molto, August Luwigs Daniel 103 Moser, Paul K. 13–14, 144 Murphy, Mark 12 Nagasawa, Yujin 18n2, 110 nonbelievers 9–10, 86–89, 109–110, 114n88, 127–133, 143, 149; isolated nonbelievers 143, 149; nonresistant nonbelievers see nonresistant nonbelief nonresistant nonbelief 8–10, 108, 128–129, 142, 144, 148 Not Open Principle 128–133 O’Collins, Gerald 34, 41n9 Origen of Alexandria 80–81, 84–85, 92n47, 136n56 Palamas, Gregory 32 Panchuk, Michelle 11, 66 Parfit, Derek 103 participation 31, 35–40, 45n66, 46n105, 52–54, 82, 84–89, 98–101, 104, 122, 124–125, 143–146, 151 Pascal, Blaise 15, 19n6 Paul see Apostle Paul Perfect Being Theology 30 Pettit, Philip 57, 59, 60, 70n70 personal relationship 7–8, 10, 12–14, 19n11, 28, 126, 128–131, 133, 144, 148–150 Platonism 35, 85, 121 Poston, Ted 14 Problem of Discernment 3, 66, 75 Problem of Evil 1, 6, 16, 20n23 Problem of Imperfection 71, 148 Problem of Sin 3, 63–66, 87 Prosopon 77–79, 91n24 Protocols for the Discerning the Body of Christ 105 Psychology Mysterious Social Forces (PMSF) 59–61, 71n112 quasi-memories (q-memories) 103 Radde-Gallwitz, Andrew 32–33, 43n37 Rea, Michael 10–13, 15, 20n25, 23n85, 30, 42n23, 103–104 relating position 127–128, 130, 132 resistance 130–132

responsibility 118–119, 124, 129, 148–149 revelation 2, 17–18, 33–35, 41n9, 44n56, 62, 65–66, 126, 149 rogue agency 64, 72n129, 87 Russell, Bill 28, 38 sacramental optimism 110 sacramental participation 143–146, 149, 151 sacraments: baptism see baptism; disposition when receiving 104–110; efficacy of 99–104; eucharist see eucharist; exclusivity of 96, 100, 102, 104–110; imaginatively didactic 106 Saint Patrick’s Anglican Church 63–64 sanctorum communio 63 sceptical theism 16–17 Schellenberg, J. L. 3, 7–18, 27–29, 33 107–108, 126–133, 142–145, 150–151; nonresistant nonbelief see nonresistant nonbelief; Not Open Principle see Not Open Principle; perfect love 8, 12–13; responses to 10–18 Schwöbel, Christoph 34 Scissorhands, Edward 36 Scotus, Duns 35, 38, 42n22, 46n105 seeing God 31, 76–77, 82–83, 89 seeing-as-contemplation 77, 85 seeing-as-vision 77, 85 shared attention 103–104 Silvas, Anna 78, 90n18–19 simul justus et peccator 63 sin 15–16, 58, 63–66, 87 spiritual senses 84–85, 89 Stump, Eleonore 8 Tamburro, Richard 103 Tanner, Kathryn 35, 68n49, 69n54, 69n57 The Terminal 127–131 Theistic Personalism 29 theosis 35, 38 Tollefsen, Torstein Theodor 36–37, 42n33 Trakakis, N. N. 33, 145 transcendence see divine transcendence Trinity 29, 46n88, 69n54, 82 Tucker, Chris 127, 138n109 Twain, Mark 14

Index 159 Ware, Kallistos 31 Warman, Jack 103 Wenham, Gordon 118 Williams, Rowan 56, 68n49, 69n61 Wolterstorff, Nicholas 23n77, 84–88, 91n38, 92n69, 93n80, 93n82

virtue 61, 91n34, 104, 122, 124–126, 126n56, 138n91 von Balthasar, Hans urs 33 von Gierke, Otto 59

van Inwagen, Peter 19n5, 70n99, 144 Villar, José R. 54, 59, 68n45

Zachhuber, Johannes 120, 135n36 Zwingli, Ulrich 101–102, 113n66

Young, Frances 81

Biblical Index Old Testament Genesis 1:26–27 134n6 3:8 22n64 5:1–3 134n15 9:6 134n17 Exodus 33:20 31, 92n51 Deuteronomy 32:6 21n29 Job 1:6–12 46n108 Psalm 13:1 6 68:5 21n29 Proverbs 3:11–12 21n29 Song of Songs 6:3 121–122 Isaiah 49:15 5 64:8 21n29 Malachi 2:10 21n29

New Testament Matthew 5:8 31 7:7–10 21n29 28:18–20 61

John 1:14 21n29 1:18 31, 92n51 10:17–18 4–5 15 61 Acts 1:8 61 9:1–9 152n9, 152n12–14 9:17–19 152n15–16, 152n18 Romans 1:23 134n19 3:23 22n66 6:4 101 7:4 67n16 8:24–25 115n114 8:29 118, 134n21 12:4–5 52 1 Corinthians 3:2 67n14 6:15 67n16 8:6 21n29 10:16–17 67n18, 101 11:26 105 12:4 66n8 12:12–13 52, 66n9 12:27 51 13:12 72n133 16:7 115n122 2 Corinthians 3:18 119 4:4 134n20 Galatians 2:19 68n46 2:20 60

160  Index Ephesians 2:13–15 67n20 4:6 21n29 4:12 67n16 5:23 67n16 5:32 67n21, 69n63

Hebrews 3:6 115n121 6:18 115n121

Philippians 2:7 69n53 2:19 115n122 2:23 115n122

Titus 1:2 115n121

Colossians 1:5 115n121 1:15 81, 91n39–40, 134n20, 135n25 1:24 67n16 3:10 119, 135n25 3:15 67n16

1 Timothy 1:17 90n6 6:16 31, 90n6

James 2:19 46n107 1 John 4:12 90n6 Revelation 13:14 134n18 14:9–11 134n18 19:20 134n18