Telegraph, Athens to Jerusalem: Philosophy for Understanding Theology by Diogenes Allen pt. I

Often misapplied, Tertullian's famous question, "what has Athens to do with Jerusalem," was actually an invitation as much as a refutation.  The question was intended to point out not that Athens and Jerusalem had nothing to say to each other, but rather that faith in the Jewish Messiah was introducing something completely novel into the Gentile world.  The categories through which Hellenic philosophy had typically viewed the world were about to be strained to their outer limits (broken, in some cases), pushed at least as far intellectually as the Roman state would be pushed civilly in reckoning with the people of the Jesus way.

This is only just as well, because the conversion of thousands of gentiles, among them some very brilliant people, was sure to inject something new into Jerusalem as well.  Indeed, Allen shares a perspective I have heard N. T. Wright discuss (if only verbally):  that the thing called Theology is a thing that the Hebrews never did as such.  I did not expect that correlation, silly as that is.  Wright is such a formidable presence in Christian thought these days, and he opines on so many things outside of his forte, that I just assume specialists in fields he wanders to will be lining up to kick him in the ass.  So points of correspondence are wonderful.  Allen sees the Hellenic mind as necessary to the discipline of theology, because the Hebrew investigation of God's acts in history left them with a picture of a God who was manifest primarily in his revelation of Himself to them.  The answer then was not so much "who is God" but "what Has He done?"  The Hebrew mind, Allen argues, is the mind that states "Amen," bows before the Mystery, and moves on, whereas the Greek mind prizes coherence in a unique way.  The fathers thus would definitely want to preserve a sense of the mystery of God, but they would also want to derive principles for understanding God, concepts for exploring revelation to find out "how and why is that so?" (xviii).  Thus, a certain familiarity should be expected to exist between theology and western philosophy:  a certain common mode of investigation.  It might even be possible that terms would be shared.  And this is exactly the point and purpose of Allen's book, reflections on which I will be posting here from time to time over the next week or so as I finish it. 

It may even be, so Allen says, that it is nearly impossible to understand certain theological doctrines, formulations, or reactions without recourse to some of the philosophy that is being wrapped up into them.  A helpful example from Chapter 4 is the way an understanding of Aristotle's categories may help to prevent a misreading of Gregory of Nyssa's understanding of the trinity.  In his view, the terms ousion (being) and hypostasis (person) are not to be confused when discussing the unity and diversity of God.  Ousion, he says, is a qualifier, such that it can be shared by multiple persons.  The word "man," for example, does not change in definition or content when it describes Paul, Peter, Apollos, or any other man.  Insofar as these are all men, there is something common to them.  It is not necessary to redefine "man" in the case of each one.  Hypostasis, on the other hand, is a particularity, like "Paul," or "Peter."  In defining Paul, one has excluded everything that is not Paul.  Paul can be a man, but insofar as there are other men, Paul cannot be only a man.  The definition doesn't help.  Furthermore, to call "Peter" a Paul is incorrect.  Thus, Gregory says, The trinity share a unity of ousion, such that there is a commonality that can be said to exist in all of them, but their hypostases, their particularities, are maintained as separate realities.  If one has no recourse to Aristotle, it would be possible merely to assume that Gregory is saying the unity that binds the trinity is the same as the "unity" that binds all men under the name "man."  There would thus be three gods, in addition to a strange unity of all other creatures who can assume the same qualifiers. 

No such thing, however, is intended by Gregory.  Once we have access to Aristotle's categories of beings, we have a quick recognition that Gregory is making a different point entirely.  He is concerned that the readers of his letter avoid category mistakes.  Thus, it is not description of the unity that is his purpose, but a proper division of the unity from the separation that is at issue.  Once that particular understanding is in view, it is quite easy to see that Gregory, like Augustine and so many other early theologians, is merely analogizing for the Trinity rather than describing it.  It is indescribable, as he knows as well as anyone.  But the letter we have just analyzed would seem to say something other than what Gregory and the other Cappadocian fathers fought for at the Council of Nicea.  The philosophical context thus gives help that is quite timely, considering the scandal that could exist if Gregory were taken to be fully descriptive of the unity and particularity within God.

It may be objected (indeed I have already objected and repented the objection) that this is an unnecessary injection of erudition into theology.  After all, one should not have to understand an entire other discipline comprehensively in order to master one's own.  And both disciplines' merits could be argued regarding their actual effectiveness in bringing people to the knowledge of God.  But it is worth mentioning in light of these possible objections that a) people do not know God in some atheoretical vacuum, for indeed even the statement that theology is not really helpful for knowing God is predicated upon a particular theological understanding; and b) the Aristotelean context was probably not as much of a reach for Gregory as it was for us.  It is doubtful to me that Gregory went looking for some obscure reference point so that later readers would have to work harder than they wanted.  Rather, it is likely that Aristotle was merely in the conceptual air.  In theory, if my own experience with latent modernism in the conversations of some philosophically untrained atheist friends is any indication, Gregory could possibly have co-opted those categories without conscious reference to Aristotle.  An interesting point in this regard is that he does not define the kinds of terms he uses with Aristotelean tags.  They are his own, or possibly those of his culture.  That is to say that every word and concept whose meaning seems self-evident in this culture will likely have to be mined for context and correlated to other concepts by those who come after us, in order to avoid misunderstanding.  And it will not be that we were searching to make our views inaccessible; rather, that we were fish who swam in the waters we knew and did not question their particular wetness relative to other waters.  Words mean what they mean here and now.  And this issue itself is part of another philosophical conundrum, the understanding of which will illuminate certain modern theological reflections.  But first, we must pass through the paradise of classical and medieval thought. 

Which we will do, God willing, in upcoming posts.  At this point, it is only necessary to reiterate that theology is not a veiled discipline.  It happens in the open air of each age's intellectual inquiry.  It is therefore hopefully not too much to ask that we immerse ourselves a little in the questions of those who came before, in order to understand exactly what their theologies were (and were not) intended to say of the God that was sought and found by them. 

Next post, we'll look at Allen's understanding of how Plato's creation myth in the dialogue Timaeus was woven into Christian theology's attempt to understand the God whose perfections were revealed but not shared by his creations.

Until then, I'd recommend a double cortadito, a little on the sweet side.  Shalom ya'll.