Abstract
This is a book with a thesis. And the thesis is the following: the mystery of the Trinity is a mystery of salvation. God revealed himself and became incarnate ‘for us and our salvation.’ ‘The revelation of the Trinity is not best understood theologically as if it were the unveiling of information about the intimate life of God, data that theology is called to interpret and somehow apply to our human situation’ (p. 7). After all, Christianity broke with Gnosticism at its very inception. The ‘relevance’ of the Trinity lies not so much in the way created reality abstractly ‘reflects’ or ‘imitates’ and is therefore illuminated by divine life. Rather, O’Byrne says, the mystery of the Trinity deals with the discovery that God is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, who intends and strives to share divine life with creatures. The Trinity is made present in ‘the direct and personal involvement of the Son and Spirit in the economy of salvation’ (p. 8) and thus in the life of humans. Christianity in its essence, he says, is ‘the trinity narrativized’ (pp. 95ff.).
However this explanation could give the impression that the tri-personal identity of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, is being ‘read’ from the situation and experience of humans, who of course are created, often partial and skewered in their judgments, and fallen besides. Yet the author eschews this reading time and again. Augustine read the Trinity in the light of human psychology, and though this position was followed and deepened by Thomas Aquinas and others, it has been the object of considerable criticism of late (cf. pp. 186ff.). Some modern authors explain the Trinity as a kind of social background support for the human family, what O’Byrne cryptically calls ‘social Trinitarianism’ (pp. 165f., pp.188–93). He cites F.C. Bauerschmidt to the effect that the social Trinity would be ‘the model of a community of equals that we humans can mirror’ (p. 197). Others look on the tragedy of human death and suffering as a reflection of the dynamics of inner Trinitarian life (‘the event of the cross reveals God’s inner being,’ p. 183, cf. pp. 183ff.). In other words, what took place originally in God would be extended throughout time and space to creatures. That is, we read the Trinity off creation, which would of course involve a reductionist view of God.
These explanations, the author says, ‘leave one with the impression that one must understand the Trinity as a model to be imitated, however improbable such an approach must be on sober reflection’ (p. 193). And he concludes, ‘We are not invited to imitate the Trinity, but rather to receive the image of the crucified, who receives his formative power from his place within the Trinitarian taxis (or order)’ (p. 197). Besides, ‘Trinitarian theology in the classical sense cannot directly be the source of reflection on human realities, since its object is God in se, and does not allow for the kinds of distinction between God and the world, or for the reality of sin, or—most importantly—for the doctrine of the Incarnation ex Maria upon which salvation depends’ (p. 197ff.).
The main part of the book consists of a study of the early ecumenical councils that took place from 325 to 681 CE: Nicaea, Constantinople I, Ephesus, Chalcedon, Constantinople II, and Constantinople III. O’Byrne insists there is a profound continuity between the six of them (pp. 61–171), holding that the classical position, according to which the first two are Trinitarian and the other four are Christological, is mistaken. All six of them are Trinitarian and Christological at the same time . . . and at heart, soteriological, in that they express the mystery of the divinization of humans through the power of God. Any attempt to separate the first two from the other four would ‘produce an artificial break between trinitarian theology and the doctrine of the Incarnation’ (p. 95). As Irenaeus and Athanasius taught, only if the Word is fully divine can humans be divinized and truly be incorporated into divine life. The common template of all six councils ‘is shaped by a particular soteriological instinct which requires both that the Son be fully divine and that he become fully human’ (p. 173), ‘for us and for our salvation.’
The heresies the above councils reject consistently involve a denial either of the full divinity of Christ or of his humanity, such as would prejudice the realism of salvation. Thus the councils rejected the subordinationism of Arius, Christ’s impaired humanity in Apollinarius, the separation of Christ from Jesus in Nestorius, the merging of divinity and humanity in Eutiches’s monophysitism, and also monoenergism and monotheletism. The author holds that the principal authors defending the orthodox doctrine—Athanasius and Cyril of Alexandria (pp. 28–59), later on Maximus the Confessor (pp. 157–66)—were not seeking a kind of anodyne synthesis between Alexandrian and Antiochean theologies (pp. 61ff.), or a terminologically precise but compromised explanation of the mystery of the Trinity. ‘What is required is not primarily a theory of persons or natures,’ he says, ‘but acceptance of the reality of the Incarnation, such that it is truly the Eternal Son who is the subject of the human life of Jesus’ (p. 152). Profoundly rooted in Scripture and the life of the Church, the council fathers were attentive to presenting the entire Christian mystery in its full truth.
The author presents his analysis with the aid of a wide variety of (mainly) English-speaking authors who have renewed and in some cases transformed patristics and systematic theology throughout the
Three issues that arise in the book, among others, are worth mentioning.
First, a common reading would have us think that Athanasius and Cyril downgraded the humanity of Christ by insisting on the unity of the two natures. The author points out however that they did not ignore the full humanity of Christ, but rather held, correctly, that it was a received humanity, that is, a creature (p. 22). ‘Creation remains creation because it remains fundamentally receptive’ (p. 34). It is true that Athanasius does not consider the psychology of Jesus in detail (p. 22). But the reason for this is that ‘humanity is conceived not primarily in terms of active agency and moral initiative but first and foremost in terms of receptivity to the divine’ (p. 38, citing Leithart). ‘To the extent that the idea of receptivity is central to Athanasius’ understanding of creaturely being, his failure to develop a portrait of the autonomous agency of Jesus, ironically, represents the affirmation of Jesus’ humanity’ (p. 39). ‘In Cyril, as in Athanasius, the humanity of Christ is fundamentally receptive of God’s gifts’ (p. 52). O’Byrne concludes that the possible gaps in their understanding are ‘due to the failure of modern scholars to understand the essentially receptive nature of Jesus’ humanity as a sign of the fullness of his humanity’ (p. 59).
Second, the key theological affirmation that emerges throughout the work, in my view, is the conviction that the transcendence of the triune God is not at loggerheads with his immanence within creation, but rather is the very attribute that makes the latter possible. This conviction shows up time and again throughout the councils and the history of theology in the affirmation that the full divinity of Christ does not require a diminished or separate humanity (Apollinarius, Nestorius, Eutyches), nor that a complete humanity does not imply a subordinate divinity (Arius and others). He shows that their positions are not dissimilar from those who hold that a Christology ‘from above’ excludes a Christology ‘from below’ and vice versa (pp. 175–78). Of course, the rapport transcendence-immanence finds its prime (and most original) manifestation in the doctrine of creation ex nihilo which, though consolidated before Nicaea, arises frequently throughout the text (pp. 30–36, 102, 119). And so we can speak of a closeness of God to creation that does not involve any kind of confusion, to use the term used at Chalcedon.
The binomial transcendence-immanence is present structurally in Athanasius’s view of God, the author says. ‘In pagan thought, the Supreme Principle is transcendent precisely because it is not subject to change, suffering and death. Athanasius, in contrast, develops what can be regarded as a more biblical understanding of transcendence, according to which God’s involvement in the world is not seen as a challenge to his divinity, but precisely as a manifestation of his eternal being and goodness . . . God’s transcendence is such that God can be absolutely immanent as Logos incarnate on the cross’ (p. 29).
By contrast, the author observes, ‘the Antiochenes embrace a more deeply Hellenized understanding of divine transcendence, and are therefore forced to resist too direct an involvement in the world to the Logos himself’ (p. 29; cf. p. 65). ‘The interpretation of divine transcendence as distance from the world is in stark contrast with the biblical view of divine transcendence . . . developed from reflection on God’s active relationship with the world’ (p. 66). The main concern of Antiochene theologians was not the integrity of the humanity of Christ, but rather ‘the concern to uphold the divinity of the Logos, and especially the impassibility of the Divine Logos’ (p. 63). Nestorius ‘positively wishes to separate the divine Logos from the suffering of Jesus and does so in order to protect the hellenistically conceived transcendence of the Logos’ (p. 88). What Nestorianism and monophysitism ‘have in common is their failure to overcome a Hellenistic understanding of divine transcendence, according to which God is truly transcendent only by being distant from the world and its suffering, and embrace a more biblical approach . . . where divine transcendence is understood as God’s surpassing faithfulness to the creature, to the point to taking on creaturely existence as his own’ (p. 179).
For Athanasius, on the contrary, ‘“impassibility” means that God is always active and never passive. It does not mean that God is incapable of responding to human beings, as the Incarnation shows . . . When God responds, this response is always active, free and uncompelled . . . Once we establish that God is good and loving, the Incarnation and even Jesus’ death on the cross are seen to be perfectly coherent with God’s divine transcendence’ (p. 30, p. 33).
And third, a satisfying impression is given throughout the work of a unifying theological discourse: the author takes it that all theological treatises are closely bound up with one another. Nothing is ultimately left out, for nothing may be left out: Trinity, Christology (and Mariology, p. 198), sacramental economy, theological anthropology, all in a soteriological context. The six councils studied ‘have more than passing relevance to questions of creation, theological anthropology, grace, salvation, eschatology and so on’ (p. 96). ‘Modern christology is correct in emphasizing the true humanity and historicity of Jesus,’ he observes, ‘but misguided in thinking that it should achieve that by cutting ties with trinitarian faith’ (p. 178).
Hopefully this text will not be the last theological product of the author. Three issues might be suggested for further development: the relationship and tension between divinization and gracing (pp. 67f.), the meaning of suffering in the context of divine impassibility, and theological anthropology understood in a Marian context.