Ember Days

Since people are talking about this

2009-12-21T20:02:00.003-06:00

You better believe I'm not going to weigh in on the whole shoplifting sermon thing. But since everyone is throwing around references to Thomas Aquinas's thoughts on the matter, I thought I could at least perform the modest public service of suggesting that people get the word straight from the Dumb Ox's mouth.

It was a very good year

2009-12-14T09:20:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I marked the first anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood by celebrating the Holy Eucharist wearing ~~pink~~ rose (no cracks about that, please) and singing in a very fine production of Part One of Handel's Messiah. It was quite a nice day.

Indeed, it's been quite a nice year.

And today Jared Cramer marks the first anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood with a much more interesting post than this one.

I should be grading these finals instead of blogging about them

2009-12-10T10:07:00.005-06:00

On my Classics of Christian Thought final I asked each student to write a short essay on two of the following questions: (1) Which of this semester's texts would you most fervently argue should be included the next time I teach this class? (2) Which would you most fervently argue should be dropped? (3) What other text would you recommend I add?

The winner of this little exercise was Aelred of Rievaulx's Spiritual Friendship, with three votes for "keep" and no votes for "ditch." The loser was Book I of Hooker's Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, with two votes for "ditch" and none for "keep." Other than the Laws, anything that showed up on one student's "ditch" list showed up on someone else's "keep" list, with Julian of Norwich's Revelations of Divine Love provoking an equal balance of enthusiastic support and violent loathing.

The arguments given in support of these judgments range from the well-considered to the dishearteningly stupid. "Because she was the only woman" is not a good reason to keep Julian on the syllabus, much as I love her, and "His sentences were too long" is not going to persuade me to drop Hooker. The Missing the Point Award goes to the guy who wanted me to ditch Benedict's Rule because "I do not think the class needs a how-to book on how a monk can be closer with God." And I don't even know what to say about this comment:

I believe a classics of Christian thought class should read theologically significant books. Julian's book is more of interest to those in the women's studies department, those interested in women's history, feminist and critical theory, etc. Making postmodernists and deconstructionists of the English department angry by striking such a book from the curriculum would of itself be sufficient reason for doing so, but there is also the more academically relevant fact that it is more impressive and theologically significant to improve Christendom's understanding of the nature of the atonement (a la Anselm) than to get really sick and have potentially theologically dubious visions.

Well OK then.

I did, however, like the e-mail that ended, "In other words, you ROCK, Father."

Scattershot venting over trivialities, or, I can't help myself

2009-12-10T07:00:00.004-06:00

Props for the O Antiphon shout-out here, but this just doesn't work as a concluding collect for the Prayers of the People:

O King of all the nations, only joy of every heart, keystone of the mighty arch who makes us one, come and save the creature you fashioned from clay. Glory to you for ever. Amen.

Too florid, coming after matter-of-fact petitions; you should have seen the "what the hell was that?" look on the clergy's face after they had come upon it unexpectedly. And what's the antecedent of 'who'? It can't be 'arch' -- surely it's not the arch that makes us one. (And wouldn't an arch be a 'that' rather than a 'who'? An Arch might conceivably be a 'who', but an arch has to be a 'that'.) It has to be 'King'. But if it's 'King', the third-person verb is wrong. (Ditto if it's supposed to be 'keystone'.)

Points for creativity, but no sale.

*****

'Saith' is pronounced 'seth.' Rhymes with 'beth.' One syllable.

*****

If you're going to adapt the Collect for Quiet Confidence -- "O God of peace, who hast taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved" &c. (Prayer 59, BCP 832) -- to contemporary language, you can't make it "who has taught." 'Hast' is second person, which is right, because we're addressing God. 'Has' is third person, which is wrong, because, again, we're addressing God. So you can either say "who have taught," which is so incongruously old-fashioned that you might as well leave the traditional language alone, or else follow the usual contemporary practice and say "you have taught." The Prayer Book italicizes both the 'who' and the 'hast' in order to suggest precisely that change.

For today's undergraduates, there's no such thing as clear instructions

2009-12-10T06:53:00.003-06:00

I told my undergrads they could submit their final exams, which are essays on set questions, as e-mail attachments. I instructed them to give their exams filenames of the form "Smith Final," using their last names so that I didn't get a whole bunch of exams with indistinguishable file names (as in twenty files all called "Advanced Wisdom Final"), and I specified four file formats (.wpd, .doc, .rtf, .pdf) that I would accept.

Of the seven exams I've received so far, one is in an unreadable format, one is named "Advanced Wisdom Final," and two are actually named "Smith Final." Yes! Mr Brown and Mr Jones both called their exams "Smith Final." Form, people. In the form "Smith Final."

It's going to be a long day.

The year in review

2009-12-09T06:50:00.003-06:00

The canons require non-parochial priests to submit a report on the exercise of their office over the past year (see Canon I.6.2). Filling out the form my diocese had sent me for that purpose turned out to be a salutary exercise, because it helped me see that I'm not nearly so disconnected from parish ministry as I sometimes feel. It wasn't just the numbers (55 celebrations of the Eucharist, 25 sermons, etc.), though those do certainly say something about the sense in which I'm "non-parochial," but the encouragement to remember other ways in which I've been active in the life of the parish: the confirmation classes and other adult formation stuff, the hospital visits (very few of these, indeed, but some), the needs and prayers that have been shared with me, even the occasional vestry meetings that I've been able to attend.

Reviewing the year also offered me another reason for gratitude. It occurred to me for the first time that by living in a diocese in which I'm not canonically resident, I escape being asked to serve on committees. This is an unmistakable blessing.

Unfortunately, I think they're on to me. I happened to run into one of the dignitaries of the Diocese of My Sojourn last night when I was engaged on non-ecclesiastical business, and he muttered darkly about a conversation he had just had with his Bishop the day before, all about how they needed to put me to work . . .

From all boards, task forces, and committees, and from catching the eye of diocesan dignitaries, Good Lord, deliver us.

Sermon for Advent 2, Year C

2009-12-06T05:26:00.003-06:00

I tried and tried to make John the Baptist all warm and cuddly, but it just didn't work.

Audio this afternoon, for those who prefer it.

UPDATE: Audio tomorrow, actually, because my CD player has given up the ghost.

********

Second Sunday of Advent (Year C)
6 December 2009

✠ I speak to you in the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

One of the resources I often consult when I’m preparing to preach had this piece of advice for today’s sermon: “the [preacher’s] purpose today must be to awaken a sense of tingling expectation such as is characteristic of Advent.” Now I ask you – how exactly does one go about awakening a sense of tingling expectation? Maybe that’s something they teach in seminary, and I just missed out.

But there’s a further problem – which is that I don’t think “tingling expectation” is at all the kind of reaction that today’s readings are encouraging:

See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple. The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight – indeed, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts. But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?

That wonderful reading from Malachi distills the ambivalence that Scripture always has about the day of the Lord. Do we long for it, or do we fear it? Both. We delight in the messenger of the covenant – but who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?

The coming of the Lord is not like the coming of Santa Claus, not even like the coming of the cute little baby in the manger – not, at any rate, the way we think of that little baby, forgetting in our sentimentality and nostalgia exactly who that baby is and what he has come to do. It’s easy to work up a tingling expectation for that visitor down the chimney, or that visitor in the manger. The tingling expectation is pleasant, it comes with an enjoyable soundtrack, and it doesn’t require us to do anything at all but just revel in that emotional wooziness that we have all agreed to call “the Christmas spirit.” But when the Lord comes, when the King comes – who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?

Unlike Santa Claus, and unlike the manger-baby of semi-Christian sentimentality, the one who is coming is like a refiner’s fire, and like fuller’s soap. You know about the refiner’s fire – the burning that purifies – but do you know about the fuller’s soap? We don’t talk about fullers any more; you never hear anyone say, “I have to run by the fuller’s on the way home from work.” A fuller was someone who cleaned and thickened cloth by stomping on it or beating it. And fuller’s soap was sort of like lye; it was harsh, and the process of making it gave off absolutely vile smells; you had to make it well away from where people lived.

So now maybe the picture is a little clearer. Who can endure the day of his coming – for he is like a fire that burns off impurities; he is like a stinky, corrosive soap to be used on cloth that must be trampled and pummeled until it is clean and thick and finally presentable.

Feeling all tingly now?

And don’t think John the Baptist makes things any better. Granted, he’s a lot more pleasant today than he will be next week, when he’s going to call us all a bunch of snakes. But the familiar words of Isaiah are every bit as sobering as those from Malachi:

Every valley shall be filled,
and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
and the rough ways made smooth.

It’s a major engineering project to get things ready for the coming of the Lord. And if we’re really going to experience the coming of the Lord this Christmas – not the coming of Santa Claus or the coming of the manger-baby of semi-Christian sentimentality, but the full-blown coming of the Lord – we have to submit to having our impurities burned off by the refiner and pummeled out by the fuller; we have to let the King straighten out what is crooked in us – think how agonizing, to have the crooked made straight – and take his heavy-duty sandpaper to smooth the rough places in our heart.

And now hear the Collect again:

Merciful God, who sent your messengers the prophets – the prophet Malachi, who warns us of the refiner’s fire and the fuller’s soap; the prophet John the Baptist, who cries out in the wilderness – to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation; gives us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins – to have our impurities burned away, our dirt pummeled out, our crookedness painfully straightened, our rough places sanded away – that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer.

John the Baptist was sent to make preparations for the coming King, and he warned that you can’t expect the King to show up just anywhere. The road needs to be prepared, straightened, smoothed, so that the King can come to his people.

If you’re feeling any tingling at this point, it’s probably not expectation, but something more like fear. If all this is true – and it is, I’m afraid – then who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?

The truth is, we rather like our rough places the way they are, and we don’t want our comfortable, familiar crookedness straightened out. If inviting the King into our lives means exposing our impurities to his purifying fire and our dirt to his smelly soap and rather aggressive cleaning techniques, then we’d rather settle for the visitor down the chimney, or the visitor in the manger, who passes out of our lives without making much of a difference beyond a pleasant glow of nostalgia and sentiment that has faded by the time the Christmas tree is sitting discarded on the curb.

So we have to ask for grace, grace to recognize our impurities and dirt and crookedness and roughness for what they are – because, you see, we don’t call them that – we call them things like “self-respect” and “not being a religious fanatic” and “you won’t believe what those people did to me” and “I’m basically a good person.” We have to ask for grace to recognize those things as the ugly and deadly things they are, as the things that say to our King that he is not welcome to stay.

And then we submit all those things to the refiner’s fire and the fuller’s soap, and offer our crookedness for the King to straighten and our roughness for him to smooth, and somehow we find that we can endure the day of his coming, that we can stand when he appears, because underneath all the impurities and dirt and crookedness and roughness we really do delight in the messenger of the covenant, and we really do long to greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer, to whom, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, be ascribed, as is most justly due, all might, dominion, majesty, and glory, world without end. Amen.

I can't quite work out the theology here

2009-12-03T05:51:00.002-06:00

A Roman Catholic bishop in Australia had given permission to the local Anglican bishop to ordain several candidates in the RC cathedral because the Anglican cathedral was closed for repairs. Then someone told the Vatican that some of the ordinands were women, and permission was withdrawn.

I can't quite work out the theology here. If Anglican orders (which are, of course, absolutely null and utterly void) can be conferred in a Roman Catholic cathedral without "sending the wrong signal" -- presumably, the signal that actual ordinations as understood by the Roman Catholic Church are taking place -- then I'm not sure why the fact that women are included in the pseudo-ordinations changes things.

I guess the ordination of women is so offensive that one doesn't want even the appearance of such a thing (and Anglican ordinations do look like ordinations).

And the battle begins

2008-03-31T12:04:00.001-05:00

What do copyeditors have against the causal 'since' and the adversative 'while'?

Missing the narrative

2008-07-02T06:07:00.003-05:00

So many good stories and no way to tell them. I don't want to start reporting conversations with identifiable people, and this is a small enough crowd that just about everyone is identifiable. Plus, there would be a breathless I-heard-Madison-say-that-she-heard-Cody-say-that-he-thought-you-were-cute quality to it. The loss to blogdom is, of course, incalculable.

My one post yesterday was written during class, I'm afraid. I rather zoned out during that whole two hours (not that the post took two hours to write -- but once you mentally leave the room, it's hard to get back). I'll have to do better today. I sent off the corrected page proofs for the Schmanselm book yesterday afternoon, an enterprise that cost $30: $13.50 for photocopying the 90 (!!) corrected pages in the seminary students' common room, and $16.50 for overnight mail to the press. I am really glad to have that job behind me. The first time through the page proofs -- 310 pages, reading the whole thing aloud so as to keep myself from skimming -- I found so many mistakes that I felt I had to do the whole thing a second time. So I did. And I found more errors the second time through. All told there were 25 printer's errors and 75 author's alterations -- almost all of the latter being mistakes that the "copyeditor" had failed to notice. (So had the author, of course, but he doesn't care to emphasize that part.) At this point I am so sick of Schmanselm I can hardly express it.

And I'm not quite done yet, since I'll have to look over the index when it gets done. But the end is tantalizingly close.

Now I can stew full-time about the sermon I'm suppose to preach tomorrow.

I count not myself to have apprehended (reprise)

2009-11-30T16:03:00.002-06:00

I will know that I have attained sanctity when I am patient with copy editors.

A tale of two long days

2009-11-30T16:55:00.003-06:00

Yesterday

Leave home at 7:00 am. Read Gospel at both Eucharists (the Deacon was preaching) and administer the Sacrament. Long chat with Rector, which turns into lunch with Rector. Longish drive to the next city over for rehearsal for Evensong. Marvel that the paid tenor doesn't know his notes and the basses are flat, flat, flat. Dean invites me to preach some time at the Cathedral. Evensong itself: smoky and glorious (and I even had a little solo part). Reception afterward. Answer odd questions from snowbird Canadian who used to be Anglican but embraced the Romanist heresy and now misses good music and wonders where the nearest Anglo-Catholic parish is. Long drive home, arriving a bit after 8:00 pm.

Tomorrow

It's Jonathan Edwards with my undergraduates at 9:30, then office hours, followed by lunch with a colleague. Then faculty-search paperwork. From 3:00 to 6:00 my graduate seminar will be taken up with student presentations on Scotus. At 6:00 follows the College Tenure and Promotion Committee meeting, which is guaranteed to last no less than three hours and could easily go much longer.

If I have to have long days, I'd much rather spend them in church.

It's not Palestrina, but it feels Adventy to me

2009-11-28T18:30:00.000-06:00

Obviously I've been watching too much Glee, but anyway, I had this dream in which I was the pianist for a production of the musical Pippin (which I actually was, several years ago), and Matthew Morrison (!) and I ended up performing a duet of "Corner of the Sky." When I woke up, I went to YouTube and found lots of videos from the 1981 TV version, starring William "Greatest American Hero" Katt as Pippin. Is it just me, or is "Morning Glow" quite Adventy?

Thoughts of a tenor going over his music for Evensong

2009-11-27T13:53:00.004-06:00

Are all male students at C of E theological colleges forced to pass an exam in Effeminate Nasal Braying as a condition of ordination? Or is it just that the BBC seeks out those clerics for its broadcasts as part of its insidious plan to undermine the Established Church?

For those who are interested in such things

2009-11-23T05:43:00.003-06:00

As I mentioned in an earlier post, the American Philosophical Association has been debating how to apply its non-discrimination policy to institutions that discriminate against gay folks in their hiring practices. It has reached what I think is a sensible policy: allowing such institutions to advertise their jobs in the usual venue -- some people had wanted to prohibit those schools from advertising at all in Jobs for Philosophers -- but flagging ads from institutions that discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation. (The argument that the policies banning partnered gay people from faculties don't constitute discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation because these institutions prohibit all sexual conduct outside heterosexual marriage didn't fly.)

There's a good article here. In keeping with my usual status of not being important myself but having various vague connections with those who are important, I will note that one of the philosophers quoted in the article is a friend of mine (and I have frequently played services in his parish) and another will appear with me (or, rather, I will appear with him) on a panel concerning this very issue at the APA meeting in New York during one of my few breaks from attending Christmastide services at the Church of Saint Mary the Virgin.

But who may abide the day of his coming?

2009-11-22T14:52:00.003-06:00

Having been not altogether pleased with my last sermon, I've been trying to get a jump on the next one, for the Second Sunday of Advent. The alternative Old Testament lesson is Malachi 3:1-4, which of course immediately puts me in mind of Handel. And who better to help you get into the Advent spirit?

So I went to YouTube, and after enduring a version of "But who may abide" performed by the London Philharmonic and (apparently) Dracula, I found this version featuring a countertenor I hadn't heard of before, Matt Alber:

It turns out that Mr Alber is a former member of Chanticleer, and a most versatile vocalist.

None of this helps me with the sermon, particularly, but it's made for a pleasant afternoon.

No longer above my pay grade

2009-09-03T07:45:00.003-05:00

Before I was ordained, I used to get e-mails asking me things like "Which translation of the Confessions do you prefer?" and "What's the connection between Scotus and the dunce cap?"

Now I'm getting questions like "How do I discern the will of God for my life?" and "How can I be sure I'm among the elect?"

Thoughts in advance of the blessing of the animals

2009-10-04T05:08:00.004-05:00

Like so many other parishes, we're doing a blessing of the animals today.

What with one thing and another, I'm not really up to date on my Gay Agenda these days, but I'm fairly sure I'm supposed to wax indignant about how I'm allowed to bless cats and dogs but not same-sex couples. Unfortunately, I don't have it in me, and I don't feel indignation -- more like a mild and passive case of the WTFs -- and ginning up indignation for purposes of ecclesiastical politics is hardly good for the soul. So I'm off to do animal blessings.

The thing is, I still really don't care for the blessing of animals, not when done en masse and in celebration of Saint Francis of Assisi. I can't really say why that is. I quite like animals (dogs, anyway), and it's not as though I care deeply about the reduction of the Franciscan charism to going all woo-woo-woo about animals. Mind you, I do object intellectually to the reduction of the Franciscan charism, and I would be much happier if we got some serious stories about radical discipleship, or at least sat around and recounted our favorite arguments from Scotus or shared a giggle over the most outlandish Trinitarian analogies from Bonaventure, but it's not as though I have any deep Franciscan commitment that is outraged by the Sunday Kitty Parade in Francis's honor.

It's probably that I'm just too uptight to appreciate all the non-human visitors to the Choral Eucharist -- who don't even sing the responses properly -- or the simpler music that is invariably thought appropriate for the day. (Who's to say dogs don't enjoy polyphony as much as anybody else?) Last year I just avoided the service and went elsewhere, but then last year I hadn't been ordained and so had more freedom about where I spent my Sunday mornings. This year I'm actually needed for blessing purposes, especially since the Curate is away. So off I go.

I shall think of it in much the same way as I think of singing "On Eagles' Wings": it's not something I'd ever choose to do myself, and I don't really get what people see in it, but I know it's meaningful to many, many people, and I will rejoice in that, as well as I know how.

And I shall think, also, of the fact that if I had a dog, I could bring him to church with me for a blessing, whereas I can bring my partner to church with me to receive the Body and Blood of the Lord Jesus. So it's kinda hard to think M. comes out the loser in that deal.

It hath charms to soothe the savage medievalist

2009-09-30T10:17:00.003-05:00

Schola rehearsal last week, and Evensong on Sunday, have put me in a better mood, as some of you predicted they would. Unfortunately, the music director disbanded the schola the next day. Harrumph. Lest you think it was my horrendous singing that spelled doom for that group, however, he then invited me to join a new, smaller ensemble. This possibility looks even better, since the group will be rehearsing only every other week, and on a different night -- meaning that I won't have to jump in the car right after a three-hour Scotus-fest and miss dinner just to get to rehearsal on time. This development should lead to further non-grumpiness, for which we can all be grateful.

Things I have discovered recently

2009-10-06T06:13:00.005-05:00

Just because we've just finished singing five stanzas of sturdy G major doesn't mean I should start the Sursum corda on a G. Sure, I'll sound like the lyric baritone I've always secretly wanted to be, and that's ever so gratifying -- but the congregational responses will sit uncomfortably high for most of the folks in the pews. And then it's All About the Priest. Get a good breath, let the G major fade, and go back to your usual F.

*****

There is no administrative task so simple that my senior colleagues can't screw it up, and no screw-up so minor that I can't get exasperated over it.

*****

The "Christian classics" we're reading in my undergraduate course -- Athanasius, Basil, Augustine, Benedict, Anselm, Aelred, Julian, and so forth -- pretty much teach themselves.

Scotus, not so much.

*****

My tendency to decorate the ends of phrases with extra vibrato may be attributable to too much listening to hair bands back in the 80s.

Commentary on Anselm's Trinitarian theology

2009-04-23T13:00:00.002-05:00

The first clear echo in the Monologion of an Augustinian psychological triad comes only after Anselm has established, to his own satisfaction, that the supreme essence “utters itself” and thereby gives birth to, or “begets,” a Word, who is himself the supreme essence, a Son consubstantial with the Father who begot him. Having reached these conclusions, Anselm explains that since we can call the Word “understanding,” we can aptly call the Father “memory.” Notice that in keeping with Anselm’s consistent method, the psychological analogy does not justify the constructive arguments; the constructive arguments justify the psychological analogy.

The sense that ‘memory’ has here is distinctively Augustinian. Augustine explains his usage in De trinitate:

Therefore, just as in things past we give the name ‘memory’ to that in virtue of which they can be recalled and remembered, so too in things present–and the mind is, with respect to itself, something present–it is quite legitimate to give the name ‘memory’ to that by which the mind is present (praesto) to itself in such a way that it can be understood by its own thought.

So we can think of memory as, roughly, the mind itself, regarded as a capacity for awareness. When the mind is turned upon itself, it actualizes that capacity and thereby produces perfect self-knowledge: a Word or understanding (intelligentia) consubstantial with the mind (memoria) that produced it. Readers of De trinitate will know what comes next: the triad is memory, understanding, and love. But once again, for Anselm the psychological analogy cannot be a premise in the constructive arguments; the constructive arguments must justify the analogy. There needs to be a positive reason to introduce love, given that we already have memory and understanding, beyond simply the need to find structural isomorphism between the three-personal character of God and some aspect of human psychology.

Anselm finds this positive reason in a claim about teleology. Perfect mind eternally turned upon itself, producing perfect self-knowledge, is teleologically stunted; it is not for anything. Anselm writes:

But behold! As I consider with delight the distinguishing characteristics and the common features of the Father and the Son, I find nothing that brings me greater delight to consider than their affection of mutual love (mutui amoris affectum). For how absurd it would be to deny that the supreme spirit loves himself, just as he remembers and understands himself, when even the rational mind can be shown to love itself and him in virtue of the fact that it can remember and understand itself and him! After all, the memory and understanding of a thing is idle and completely useless (otiosa et penitus inutilis) unless the thing itself is either loved or repudiated as reason requires.

This love, by which the self-contained and static divine wisdom is made dynamic and purposive, proceeds equally from memory and understanding–in other words, from the Father and the Son. It must also be equal to the Father and the Son, since “God’s love of himself is as great as his memory and understanding of himself, and his memory and understanding of himself is as great as his essence.” Though this love proceeds from both the Father and the Son, it is one love, not two. For this love “does not proceed from that in virtue of which the Father and the Son are more than one, but from that in virtue of which they are one.” It is in virtue of their relations that the Father and the Son are more than one, and their love does not proceed from them in virtue of the relations of being a Father and being a Son (or begetting and being begotten). Instead, their love proceeds from them in virtue of their nature, which is one.

John Milbank has suggested that Anselm’s emphasis on unity of the Holy Spirit, as proceeding from that in virtue of which the Father and the Son are one, undermines the distinctiveness of the three persons:

It is he who deepens the Augustinian tendency to subordinate the persons to the substance, and who makes the Spirit proceed a Patre Filioque tamquam ab uno principio [from the Father and the Son as from one principle]. For the per Filium [through the Son] is substituted the notion of a procession from Father and Son in virtue of their substantial identity as God. This move is on the road to modalism.

Modalism is the heresy that denies the threeness of God. On a modalist view, the three persons are merely distinct roles played by a single, undifferentiated God–different “modes” in which an utterly unitary God relates to creation at different times or for different purposes.

Now it is hard to see why the doctrine that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son in virtue of the divine nature rather than in virtue of their distinguishing relations would be any more likely to lead to modalism than the view that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father through the Son. Indeed, both views entail the denial of modalism, since both views make the three-personal character of God a matter of God’s internal constitution (so to speak) rather than merely his external manifestation, as modalism would have it. Nevertheless, Milbank’s challenge invites us to consider more carefully the ways in which Anselm attempts to do justice both to the threeness and to the oneness of God.

It is a venerable principle of Trinitarian theology, at least in the West, that the three persons always act together in everything God does outside himself. For example, it is the whole Trinity that creates, not merely the Father; it is the whole Trinity that redeems, not merely the Son; it is the whole Trinity that sanctifies, not merely the Spirit. Moreover, the three persons have a common divine nature, so whatever is true of one person is true of the others, except insofar as their distinguishing characteristics are concerned. Even so, it has been considered legitimate to associate certain activities or characteristics with one person in particular. This association is called “appropriation.” By appropriation we speak of the Father as Creator, the Son as Redeemer, and the Holy Spirit as Sanctifier, or of the Father as Power, the Son as Wisdom, and the Holy Spirit as Love.

How exactly to understand and justify the practice of appropriation in light of the principle that the three persons equally possess all the divine attributes and act inseparably in all actions ad extra is a difficult theological question–one that fortunately we need not address. Our concern is with Anselm’s use of appropriated names. For him, especially in the Monologion, the most salient names are memory, understanding (or Word), and love. Their use is underwritten by the constructive arguments that reveal God first as self-understanding mind–memory begetting understanding or uttering a Word–and then as dynamic and purposive–love proceeding from memory and understanding together. These arguments, and the psychological analogies that illuminate them, require that each person be understood in relation to the other two. A Word must be the Word of something; love is inseparable from the wisdom that love makes dynamic. There can accordingly be no question of a single, undifferentiated unity that is successively memory, understanding, and love. God is at once memory and understanding and love, and each of those can be what it is only in virtue of its relation to the others.

It is worth noting as well that Anselm sees no tension between the doctrine of appropriation and an orthodox understanding of perichoresis, the mutual indwelling of each person of the Trinity in the others. Though the appropriated names emphasize the distinctiveness of the persons and their mutual relations, Anselm uses those names as an essential part of an argument for the perichoretic unity of the Godhead:

For indeed the supreme spirit understands and loves his whole memory, remembers and loves his whole understanding, and remembers and understands his whole love. Now by ‘memory’ we mean the Father, by ‘understanding’ the Son, and by ‘love’ the Spirit-of-both. Therefore, the Father, the Son, and the Spirit-of-both embrace one another and exist in one another with such equality that none of them is found to exceed another or exist apart from another.

This is a particularly deft move, by which Anselm makes the threeness of God into an argument for divine unity while insisting that the unity is constituted by the dynamic interrelations of the three persons. No one who had taken even the first step on the road to modalism could have argued in this way.

Most gratifying e-mail ever from a graduate student

2009-11-20T05:50:00.002-06:00

"I just read your piece on univocity. I'm surprised the Radical Orthodoxy people haven't bombed your car. You don't pull any punches in print, do you?"

I think I know what "interesting" means

2009-11-18T19:30:00.001-06:00

Tenor, to me, before the midweek service: "Did you get any comments about Sunday's sermon?'

Me: "Yeah, a few."

Tenor: "It was interesting."

Silence.

Sermon for Proper 28, Year B

2009-11-15T13:33:00.003-06:00

Here's the audio.

Time for some student smackdowns (from my internal monologue)

2009-11-12T14:04:00.005-06:00

Mr A: Do you really have to pounce on me the very second I get into the office, every single time? Would it kill you to let me hang up my coat, take a seat, maybe get my computer booted up before you interrogate me about things that you won't need to act on for at least two more years?

Ms M: There is a rather marked difference between asking questions in a graduate seminar and playing word-association games. Please remain silent until you have grasped that difference.

Mr C: That's lovely that you're asking your facebook friends to pray for your spiritual growth and sanctification. You might also ask them to pray for you to bring your damn book to class.