March 29, 1999

Dear Fellow BGC Pastor,

Greetings,

This letter reflects our apprehension regarding the “exhaustive foreknowledge” resolution. In February, our churches received in the mail a packet of materials prepared by a group of “concerned Pastors” about a resolution for the annual meeting in June of 1999 in Florida. We as pastors and church leaders are apprehensive about the tone and intent of the action these “concerned Pastors” are taking. Please let us share our perspective with you. Their effort is to encourage the conference to pass a resolution on the “exhaustive foreknowledge” of God and use the resolution as a tool through which all other theological debates are filtered. First, we are troubled that their strategy is an attempt to amend the Affirmation of Faith through a resolution format rather than through the defined amendment process contained in the BGC Constitution. Clearly “exhaustive foreknowledge” is not found in the Affirmation and needs to be dealt with as an amendment.

Second, we are alarmed that this attempt to modify the 1951 Affirmation of Faith through a resolution will redefine a consensus core of beliefs that have held together a denomination and its educational institutions in ways that include persons from the Reformed, Arminian and Evangelical Pietist traditions. It moves the “Affirmation” towards a dangerous “creedalism” that is an anathema to our Baptist heritage.

Third, we are disheartened that a representative group of these Pastors chose not to honor the BGC leadership team’s request by letter (twelve of our district Executive Ministers, the President of the BGC, the executive Vice Presidents and the Chairman of the Board of Overseers) to withdraw the proposed resolution and to engage in a two year theological discussion about the foreknowledge of God issue and its importance. By their action of pressing ahead on this issue and ignoring the counsel of the leadership team they have politicized this issue. (see enclosed letter) Some could accuse us of the same tactic. However, we believe a dissenting viewpoint needs to be given an equal hearing.

Fourth, we are disappointed that these Pastors found unacceptable a report of theologians organized by the President of Bethel who investigated Dr. Boyd’s theological positions and unanimously found them to be within the spectrum of evangelical belief.

Fifth, we are troubled that some of the Pastors have misrepresented Dr. Boyd based solely on his belief of an Open View of the Future (through circulated theological articles) and have failed to acknowledge his ardent defense of Scripture, the trinity, the deity of Christ, salvation by faith, etc., which he expounds in class, in the pulpit in his BGC church, and on secular campuses throughout the Twin Cities. We have included a summary of Dr. Boyd’s position on the Open View of the Future.

Sixth, we believe this resolution, as proposed, raises as many or more questions than it seeks to clarify. Does “exhaustive foreknowledge” mean one has to believe in an extreme Calvinistic view of predestination? Is it helpful to propose a resolution clarifying the 1951 framer’s intention using an argument from silence? Does this new “hermeneutic” determine how one interprets the other sections of the Affirmation? Does a commitment to a specific interpretation of “exhaustive foreknowledge” have additional implications for issues like prayer, missions and theologies of evangelism?

Finally, the current Affirmation of Faith has allowed persons from diverse evangelical theological positions to respect one another and join together in the proclamation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We fear that some of the framers of the resolution have articulated commitments that could lead to the pulling apart of this coalition. For example, some believe that God’s exhaustive foreknowledge must necessitate one’s belief in God’s predestinarian will (John Piper, “Comments on Trinity and Process”). Some hold that the evangelical Arminian tradition itself is suspect. For example, “Arminians think dangerous things and are on the brink of heresy frequently.” (John Piper in the 1998 Piper/Boyd foreknowledge debate).

We believe, therefore, that a resolution like this needs to be challenged. It has the potential to divide the Conference and unnecessarily divert us from our primary responsibility of building God’s kingdom. We want to maintain and strengthen our commitments to Pietism, evangelism and civility and not jeopardize them. Throughout the history of the BGC four Pietist themes have had the highest priority: 1) redemption through the shed blood of Jesus Christ; 2) a Bible-centered faith; 3) a desire for holy living; and 4) a commitment to evangelism. Pietists are known for their commitment to the irenic spirit and a prayer-filled life. Our prayer in this dialogue is Eph. 4:3; “make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”

If you are of a similar mind and heart and want to be part of an effort to either defeat this resolution and/or support the recommendation of the leadership team, please let us hear from you. Our organizing committee needs your input and support. If you respond we want to 1) list you as a supporting leader with your permission; 2) seek your input on issues to address; and 3) encourage you to participate with us in the development of a strategy for the annual meeting in Florida. It is our intent to conduct our analysis of the resolution issues in a spirit of civility and to proclaim as important preserving the Conference’s Baptist pietistic historical tradition. We have enclosed background material for the discussion of the “resolution.”

Thank you for considering our perspectives. We believe the stakes are high and look forward to your input and discussion.

Joyfully a Servant,

Ron Saari

Central Baptist Church

420 N. Roy

St. Paul, MN 55105

Ph: 651-646-2751

Fax: 651-646-0372

E-Mail: central at centralbaptistchurch dot com

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B.R.S., B.A., M.A., M.Litt., D.Phil.

A Paper Prepared for Presentation to the Forum of The Oxford Society of Scholars Meeting in Rewley House/Kellogg College, University of Oxford 12-14 January 2004
Printed with permission

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Lorenzo Dow McCabe and Some Neglected Nineteenth Century Roots of Open Theism in North America

‘Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if preserved in, they must lead,’ said Scrooge, ‘But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.’ (Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol)

When old Ebenezer Scrooge asks the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come whether the dreadful scenes foretold him were shadows of things that will be or only of things that might be, he touched upon some of the vital questions posed by human beings from time immemorial. Dickens’s fictitious miser was neither the first nor the last to utter the major existential question of whether the writing could yet be sponged away.

The vast literature of humankind – including major works in philosophy and theology – continues to be permeated by questions about the nature of the future, whether it exists as a fixed reality or only as potential, as well as what can be known of it, or even whether it can be known with any degree of certainty at all.¹ Related questions concerning divine omniscience, along with the possibility, nature and extent of divine foreknowledge, go beyond academic significance as people are faced with tasks of coping with both personal and social scale suffering and by encounters with evil.²

These questions have specifically troubled the waters of Christian doctrine and practice since apostolic times without bringing healing resolution. Many attempted the quest for answers, but Augustine and the Scholastic thinkers developed the approaches and theories which became the dominant answers to these vital questions. They were consistent with most post-apostolic theology and philosophy.³

As the Christian world was shaken by the massive changes of the late medieval and renaissance period, and as controversies of the Protestant Reformation rekindled the questions, along with variations of those Augustinian and Scholastic dogmas, Erasmus and Arminius popularised alternative approaches. Debates since that time have been largely variations on these themes – themes which re-emerge in various contexts and historical epochs throughout Christian history.

In the turbulent years of the American Civil War, its aftermath and continuing on through the First World War in the early part of the last century, issues related to God’s knowledge of the future re-emerged. Questions of moral government in the light of social and justice issues, questions of maintaining the goodness of God in the face of moral evil including suffering and war (ie, ‘theodicy’), and questions of liberty and self-determination in a revivalist frontier environment combined to give rise to intense and sometimes heated reconsiderations of root issues concerning the various attributes of God (including omniscience) and the nature of God’s relationship to humans (including freedom of the will and foreknowledge).⁴ Though philosophers and theologians of many denominational backgrounds addressed the issues, these concerns were engaged with new urgency among American Wesleyan, Methodist and holiness groups.

These perennial questions are alive and well once again at the dawn of our so-called postmodern age, characterised by change and uncertainty brought about by a massive paradigm shift affecting nearly all areas of western thinking, believing and living. Relativity, quantum physics and chaos theory have resurrected questions about the nature of time.⁵ Revolutions, wars and threats of annihilation, combined with heightened global awareness of human rights issues have brought questions of theodicy again to the fore.⁶

While not exclusive to Christians in the western world, North American evangelicals seem particularly engaged with questions of the nature of human free will, as well as related concepts of divine sovereignty, providence, and omniscience. Christian publishing houses, current popular periodicals, academic philosophical and theological journals, and evangelical theological and philosophical societies, are scenes of verbal combat verging on an ecclesiastical civil war over these ancient, unresolved issues.⁷

Of particular concern is a growing debate between those who consider themselves ‘orthodox traditionalists’, embracing ‘classical’ theistic stances toward questions of the nature of God and God’s relationship to creation and time, and a loose association of theologians and philosophers variously labeled as ‘open theists’ or ‘freewill theists’, espousing an ‘openness of God’ theological paradigm.⁸ The interactions generally carry little of the character of badinage among colleagues appreciating diversity in a common quest for theological articulation.⁹ The former commonly depict themselves as defenders of the faith and champions of orthodoxy, polemically charging opponents within evangelical circles with quislingesque heresy and warning of dire peril to both individuals and the whole evangelical community in embracing these ‘neo-evangelical’ views.¹⁰ Much of the work of open theists has, therefore, necessarily taken on an apologetic flavour.

In general, the former are found primarily in various shades of Augustinian or Calvinistic determinism. The latter identify more with Arminian and Wesleyan sources, toned by freewill beliefs, though they are sometimes deemed to go beyond Arminianism, finding themselves opposed and excluded even by many freewill traditionalists.¹¹

Clark Pinnock describes it as ‘a Wesleyan/Arminian model with a twist.’¹² He claims that ‘[n]inety percent of it is in agreement with these evangelically oriented theological traditions, while ten percent is contested.’¹³ While John Sanders identifies the basic area of conflict within that smaller contested area as this very Arminian identity, Pinnock rightly recognises that it is open theism’s affirmation of what he terms ‘current omniscience’ and denial of exhaustive divine foreknowledge that are the most visible and contested sticking points in contemporary debates.¹⁴

These debates intensified dramatically with the 1994 publication of The Openness of God: A Biblical Challenge to the Traditional Understanding of God, co-authored by five of open theism’s leading thinkers.¹⁵ Since that time a virtual flood of articles, books and internet publications continues to pour forth and sustain the controversies. Pinnock identifies open theism as ‘a variant of Wesleyan/Arminian theology which enjoys a respected place in evangelical tradition’ – an identification that most other evangelical open theists would affirm.¹⁶ Opponents, however, speak of it as a clear departure from traditional evangelical orthodoxy, attacking it alternatively as either a new teaching or a restatement of an ancient heresy.

Despite clear distinctions, most critics associate this model with that of process theism.¹⁷ While major proponents of open theism grant an appreciation for certain aspects of process theology, they are also very clear about radical distinctions between these two approaches. Though Pinnock, for example, has spoken of open theism as an attempt to find a via mediabetween classical and process theisms, he has been specific about where the two models differ.¹⁸ Gregory Boyd has been particularly forceful in presenting both the affinities and incompatibilities between them.¹⁹ Despite certain limited similarities, evangelical open theists have not identified process thought as the source of their ideas.

Neither have they identified with Socinianism – after the teachings of the Polish reformer Faustus Socinus – another theological variant commonly critically associated with open theism.²⁰ Whereas process theologians indicate the importance of these sources, open theists are aware that there exists an unbridgeable gap between Socinian heresy and orthodox evangelical theism.²¹ The resemblance between Socinian formulas concerning divine omniscience and similar expressions in open theism, though remarkable, are actually historically accidental rather than relationally dependent.²²

Ideas about limiting of foreknowledge in such a way that the future remains to some degree undetermined and uncertain, even for God, are not new. Not only did the Socinians hold an understanding of divine omniscience close in wording to the current omniscience of open theism, but the medieval Jewish theologian Gersonides said that in creating beings with genuine free will God limited the divine omniscience, even abdicating some dimensions of divine foreknowledge.²³ Likewise, Ambrose is reported to have said concerning prayer that ‘if God foreknows the future, and if this must needs come to pass,’ and ‘if all things come to pass by the will of God, and his counsels are fixed, and none of the things he wills can be changed, prayer is vain.’²⁴

Contemporaries of Ambrose – Porphyry, Albinus and Calcidius – held similar ideas. The latter was reputed to have been a Christian, possibly even a Milanese deacon. He wrote that ‘it is true that God knows all things, but that he knows everything according to its own nature: that which is subject to necessity as submissive to necessity, the contingent, however, as provided with such a nature that deliberation opens a way for it.’²⁵ And furthermore, ‘contingent things are not inflexibly arranged and determined from the beginning with the sole exception of the very fact, that they must be uncertain and depend upon a contingent course.’²⁶

More specifically, however, open theists have insisted that this theological model is part of the larger picture Arminian and Wesleyan theological traditions. Open theism is seen not so much as a variant of this set of traditional views as a consistent development of, or within, it. Rather than being theologically discrete, it is traditional Arminian and Wesleyan belief evolved to a further level.²⁷

These roots of open theism as they developed during the second half of the nineteenth century are all but ignored by its opponents. Few critics allude to these historical developments, and fewer still take them seriously, despite the fact that open theists have consistently identified these factors as influential in their theological formation.²⁸

Rather than stretching credulity and the bounds of anachronistic fallacy, the major components of evangelical open theism can be found, at least in embryonic form, within these strangely neglected late nineteenth century historical theological developments among Arminian, Wesleyan, and holiness writers and preachers of the American frontier. While most of the writers from this period were content to simply replay themes previously heard, several of them articulated in their preaching and teaching barely-formulated ideas about how to understand divine omniscience and foreknowledge in ways which allowed humans authentic freedom of the will.

Methodist theologian and biblical scholar, Adam Clarke, for example, said that God ‘knows Himself, and what He has formed, and what He can do; but it is not necessitated to knowas certain what He Himself has made contingent.’²⁹ Although he described divine omniscience in a way which resembles ‘presentism’ or ‘current omniscience’ in open theism – the view that God has perfect knowledge of the past and present, as well as of what God determines to do in the future – he also insisted that ‘God’s gracious design to save a lost world by Jesus Christ could not be defeated by any cunning, skill, or malice of men or devils.’³⁰

John Miley would later say that Clarke ‘held in the part of God a purely voluntary nescience’ – a position which he criticised as inconsistent because ‘a voluntary nescience in God must imply a knowledge of the things which he chooses not to know.’³¹ Miley, along with others of this period, understood ‘nescience’ – literally ‘not knowing’ – to be the antonym of prescience. He recognized that ‘[t]he divine nescience of such volitions would be a necessity, not a free choice.’³²

In saying this, Miley recognised the importance of the work of the Methodist theologian and philosopher Lorenzo Dow McCabe.³³ Although Miley himself did not embrace what was becoming known, primarily through McCabe’s teaching and writing, as the divine nescience of future contingencies, he was very aware of, and even sympathetic to, this understanding. He noted that ideas of divine nescience had already been put forth in the sixteenth century among the Socinians and among some Remonstrants (Dutch followers of Arminius), though not Arminius himself, but praised McCabe’s articulation as both powerful and persuasive.³⁴ He wrote that this ‘doctrine itself has more recently been treated with a definiteness and thoroughness and supported with a force of argument which are quite new,’ and he confessed that ‘it is much easier to pronounce the arguments of Dr. McCabe a nullity than to answer them in a process of lucid and conclusive logic.’³⁵

McCabe’s influence spread through both his students and writings.³⁶ During the late 1800s, the pages of the Methodist Quarterly Review and other more local periodicals regularly set forth either McCabe’s ideas or reactions to them.³⁷ He published three books. The first, on the subject of sanctification, was followed by two more lengthy treatments of his ideas concerning divine foreknowledge, which he generally termed ‘prescience’, and nescience of future contingencies.³⁸ At the time of his death, he was planning two further books: one expounding a new theory of the atonement which he had worked out, believing it superior to any others then known, and another setting forth his ethical theory.

Open theists refer primarily to the two books published on divine nescience. One of McCabe’s colleagues noted that his ideas about this doctrine were perceived as novel by many American clergy, while they were already fairly well known in both Germany and England. He claimed that the professor’s thinking in the area of divine nescience was ‘the product of his absolutely original investigations into the teachings of the Bible, and of the unbiased human reason,’ and that he was motivated by ‘daring but devout attempts to place our Arminian theology on an impregnable basis’ to embark on ‘a new and brave departure from the beaten path in the agonizing struggle of men to make God just, as well as the justifier of the sinner.’³⁹ Such a claim is rendered somewhat plausible by the fact that due to perennial problems with his eyesight, McCabe was never a prolific reader.

Samuel W. Williams wrote that McCabe wanted his books to form ‘a complete refutation of the Calvinistic doctrine of decrees.’⁴⁰ He traced the genesis of McCabe’s thinking about divine nescience to ‘a hint of the subject given him by Professor [F. S.] Hoyt,’ following which ‘he carried on independently.’⁴¹ McCabe confirmed this relationship in a tribute in the preface to his book on foreknowledge, where he also claimed that his motives were simply to further the search for truth and resolution in the unresolved problems between absolute divine foreknowledge and human freedom.⁴² McCabe also quoted someone (perhaps Daniel Curry) who he regarded as ‘[o]ne of the ablest thinkers American Methodism has yet produced [as saying]: “The denial of absolute foreknowledge is the essential compliment of the Methodist theology, without which its philosophical incompleteness is defenseless against the logical consistency of Calvinism.”‘⁴³ McCabe clearly viewed his directions as refinements of Arminian belief.

McCabe expressed disappointment in Bledsoe’s work on theodicy, saying that it was just a restatement of existing Arminian theology and did not resolve the problematic issues of reconciling an absolute divine foreknowledge and human freedom.⁴⁴ He regarded as equally tragic the resignation and despair indicated by those who could not find a way to resolve this dilemma inherent in Arminianism. McCabe’s Arminian and Wesleyan approach to theology, together with his literal biblical hermeneutics, dominated the development of his beliefs about the definition of divine omniscience and limits to, but not complete elimination of, God’s foreknowledge.

Miley realised that there were problems in reconciling both Calvinistic and traditional Arminian beliefs about God’s knowledge with the belief in God as personal being. He went so far as to write that ‘[i]f the ministries of providence in the free agency of God … be not consistent with his foreknowledge, the foreknowledge cannot be true,’ and ‘[i]f there must be for us an alternative between the prescience of God, on the one hand, and his true personal agency in the ministries of providence, on the other, the former doctrine must be yielded, while we cleave to the latter, because it embodies the living reality of the divine moral government.’⁴⁵ Likewise I. W. Wiley wrote in 1881 that there were many things about God and God’s relationship to creation which were yet problematic, and that these things could be resolved either by Calvinistic determinism or Arminian simple free will, nor through some ‘eclecticism which would combine parts of both.’⁴⁶ While he preferred the Arminian approach, he confessed that ‘Arminianism has not freed [people] from all difficulties, and especially [not] from those very serious embarrassments which … [grew] out of the doctrine of the divine foreknowledge of contingent or volitional events.’⁴⁷ McCabe declared that the ‘surrender of prescience [was] indispensable to the respectability of Arminianism.’⁴⁸

Open theists are not simply ‘McCabites’. The theological phraseology of McCabe’s era sounds somewhat stiff and rigid to most people today. Open theists have, therefore, generally chosen alternative terms, and they recognise limitations in his work. They also, however, express a debt of gratitude for McCabe’s systematic exposition of the doctrine of divine nescience as helpful in formulating and articulating the ideas of open theism, especially limited foreknowledge and current omniscience.

During, and immediately after, his lifetime, McCabe’s ideas were subjected to heated debate, criticism, ridicule and rejection by some, and warmly welcomed and appreciated by others.⁴⁹ Nevertheless, he was acknowledged as remaining solidly within the bounds of Arminian and Wesleyan orthodoxy as understood in his historical and cultural context. Fellow professors and former students bore witness to McCabe’s commitment to a verbal theory of biblical inspiration bordering on dictation.⁵⁰ One former student wrote that ‘[h]e was so extremely orthodox that he was inclined to believe all the discrepancies of the Word of God to be the direct dictation of the Spirit!’⁵¹

In terms very similar to those used by open theists, McCabe argued that absolute divine prescience is contraindicated by the biblical writers. He noted as ‘remarkable how constantly it is implied, or assumed, in the Scriptures, that God does not foreknow the choices of free beings while acting under the law of liberty,’ and that ‘there are numerous passages in which is clearly found the assumption of the incapacity or inability of omniscience to foreknow … the choices of beings endowed with the power of original volition and action, unless it should be through a violation of the law of human freedom.’⁵²

Clearly, there are occasions when God can and does override normal operating principles of creaturely freedom to accomplish certain ends which God has determined to bring about.⁵³ For example, he contended that some biblical prophecies are to be understood in this light, for ‘God in prophecy … overrides the law of liberty, just as he overrides the law of material forces in miracles.’⁵⁴ He stressed that the human person is so constituted, that his will can be brought under the law of cause and effect, by bringing overpowering influences to act upon reason and his sensibilities. ⁵⁵Those circumstances are, however, understood to be exceptions to the normal operations of both God and human beings, and in them choices cease to be free. Choices under such circumstances cannot have a moral or responsible component for the chooser.⁵⁶

McCabe described human beings as ‘free moral agents … co-creators, co-causes, co-originators’ with God, and noted that ‘the Scriptures represent man as having … the power of taking the absolute initiative,’ such that if people are ‘not … free being[s] there can be for [them] neither right, wrong, justice, moral philosophy, or moral government.’⁵⁷ As in the claims of open theists, therefore, absolute divine prescience is incompatible with the nature of human freedom and choice, as well as with responsibility and moral accountability.

McCabe argued further that such prescience of future free volitions is inherently contradictory and therefore impossible. Since future choices have no actual existence, they cannot be said to be actually known. To speak of knowing what is quite literally nothing is meaningless and absurd. ⁵⁸ Concerning contingencies, he wrote, that ‘only from that moment … a contingency becomes a knowable thing. Up to the point of some free being originating its conception and determining to actualise it, it is pure unreality …. If … a thing [is] unknowable, it is no reflection upon Omniscience to affirm its incapacity to know it.’⁵⁹ McCabe clearly understood that denial of absolute prescience was not a denial of omniscience. He noted that ‘knowledge of a nothing is self-contradictory, and [a human] free choice before [someone] made it is a nothing.’⁶⁰

Writing about the same time as McCabe, Joel S. Hayes produced a volume on the foreknowledge of God in which he interacted with critics of the emerging doctrine of divine nescience. He argued that there is no biblical evidence that necessitates God’s absolute foreknowledge, but rather that God ‘does not state that he knows more than he has foreordained.’⁶¹

Like McCabe, he goes beyond simple defense of free will, however, arguing that ‘God, though infinite in power and wisdom, did not and could not know before man was created whether he would sin or not’ and that ‘having created man a moral agent … he could not prevent his sinning; nor could he before having created him, not knowing who would sin and who would not, have put any other moral being in his place with expectation of better results.’⁶² Nescience of future actions of moral agents is, therefore, inherent in, and necessary to, genuine human freedom.⁶³ Absolute divine foreknowledge is an idea incompatible with true human freedom, for ‘to foreknow a free volition is a contradiction.’⁶⁴

Both McCabe and Hayes spoke of God knowing and using probabilities. Hayes differed from McCabe in defining foreknowledge primarily in terms of ‘moral certainty’ – an understanding which relies on the concept of probabilities as the basis for a kind of virtual certainty about the actions of human beings as a class rather than about individuals or the free choices of individuals.⁶⁵

McCabe’s understanding of the relationship between God’s prescience and probabilities more closely resembles that of most open theists. He wrote that

God could … estimate approximately what are likely to be the choices of free agents in the early future. And this estimate of probabilities may be so nearly indubitable, in many cases, as to resemble prescience itself.⁶⁶

He agreed with President Tappan that ‘[o]ur calculation of future choices … can never be attended with absolute certainty, because the will, being contingent, has the power of disappointing calculations which are made upon the longest observed uniformity.’⁶⁷ Furthermore, ‘[a] contingent thing must be a pure origination by a being possessing power to select and originate one out of many. But this is possible only on the hypothesis that the future is now undetermined, unfixed, and, therefore, uncertain in the universe of contingencies.’⁶⁸ In a similar way, ‘[a]lteration, in the nature of things, necessitates subjective uncertainty in the divine mind,’ and therefore ‘[t]he state of omniscience is … a state of uncertainty as to which … alternates will certainly come to pass.’⁶⁹ In short, the future must be at least partly open.⁷⁰

The concept of risk is implied in such a statement. Though not specifically developed in detail by McCabe – he termed this a ‘pure adventure’ – or his contemporaries, the idea that God risks disappointment in endowing creatures with genuine freedom, since such freedom implies ability to choose against God and against God’s will.⁷¹ He wrote that God created human beings ‘clothed with the august endowments of liberty, and an ability to disappoint [God's] desires and expectations and defeat his purposes.’⁷² Understood in this context, God’s ‘sovereignty … is a sovereignty over sovereigns, not a sovereignty over mere machines or passive instruments, under the reign of mechanical philosophy.’⁷³ As among open theists, however, this does not imply that God is ultimately unable to accomplish those things which are divinely appointed. McCabe was quite clear in believing that ‘[t]he Scriptures indicate that God has two kinds of plans relative to this world and its inhabitants, – one sovereign, the other contingent,’ and that God’s ‘sovereign plans are determined upon absolutely’ and ‘will be accomplished by one set of means or by another, ordinary or extraordinary.’⁷⁴ God may even determine ‘in his mind the identical agent through whom [some sovereign purpose] shall finally be brought about.’⁷⁵ In other words, the future is both partly open and partly closed.

In this context McCabe, in words echoed almost verbatim by open theists, asserted that God is both wise and resourceful enough to handle any situations and contingent developments which arise from undetermined freedom among humans.⁷⁶ Furthermore, God can do so while acting within the realm of present knowledge, without the necessity of prescience.⁷⁷ He asserted that ‘God is fully able to meet any and every emergency, no matter how great, how sudden, or how complicated, that can arise anywhere in infinite space or endless duration.’⁷⁸ After all, he asked, ‘[i]s not God omniscient in respect to all knowable things, to all free choices as soon as they are put forth? …. Those attributes of Jehovah [sic] could overcome all difficulties and provide for all hazards, and turn to best account all developments that may be made in all the boundless universe and throughout eternity.’⁷⁹ McCabe delighted in demonstrating that ‘[n]escience presents … the sovereignty of God with most impressive magnificence as he goes forth over the boundless universe overcoming all difficulties, and arresting, as far as possible, all evils which are inevitable in the government of beings whose choices originate in the depths of their own free-wills.’⁸⁰ Such resourcefulness would be highly valued among human beings and would actually be more praiseworthy and glorious in the divine being than would insistence upon an omniscience which included absolute prescience.⁸¹

Along with this, McCabe consistently argued that there would be no real advantages to either God or creation for God to possess unlimited prescience. Not only does God not need such prescience to perfectly rule in divine providence, but God would actually be hindered by having this kind of foreknowledge. God could do nothing to change what God foreknew would happen, since what is foreknown cannot, by definition, be changed.⁸²

This kind of omniscience would also rule out any form of actual change within God. McCabe contended that ‘universal prescience … is positively inconsistent with [God's] character and office as the moral governor of the moral universe,’ for

[a] real trial, a trial that is not a mere delusive semblance, requires that God’s feelings and his conduct toward an accountable spirit should be constantly changing and varying with the ever varying volitions which that spirit puts forth in the exercise of his endowment of freedom. But this can only be possible on the supposition of God’s nonprescience of those volitions. To affirm that God’s feelings, purposes, and conduct can change just as the free volitions of the subject do actually change, when he has perfect foreknowledge of all the future volitions of that free subject, is to assert a manifest impossibility.⁸³

Contained within this pericope are safeguards for authentic mutuality in the divine-human relationship, the capacity of God (contra classical understandings of the attributes of impassibility and immutability – related notions that God does not experience emotional or any other changes) to actually feel experientially rather than just know about emotions cognitively and to change in some ways by experiencing the sequentiality of time.⁸⁴ In this context, McCabe quotes Isaak August Dorner’s claim that ‘[i]n the world … God must live as historical life, a life that is conditioned by man’s use of freedom.’⁸⁵ God’s eternality is, therefore, not conceived in terms of ‘timelessness’ or some Boethian ‘eternal now’ but in terms of endless duration, without beginning or end.⁸⁶

In like manner, nescience is essential if God is to be understood in personal terms or as entering into personal relationships with humans. Absolute prescience would rob God of every attribute essential to personal being. God would not be free because God could never choose, do, think or act in any other way than God does act, otherwise the divine prescience would be false, which it cannot by definition be. In fact, God would be immobilised – unable to think, choose, initiate, act, react, or interact – like the idols which were so often the object of divine wrath. Ultimately, God’s omniscience would conflict with God’s omnipotence, since, as McCabe asserted, ‘if God is not able to form a conception that he never thought of, then he has never in all the eternity past possessed the power to form any new conception, and then, consequently, all his conceptions must be eternal; and if eternal they were never originated, and God, therefore, has never been able to form a new conception, or to originate and determine any one thing.’⁸⁷ This, however, would represent an intolerable situation.⁸⁸ It would also, he contended, contradict apostolic witness in Scripture.⁸⁹

Like both McCabe and open theists, Hayes declared that genuine human freedom is essential since a ‘doctrine of necessity makes God the only real agent or actor of sin in the universe’ because otherwise ‘the creatures which he has made [are] merely passive instruments in his hands to accomplish his purposes.⁹⁰ God would ultimately be responsible for evil, and a satisfactory theodicy would be impossible.⁹¹ In contrast, however, McCabe located ‘the origin of sin in the human will’ and declared that ‘[t]he simple and single choice of a free will was the absolute incipiency of moral evil into the moral universe.’⁹² However, ‘no considerations, no ends, no final causes, could ever justify God, before an intelligent universe, in violating absolute rectitude, or in overriding freedom in free agents, or in outraging benevolence, either in planning wickedness, or in desiring its inception, or in creating individual souls who he foresaw would certainly be wicked and miserable and everlasting blotches upon his moral universe.’⁹³ In contrast, ‘divine nescience brings beauty, quietness, profit, and assurance forever into the great theodicean [sic] problem.’⁹⁴

Concerning the future state of the reprobate, McCabe is less willing than open theists to abrogate the doctrine of eternally conscious separation in hell. He does, however, advocate the idea that ‘[t]here must … be a point in probation beyond which the power of alternative choices cannot be continued.’⁹⁵ In other words, the human characteristic of indeterministic freedom is not eternal; it will come to an end.⁹⁶ McCabe described something of a psychological or character evolutionary process in which habitual choices, dispositions and behaviours progressively take on a permanent form, giving rise to an immutable character.⁹⁷ This works gradually in such a way that ‘[e]very additional volition adds additional weakness to the conscience, darkness to the mind, hardness to the heart and perverseness to the will. In this process the soul finally reaches a state in which it is irredeemably fixed in its awfully shocking depravities,’ ultimately resulting in a condition of ‘being morally petrified.’⁹⁸ Once this condition is reached, a person is lost to God and beyond the reach of God’s love and mercy.⁹⁹

McCabe identified other specifically pastoral concerns which would be better addressed in the language of divine nescience than in that of absolute prescience. It better addresses the reality of spiritual warfare, as well as the urgency of evangelism and missions.¹⁰⁰ McCabe lamented that

[m]uch of the indifference, the casting off of personal responsibility, and the non-development of latent spiritual power, that have so sadly characterised and paralyzed the Church, is … chargeable to the belief of the old dogma of universal and absolute prescience. The old view of the divine foreknowledge – involving the fixed certainty of all future events – has ever been most enervating and repressing. It has made pigmies of those who might have been giants, and mere glimmering lights of many pulpits which should have sent a powerful and saving radiance far across the moral darkness of this world.¹⁰¹

It better fit the nature and efficacy of prayer and thoroughly resolved intellectual objections to that discipline. He quoted Richard Rothe’s phrase: ‘If absolute prescience be true, prayer becomes not only nonsense, but inexcusable.’¹⁰² Further concerning prayer, McCabe argued that ‘[t]he logical and practical effect of … belief in divine foreknowledge is …. [that one] can never infract or modify that which God infallibly foreknows.’¹⁰³ Real prayer, however, ‘means that God will do for a soul, on condition of its compliance with the duty of prayer, that which he will not do if that condition is not complied with,’ and therefore, ‘[i]f the condition be complied with it effects changes in God, or prayer is a meaningless institution’¹⁰⁴

It makes Christianity more palatable to those who are not themselves of the Christian faith. In this light, McCabe referred to Albert Barnes agonised confession of his inner turmoil and confusion resulting from his inability to resolve the tensions between prescience and freedom.¹⁰⁵ Neither was he alone, said McCabe, for ‘almost every Christian believer fights a life-long battle with this most obtrusive and harassing dogma,’ and ‘[t]he doctrine of the absolute foreknowledge of God has occasioned more perplexity and intellectual torture than any other in all the departments of theology.’¹⁰⁶ Accepting divine nescience would resolve the spiritual turmoil experienced nearly universally resulting from the dogmas of absolute omniscience and total prescience.

Miley wrote that ‘[t]he divine nescience of future volitions, if accepted as truth, is not necessarily revolutionary in theology,’ neither for Calvinism (which, he argued, logically allows no authentic contingencies) nor Arminianism, since ‘[e]very vital doctrine would remain the same.’¹⁰⁷ Furthermore, in contrast to contemporary critics of open theism, he asserted that ‘[i]f the truth of nescience were established or accepted, it would be as little revolutionary within the sphere of practical truth as in that of doctrinal truth,’ and [c]ertainly it could not in the least abate any of the moral forces of Christianity.’¹⁰⁸ On the contrary there could even be positive results.

Critics of open theism frequently link it with Socinianism or with process theism. Both associations are compatible with the apologetic and theo-political aims of these writers, but they are historically inaccurate and fallacious. While certain tenets of open theism bear resemblance to some aspects of both Socinian and process thought, these resemblances are historically accidental. Some open theists have expressed appreciation for process theology, but they have not identified it as a significant source for the formation of their thinking. They do, however, consistently identify their roots in Arminian and Wesleyan tradition, especially certain developments among Methodists on the American frontier during the late nineteenth century, particularly the thinking of Lorenzo Dow McCabe. Amidst the furious attacks by detractors of open theism these historical roots have strangely been almost entirely neglected. Open theism is, in fact, neither the radical new departure from evangelical orthodoxy nor the embracing of unbiblical heresy it is purported to be. Perhaps recognition of the roots of open theism in a stream of orthodox Christian heritage can begin to rebuild what has been already been broken as a result of contemporary controversies among North American evangelicals, generate a climate in which differences are both recognised and appreciated, and contribute to better equipping people to encounter questions and issues arising from the shift toward postmodernism.

The post Things That May Be Only? appeared first on OpenTheism.info.

The Christianity Today interview with Royce Gruenler, “God at Risk” (March 5), contained so many errors concerning the openness of God theology that we are forced to wonder whether he really intended to give an accurate and honest account of our views. We hope he did intend this, but if so he failed miserably.

Gruenler says we are “Pelagian.” This is false. We, along with the Eastern Orthodox Church, Wesleyans, and Arminians believe that God grants us the “enabling grace” to come to faith in Christ. No human can initiate salvation as Gruenler claims we believe. It is correct that we affirm that humans have the God-given freewill to reject God’s grace, as do all forms of Arminian theology. But this does not mean that God’s power is somehow limited. God has all the power he has ever had. He is omnipotent and could bring the world to a close at any moment if he chose to do so. Though God lacks no power, he does not always exercise that power. When we wrestle with our children we don’t suddenly lose some of our power–we simply restrain the full exercise of our power. The issue is not about the extent of divine power. Rather, the issue is about the type of beings God decided to create and the sort of covenant God has made with us.

Grunler claims we have only an “aesthetic” view of the atonement. Though it may be true of process thought, it does not come close to accurately depicting what any evangelical openness theologian believes. We challenge Gruenler to cite any openness theologian who limits the work of Christ in this way. Though the openness movement as such is not committed to any particular theory of the atonement, we agree with Gruenler that Jesus’ death and resurrection are the divine means whereby God reconciled all things to himself. Apart from Jesus’ work on our behalf there would be no redemption.

On the problem of evil, we, along with all who use the freewill defense, acknowledge that God is responsible for creating a world where evil could possibly come about. Gruenler seems to think this is a devastating criticism that we have not thought about. Again, he does not seem conversant with our work (nor with any standard Arminian treatment of the topic for that matter). He correctly says that God takes risks in our view and that God has been disappointed by our sin. Gruenler apparently believes that God was not disappointed by human sin-that God actually wanted us to sin! His view entails that God not only ordained Adam’s sin but all the other evils we experience as well. In claiming that we bypass the “biblical” definition of human freedom (by which he means the Calvinistic definition) he identifies the biblical view with theological determinism. We, along with the vast majority of Christians, reject this deterministic theology. In our view, God takes the risk that we will not do everything God wants us to do. Hence, some of God’s desires may go unfulfilled-which is what Scripture says at many points–but this certainly does not put God himself at risk as Gruenler suggests.

Gruenler claims that we deny there can be prophecy. This is also false. Each and every author who has published on openness theology affirms there is prophecy and that the open view is the best explanation for all the types of prophecies found in Scripture. We believe that some of the future is definite and some is indefinite. God does not determine everything about the future, but he does determine whatever he chooses to since he is the sovereign lord of history! When Gruenler criticizes our view of God and time, he seems to assume that God has to be timeless in order to be omnipresent and omniscient. The issue is not about God being limited by the speed of light (something no openness theologian has ever affirmed) or the nature of time itself. Rather, the issue is whether or not God experiences sequence in thoughts and emotions. We believe the Bible teaches that God has emotions (e. g. grief, Gen 6:6) and can change his mind (Jonah 4:2) and these are things a timeless being simply cannot do!

Finally, Gruenler says our God cannot really help humans, but he fails to interact at all with what we have said about the nature of the sort of help the God of openness can and cannot be said to provide. God has all the wisdom and power necessary to help us-God can heal, guide, teach and love us. In contrast to Gruenler’s claims we believe that God is profoundly involved in our lives. Gruenler’s criticism presupposes that only a God who controls every detail-including our own decisions-can help us. We who embrace a partly open view of the future reject this assumption-but so do all non-Calvinist Christians. The idea that God might prefer to have creatures that he does not totally control never seems to occur to Gruenler. For him, if God leaves anything for us to decide for ourselves, then God is not really God and is not worth praising or worshipping. Many evangelical readers will find abrasive this cavalier dismissal of the entire “Arminian” tradition in the pages of Christianity Today.

Criticizing theological positions is a perfectly legitimate enterprise. However, his caricature of our position puts Gruenler at risk of failing to state his opponent’s position in a way acceptable to his opponent. Chris Hall and John Sanders have a forthcoming article in CT (May) that attempts to model honest dialogue between a classical theist and an open theist.

Sincerely,

John Sanders, Clark Pinnock, Greg Boyd, William Hasker, Richard Rice and David Basinger

The post A Letter to the Editor of Christianity Today appeared first on OpenTheism.info.

Clark H. Pinnock

This article is reproduced here with the permission of Worship Leader Magazine. It was published by them in their November / December 2000 issue. They thought we might like it, so they sent it along.

Note: Open Theism is not a Pentecostal theology, though Dr. Clark Pinnock, who is a Pentecostal, is often thought of as fathering the movement (I imagine history will record it as such.) In fact, Open Theism is quite cross denominational. Yet, it seems worthy to note that Openness is being received well in Pentecostal circles. One can only assume that the allure of a personal God, a real God of relational give and take are irresistibly attractive to a movement already steeped in such a metaphysic. Or, one might suggest that the movement, having been fired by the passionate flame of Pentecostal experience was picked up by other kinds of thinkers who saw the solid value it offered to all Christians. ~ Joseph S. Holt

How the Pentecostal Theology of Experience is Changing Our Understanding of God

FIRE. God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob, not of the philosophers and scholars. Certainty. Feeling. Joy. Peace. God of Jesus Christ
- Blaise Pascal

The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob must be distinguished from the god of the philosophers. Blaise Pascal, seventeenth century philosopher, mathematician and mystic, drew this distinction from an encounter which he had with God and which he described simply as “Fire!” From this experience he learned that the God of the biblical revelation was not the god of the intellectuals who had, quite unfortunately, created God out of their own (supposedly) rational musings. From the experience Pascal gained the insight that the true God is not the wholly Other, unyielding, unfeeling and utterly remote, but the living God who acts in history, responds to our prayers, and can be touched by the feelings of our infirmities. Pascal’s encounter with God led him to theological insight as well as transformation. Before that, he had been experientially challenged and blind to God’s deeply personal nature.

Today’s worship revolution, which likewise is experientially enriched, holds promise for theological insight and reform. From my own experience, I have encountered God and learned that he is not an isolated, unrelated, impersonal Being, but a present, interactive, relational Person. I have come to know God as a dialogue partner who values our relationship as much (or more) than I value it myself.

It is an unfortunate reality of our day that theological tradition tends to magnify God’s distance at the expense of his nearness. But an experience of the Holy Spirit brings the intimacy and warm divine-human embrace into view. It takes you in worship beyond just learning about a God who is out there to an encounter with God who is down here in the thick of life. Renewed believers experience real give-and-take and genuine partnership with God where they have a voice in genuine dialogue. We experience God as being involved in their lives and responding to events in their world. When we meet to praise and worship him, we expect God to show up and, when we cry out, we expect God to respond. Increasingly, as we become more and more open to the “already” of salvation, we thirst for more and expect God for the “not yet.”

Of course, it would be wonderful enough if what we are seeing were only the revitalization of believers, even if it had no theological payoff. But, thanks be to God, there is this added dimension as well. We are witnesses to a measure theological reformation as well. After all, reformation is an ongoing process. What I am sensing is a recovery of the dynamic, biblical portrait of God and a better understanding of the divine perfection. And I am sensing this primarily within the Pentecostal movement.

God of the Philosophers

In the ancient world in which Christian doctrine was formed, there was a struggle over the nature of divine perfection. The Greek philosophers who carried intellectual weight held that divine perfection would have to understand God as never changing. For both Plato and Aristotle, God must be totally unyielding in every respect. Obviously they thought of God as an absolute being, not as a person with whom one could interact. Aristotle even spoke of God as an “unmoved mover” which could move things without being moved or feeling anything itself. Aristotle’s notion of God could move others by being an object of thought and could function as a final cause of worldly events, without changing in any respect itself. The only real activity that this God could engage in was the immobile “activity” of self-contemplation. God could only think about himself because, if he thought about the world, for example, he would be affected by it and be changed. And so, Aristotle thought that God must be independent of everything and dependent on nothing. God must be superior, meaning that he must be free of relationships that might involve response and interaction. To be perfect, God must be pure actuality, possessing no potentiality. God must be incapable of being affected by any other being because that would involve a kind of changing. Thus God cannot even know the world as a changing reality because that would change God in the knowing of it. The Greek philosophers held to what we could call the dogma of God’s absolute unchangeableness.

It is not hard to grasp then why it was so difficult for early Christians to do theology in dialogue with this way of thinking about God. Christianity had come into the world with a very different model of the divine perfection. How could one possibly combine the picture of God as a passionate person (the biblical tradition) with God as a metaphysical iceberg (Greek philosophy)?

Tertullian warned against having anything to do with a synthesis of this kind, but some of the most respected theologians went ahead anyway. Especially in the work of St. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas you can see the pagan/Christian synthesis being concocted. They took the pagan legacy of utter unchangeability in God and merged it with the biblical teaching. It resulted in a definite onesideness in favor of God’s distance over God’s nearness and introduced distortions into the definitions of many of the attributes of God. There was lots of emphasis placed on God’s transcendence, but much less on God’s involvement with us. It left us with the lifeless picture of an immutable and unchangeable, timeless and completely actualized God and saddled us with numerous self-contradictions.

It meant, for example, that God had to know a changing world in an unchangeable way, that God had to act in history in a timeless way, and that God had to deal with the past, present, and future simultaneously rather than successively. None of these ideas and none of these problems originated in the Bible-all of them were generated by the biblical/Greek synthesis. They were not extracted from the biblical text. They were read into it.

The Bible Tells Me So

Deity in the Bible is not presented abstractly as absolute being or un-changeable substance but is depicted concretely as a person with a name. We encounter Yahweh, who is a person who plans and wills, acts and creates, loves and interacts. In the light of the Incarnation and Pentecost, we even glimpse the triune identity of God which represents a model of dynamic interpersonal relationships. God is humanity’s enthusiastic lover and, although transcendent as creator, God chooses (by grace) to be bound to us and involved with us in this changing world. Though not changing in His own essential being, God nevertheless is flexible and changing in His dealings with us and in His experiences of history. God changes in the way He feels and acts in response to our input and is free to alter His plans in relation to what we decide. God is not a control freak but encourages us to participate in our own destiny. God is unchanging in His love but ever changing in the ways in which He cares for us. Not only does He get involved with people, God even suffers on their behalf.

Fortunately there have always been theologians who did not buy into the immobility package of divine attributes entirely and there are signs today that God’s people are growing as hearers of God’s word in this matter. Theologians before Augustine held strongly to human freedom and genuine relationality and the Church after him never accepted his theological determinism. Leaders like Menno Simons and the pietists, Jacob Arminius and John Wesley stood up against these tendencies within Protestantism. These men affirmed genuine human freedom and the truth that God can be and is affected by creatures and genuinely responds to them. This is one of the most important issues in theology as it moves into the new millennium. We need to clarify how God relates to the world and Pentecostals are making an important contribution.

The Pentecostal Influence

Pentecostals are making this contribution because they are strongly relational in their interaction with God. These are not people who treat the Bible as a book of concepts only but as a narrative of ongoing divine activity. They don’t just read the Bible, they inhabit the story which it tells. They engage the narrative literally and existentially, believing God is with them, and expecting to see the surprising works of God in their day. When they read that God interacts with people of faith, they do not dismiss such language as something to be transcended-they take it seriously.

Pentecostals are not only interested in the concepts of Scripture but are sensitive to dynamically historical and experiential aspects of the text. They are like people caught up in the story of God and in the momentum of the Spirit. They delight in a God who is personal and who responds to them in surprising and unpredictable ways. They exist spiritually in the ethos of God-with-us.

Relationality is the key issue and it surfaces in other aspects of renewal spirituality as well. Not only do we read the Bible as a life-changing narrative, we experience the covenant partnership with God as genuinely bilateral, not unilateral. For example, whether someone is saved or not, or whether someone is baptized in the Spirit or not, these are not foreordained events that nobody can do anything about. Human response is involved in these matters. God does not force people into the kingdom. God does not jam the Holy Spirit down their throats. The human response to God’s grace, whether affirmative or negative, matters and affects God’s plans for us.

Similarly, answers to prayer are linked to faith. If faith is not present, miracles do not happen. God heals when we ask him to heal and thus makes his actions dependent on our prayers. Though unheard of in classical theism, God actually allows us to condition Him. Prayer can change things because everything has not been decided. If things have been decided, why pray? This common sense attitude which the Bible displays and which is so noticeable in charismatic spirituality underlies the holy boldness which is so evidently a feature of the Pentecostal renewal. Passive faith-the faith that just says “Thy will be done” is not enough for people in renewal. Active faith-faith that engages God-that is what delights God’s heart. That is what God loves to respond to. He loves the faith of the widow who pestered the unjust judge for justice and got what she asked for (Luke 18:1-8). God wants us to be willful in a good sense-that is, to be people determined to count for God with a willingness to go for it. God loves a faith that takes authority, a faith that demands the gifts that we already know God wants to have operating among us. God wants us in worship to expect Him to move and manifest Himself, to call down the fire and the blessing. God loves your openness to Him. God loves it that you recognize Him as a living God and not, as Dallas Willard says, an unblinking cosmic stare. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is not an unmoved mover-He is the most moved mover.

Genuine Dialogue with God

The Pentecostal pattern of thinking strongly supports a relational model of God. They do not see God as all-determining or totally immutable. Rather they see God as a loving person, who acts and interacts, who initiates and responds. God is not all-controlling or unconditioned. God is not timeless or passionless. God is a living God who gives us room to be and who delights in covenant relationships. God is one who loves us so much that He is willing even to undergo suffering on our behalf.

Relationality is a model of God which represents the God of incarnate love. It affirms that God has real relations with human beings and that there are genuine give-and-take interactions between God and creatures. It holds that God acts and reacts, that God allows himself to be conditioned by creatures, that God acts in the light of what humans decide and not only unilaterally. It holds that God in grace grants us significant freedom to cooperate with or to work against God’s will for our lives.

This arrangement involves risks for God but God is resourceful enough to work toward His goals in spite of everything. Sometimes God alone may decide what to do, while on other occasions God may work with human decisions, adapting His plans to the changing situations. God invites us to participate with Him in bringing the future of the world into being. This is a precious vision and it is so important not to let philosophical categories get in the way. It is so easy to create conceptual idols. And it has happened all too often. Pentecostal practice can act as a corrective by revealing the heart of God through their experience-oriented framework. Pentecostals seem to understand this relational notion about God implicitly, even if their theological underpinnings have not yet found solid footing.

The early church fathers were relational in their understanding of God. The Reformers did not correct the situation, though Wesleyans and Arminians helped to bring about reform. The Pentecostals stand in this tradition, and I hope that they would stand tall. Though Pentecostalism has much to offer, there is a danger as the movement seeks to gain the respect of their elder Evangelical brethren. It is possible that the unhelpful influences of classical theism which are alive in the Evangelical coalition may affect the openness and fluidity of the Pentecostal paradigm adversely. Pentecostalism, after all, is still very open theologically and is beginning to reflect upon its convictions. Pressure from non-relational theists (strict determinists) to adhere to inflexible characterizations of God will ultimately betray their dynamic approach. I am afraid that if Evangelicals sneeze, Pentecostals might catch a cold.

Pentecostals experience God as a dynamic person and have a strong relational model of God. They know God as a loving person who acts and interacts, initiates and responds. This helps explain not only why God uses them so mightily in mission but also why He is using their movement to bring reform to the doctrine of God. May they continue with this witness.

Clark H. Pinnock is professor of theology at McMaster Divinity College in Hamilton, Ontario. His new book, Most Moved Mover (Baker Books) is due out next year.

© 2000 Worship Leader Magazine

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Theology Today; Princeton; Apr 1996;

Volume: 53

Issue: 1

Start Page: 15

ISSN: 00405736

Abstract: Pinnock dicusses the sovereignty of God and the many challenges to it. Given the atrocities in the Holocaust and Cambodia, it is difficult to say that God rules over and controls history.

Full Text: © Theology Today Apr 1996

Divine sovereignty is a central theme of Christian worship. We exalt God as our creator and ruler: “The Lord is king, he is robed in majesty; the Lord is robed, he is girded in strength. He has established the world; it shall never be moved; your throne is established from old; you are from everlasting” (Ps. 93:1-2). Islam, Judaism, and Christianity unite in pointing to the glory and rule of God. During periods of renewal, testimony only increases about the greatness of our God. The majesty of God’s rule is deeply biblical. The prophet has a vision of the Lord, seated upon a throne, high and lifted up, his robe filling the temple (Isa. 6:1). Paul praises God as “the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords,” who alone “has immortality and dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see” (1 Tim. 6:15). The elders fall down before God’s throne, saying: “You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created” (Rev. 4:11). We confess in the Apostles’ Creed: “I believe in God the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth.” The God we serve is the Lord, sovereign and free, the adorable mystery that transcends the world and empowers creation. The world’s existence is an expression of God’s purposes, as Paul says: “From him and through him and to him are all things” (Rom. 11:36). Everything depends on God-nothing is too hard for God (Jer. 32:17).

St. Theresa of Avila writes: “My sovereign Lord, your power is infinite and you are supremely good and wise. There is no limit to your works which are beyond time and understanding. You are a fathomless ocean of wonders and your beauty encompasses all other forms of beauty, You are strength itself” (The Way of Perfection).

The theme of sovereignty is not universally popular, however. The psalmist declares that the rulers of this world take counsel against the Lord and his anointed, saying: “Let us burst their bonds asunder and cast their cords from us” (Ps. 2:2-3). Even more than in the modern world, there is rebellion against divine transcendent rule. Nietzsche declared God dead, and secularists vow to take no account of any divine reality. Even in the churches, some say God is becoming weightless as people are assigning God to the periphery, creating, in effect, an easy-going deity whose reality is little different from our own. The culture is pressing us to worship a God who will satisfy our needs, not the Lord God almighty.^[1] But sovereignty can be a genuine puzzle for faithful people as well. Given our experience of such evils as the Holocaust and Cambodia, how can one say that God rules over and controls history? What divine purpose can be detected in death camps and killing fields? History itself seems to call the sovereignty of God into question and to require us to rethink it.

Defining Sovereignty

The definition of sovereignty is important if people are going to be able to receive it. In politics (whence the term originates) sovereignty is understood in various ways. We distinguish among the sovereignty of the tyrant, the rule of a constitutional monarch, the authority of an elected president, and the like. Political sovereignty may include respect for the governed or it may not.

Sovereignty has various meanings in theology also. It may mean total control or some less coercive influence. In Western theology since Augustine, the definition of sovereignty that has been preferred is one at the power end of the spectrum. Our theologians have taught that God predestines everything that happens in detail. Although employing a free-will defense in relation to the problem of evil, Augustine held a view of sovereignty in considerable tension with it. While (on the one hand) blaming Adam for sin and the fall, he did not believe that God’s will could be thwarted or God’s purposes be successfully resisted. He writes: “He is not truly called almighty if he cannot do whatsoever he pleases, or if the power of his almighty will is hindered by the will of any creature” (Enchiridion, 96). Furthermore, Augustine held that God knows everything that will happen and that all future choices are fixed and certain before they have been made (City of God, 11.21).

Calvin held to a similar concept of sovereignty as an all-determining power. He declared that all creatures “are governed by God’s secret plan in such a way that nothing happens except what is knowingly and willingly decreed by him” (Institutes of the Christian Religion, 1.16.3). Sovereignty then refers to the power by which God controls everything and is able to bring every event into conformity with the divine will. Calvin’s view gained ever wider influence through the Canons of Dort, the theology of John Knox, and the Westminster Confession.

The Confession states: “God from all eternity did, by the most wise and holy counsel of his own will, freely and unchangeably ordain whatsoever comes to pass” (3.1). This includes the final destiny of everyone whether in heaven or in hell (3.3). God is said to govern all creatures according to his free and immutable will (5.1). In a classic phrase, B. B. Warfield stated that God’s rule is “broad enough to embrace the whole universe, minute enough to be concerned with the smallest details, and actualizes itself with inevitable certainty in every event that comes to pass.” ^[2]

There is no denying the appeal in such a position. What a magnificent portrait of divine majesty, enthroned above the rough-and-tumble of history, perfectly serene and in complete control of everything! It is comforting to know that everything that happens has meaning and reassuring to deny any element of risk or chance. But there are severe difficulties with this position as well. The Bible seems to portray more genuine interaction and relationality in God’s dealings with creatures than theological determinism allows. A sovereignty of control seems to deny that human beings possess the kind of (libertarian) freedom with which they are able either to obey God’s will or to move against God’s purposes. It certainly aggravates the problem of evil in requiring God to bear sole responsibility for evil. It would seem that we need a better model of divine sovereignty than that of total control.

An Open View Of Sovereignty

Another way to look at sovereignty is to think of it as open and flexible, placing the emphasis more on the resourcefulness than on the domination of God. An open view would cohere better with the dynamic God-world relationship implied by the Bible and be less theoretically and practically problematic. The Scriptures tell us that God is a loving Parent (abba), who is sensitive and responsive. They depict a relationship with “give and take” not just control. We are not given the impression that history is decided unilaterally by God but that our decisions also contribute to it. God is not responsible for everything that happens. Many outcomes are conditional upon human decisions, and the relationship between God and the creature is personal and interactive.

Open sovereignty, in distinction from process thinking, agrees with the traditional view that God is the superior power who depends on nothing outside of God’s self in order to exist and who is (therefore) free in a most fundamental way. God’s freedom even includes the power to create a world whose details God does not completely determine. If God could not do so, a certain freedom would be lacking in the deity. We cannot limit God in this way. We agree with determinists that God could actualize a determined world but deny that this world is like that. The world we experience and the world the Bible describes is not a wholly determined world. God has evidently chosen to actualize a world with significantly free agents and to exercise sovereignty in an open manner.

God decided not to keep a monopoly on power but to give some away to the creature. In making responsible creaturely agents, God willed not to exercise domination and control over the world but to establish an order of real significance and genuine autonomy. Wishing to interact with significant creatures rather than to dominate the world, God willed a dynamic history that would flow from the decisions of finite persons. One could say that, in creating such a world, God accepted certain limitations on the divine power. In effect, God rejected sovereignty in the form of domination and control, at least in this creation. Open sovereignty would make possible what was wanted.

What God values and desires in this creation is genuine relationship with creatures able to respond to God’s love. The gift of freedom made that possible, since love is not something that can be forced. Human beings are different from animals in the way they can respond to God and the environment. They are open to the future, and the future is open to them. This is something God wanted to actualize. One might put it in terms of God’s resting on the seventh day. This was a rest not of weariness but of delight. In effect, God was pausing to delight in the flourishing of the creature and in the anticipation of all that could happen in a dynamic world. In the work of creation, God was sharing power with us. In summoning us to have dominion over the world, God made us partners, letting us participate in God’s own rule. It is the difference between watching a video and experiencing live interaction. Endowed with freedom, the world is a fruitful and delightful creation. It has a genuine life of its own and is a source of value and delight both to God and to us.

By delegating power to the creature, God chooses to become vulnerable. Had God actualized a determined world, everything would have been controlled. But as it is, God took the risk that freedom might be abused and that the creature might decide to work against God’s purposes. In such a universe, God’s plans can be adversely affected by perversity and disobedience. God accepts the risks that accompany genuine relationship. Though ontologically strong, God chooses to become “weak” by the decision to create a significant world God would not control. God decided to work within a history whose outcome is not predetermined and to rule over a world that is able to resist.

This view helps us deal with the problem of evil. God made a world where evil was possible but not inevitable. We can say that God did not ordain moral evil but that it arose from the misuse of freedom. Ours is a world in which God does not normally override human decisions but lets them play out, because God regards them as significant. God may be responsible for creating a world with moral agents capable of rebelling, but God is not to blame for what human beings do with their freedom. The gift of freedom is costly and carries precariousness with it. But to make a world with free beings is surely a worthwhile thing to do.

Is not open sovereignty implied in Jesus’ proclamation of the kingdom? He said that God’s kingdom (sovereignty) was near but not yet fully present. It was breaking into history but not with full effect. At present, God’s sovereignty is actually being resisted by the powers of darkness. There are rival powers with which Jesus has to struggle. He asks us to pray that God’s will be done on earth because it is not happening. Prayer itself is a powerful indicator of how God draws us up into God’s own sovereignty over the world. Paul speaks of the creation groaning as it awaits full redemption (Rom. 8:23). He agrees that God is not wholly sovereign over the world at the present time. The Son has not yet handed the kingdom over to the Father as all in all (1 Cor. 15:28).

God does not rule everything according to blueprint. The present situation involves a struggle between the forces of good and the forces of evil. Though much neglected by theology, spiritual warfare is a reality. God is not now in control-we anticipate complete victory over evil only in the future. This orientation to the future allows us to clarify a point about open sovereignty. Up to a point and in certain areas, we can resist God’s will. But the coming of the Lord tells us that not everything can be thwarted by human freedom. The Lord will come; what we do may affect its timing but not its reality. It is something God intends to do and will certainly do. What we decide may affect when but not whether God does it. The apostle says that we both hasten and delay the return of Christ (2 Pet. 3:9,12). If the parousia appears slow in coming, this is because God wants more sinners to repent that God’s house may be full. God delays the coming to give them more time to respond to divine grace.

A Subtler Deployment Of Power

Because the world is dynamic and capable of producing novelty, God’s power in relation to the world is deployed in subtle ways. In creation, God made room for creatures to exist, and, in providence, God makes room for them to use the finite self-determination that has been given to them. A sovereignty of control would be impressive, but the sovereignty required to rule over a free and dynamic world is even more marvelous. What is needed to rule in this universe is infinite resourcefulness in the subtle use of power; what is required is a style of sovereignty that is open to the world and can respond to the unexpected. The sovereignty requisite to ruling over a world with powers of self-determination is surely more admirable than the sovereignty of manipulation.

Perhaps we should not speak of divine “weakness” just because God (in a sense) accepts defeat at the hands of creatures not wholly under divine control. After all, if God wanted them to be able to decide for or against God, it is not a defeat if some of them decide against. Open sovereignty surely reveals God’s strength not weakness. It requires considerable power to rule over an undetermined world. How marvelous to be able to respond to the unexpected and to deal with new situations as they arise! Open sovereignty requires omnipotence in its own way. The power of love, the power that wills genuine relationships, is certainly not a diminished or inferior form of power.

Perhaps we admire too highly power to force others to do our will. God’s power is greater than the power of coercion. It is the power to make agents who are creators in their own right and the power to continue to rule even when they work against God. We are wrong to measure the greatness of power by a standard of compulsion. This is to confuse sovereignty with the excessive omnipotence of tyranny, which deploys itself against other powers, never alongside them. We have to realize that God wills and loves the existence of free creatures and delights in all their possibilities.

By the grace of creation, God wills to be “God for us” and alongside us. Rather than standing aloof, God is willing to be affected by the world. We celebrate the sovereignty of a heavenly father, not the power of an autocrat. Human fathers have authority over their children and set guidelines for them, but they should not do so as tyrants. They want their offspring to choose to live by right values not by compulsion. God is like that. Jesus likens God to a father who lets his son leave home and learn for himself that sin leads to destruction. When the son repents and returns, the father is thankful and calls for celebration. Our God, who rules over the world, is grieved when we refuse the divine love and rejoices when we embrace it. God’s true power is revealed in the cross of Jesus Christ. In this act of self-sacrificing, God deploys power in the mode of servanthood, overcoming enemies not by annihilating them but by loving them. What an unexpected form of power! Is it not a subtler and higher form of power than coercion? It is a power that respects the mutuality and reciprocity of love.

Growing In Understanding

Despite the appeal of an open view of sovereignty, it is an idea that will take getting used to, for tradition has taught us to think of God’s rule in the mode of control. We are not used to thinking of God as responding flexibly to situations and taking risks. Fortunately, however, our experience of God is in tune with such a view. Not only do the Scriptures speak in these terms but we as God’s children personally know the give and take of relationship. We experience risks and perils and know that we are being taken seriously when God invites us to pray. We experience God interacting without overruling.

If divine sovereignty is to be recovered as a meaningful category, we need to think of it as open and flexible. God created a universe with a degree of self-determination, a world in which things can go wrong, even terribly wrong. God does not rule over it in a way that would render everything cut and dried. God limits divine power and chooses not to control history or even (I would add) to foreknow every outcome that depends on creaturely choices. Sovereignty does not mean that God controls everything, since God gives power to other agents. It means that God is omnicompetent in relation to any circumstance that arises and is unable to be defeated in any ultimate sense. God delights in an open creation precisely because God does not completely control it. The open model of sovereignty does not diminish but augments the glory of God’s rule.

Reformed theology has been a tradition most insistent on seeing sovereignty as total control. It is therefore pleasing to read this conclusion about the matter from a Scottish theologian: “Rather than presiding over a plan immutable in every detail, providence might better be conceived of as the infinite resourcefulness of God in dealing with human creatures in a manner that is in accordance with the purpose disclosed and fulfilled in Christ.” ^[3]

^[1] On the weightlessness of God, see David F. Wells, God in the Wasteland (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,1994), chapter 5.

^[2] B. Warfield, Biblical and Theological Studies (Philadelphia: Presbyterian and Reformed, 1952), p. 276.

^[3] David A. S. Fergusson, “Predestination: A Scottish Perspective,” Scottish Journal of Theology, 46 (1993), p. 477. For further reflection along these lines, see Clark H. Pinnock et al., The Openness of God: A Biblical Challenge to the Traditional Understanding of God (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1994).

Author note: Clark H. Pinnock is Professor of Theology at McMaster Divinity College and author of A Wideness in God’s Mercy: The Finality of Jesus Christ in a World of Religions (1992) and the forthcoming Living Flame of Love: Overcoming our Forgetfulness of the Spirit.

* Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction or distribution is prohibited without permission.

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It has traditionally been believed that omniscience means God’s knowledge of the future may be expressed exclusively in terms of what either will or will not come to pass. One common line of reasoning supporting this traditional belief is the following:

P1:       All propositions are either true or false (bivalence).

P2:       God knows the truth value of all propositions (omniscience).

P3:       The future can be exhaustively described in terms of what either will or will not come to pass.

C:        Therefore, God knows the future exclusively as that which either will or will not come to pass.

The argument is formally valid. Accordingly, those who deny the conclusion (C), such as open theists, have to deny one or more of the premises.  Some deny the first premise (P1) and argue that propositions expressing future contingencies are neither true nor false.  Others deny the second premise (P2), arguing that the truth value of propositions about future contingencies is logically impossible to know and thus not within the domain of God’s omniscience. For reasons too involved to explore presently, we find both positions to be problematic.[1] We also deem such moves unnecessary to the denial of the conclusion (C), for, we shall argue, the third premise (P3) can be plausibly denied. This premise, we maintain, is arbitrarily restrictive. There are three, not two, distinct modes in terms of which future events may be described. It may be that (1) a future event S will obtain and it may be (2) that S will not obtain. Both of these possibilities are countenanced by P3.  What P3 overlooks, however, is that it may also be the case (3) that S might and might not obtain.

If we grant that there are three, not two, distinct modes in terms of which future events may be described, then it is not the case that the future can be truly described solely in terms of what either will or will not come to pass.  And if, in fact, the future cannot be truly described solely in terms of what either will or will not come to pass, then it follows that an omniscient God will not know the future solely in terms of what either will or will not come to pass. Rather, an omniscient God must also know the future partly in terms of what might and might not come to pass.

To say that S might and might not obtain is to say that S’s obtaining is indeterminate— neither inevitable nor impossible.  The logical possibility of S being indeterminate is implicit in the structure of a future-tense Square of Opposition modeled after the traditional Square of Opposition from Aristotelian categorical logic.  But this possibility has been largely overlooked in Western philosophy which has tended to assume that the future could be expressed solely in terms of what either will or will not come to pass.  The structure of the Square is partly to blame, for it fails to make the logical possibility of genuine indeterminacy sufficiently explicit.  When we make this possibility explicit, we find that the Square of Opposition transforms into a Hexagon of Opposition, in light of which it becomes clear how one may affirm genuine indeterminacy and thus deny (C) while at the same time affirming bivalence (P1) as well as God’s knowledge of the truth value of all propositions (P3).

In this essay we first show how the future-tense Square of Opposition allows for the possibility of a partly indeterminate future (I).  We then point out two problems with the Square with respect to its ability to handle future indeterminacy (II).  Following this, we demonstrate how a consistent working out of the logic of the Square leads to a future-tense Hexagon of Opposition (III). After highlighting several advantages of the Hexagon over the Square (IV) we conclude by applying insights gained from the Hexagon to assess the assumption (P3) that the future can be exhaustively described in terms of what either will or will not come to pass as well as the conclusion (C) that God knows the future exclusively as that which either will or will not come to pass.

I. Indeterminacy and the Square of Opposition

We begin by considering the Square of Opposition as it concerns S’s obtaining.

Now, several observations about the Square’s treatment of S’s obtaining are worth noting.[2] On the standard interpretation of the Square, the contraries “S will obtain” and “S will not obtain” cannot be conjointly true, but they may be conjointly false. Conversely, while the subcontraries “S might obtain” and “S might not obtain” cannot be conjointly false, they may be conjointly true.  Most significantly, we must note that when both subcontraries “might” and “might not” are true, contraries “will” and “will not” are both false, for “S will obtain” and “S might not obtain” are contradictories, as are “S will not obtain” and “S might obtain.”

These observations already expose the arbitrary restrictiveness of P3, for P3 simply denies that propositions expressing conjointly true subcontraries “might” and “might not” are ever true.[3]  To say the same thing a different way, P3 denies that propositions expressing the logically possible negation of both contraries “will” and “will not” are ever true. P3 mistakenly treats the contraries “will” and “will not” as though they were contradictories, subject to the law of excluded middle, and thus assumes that they together exhaust the logical possibilities. P3 reflects the traditional tendency to insist that either it is true that “S will obtain” or it is true “S will not obtain,” as though these two possibilities were mutually exhaustive, which is why it supports the traditional conclusion that God, by virtue of knowing the truth value of all propositions, necessarily knows whether S will or will not obtain.  According to the Square, however, it may be false that “S will obtain” and false that “S will not obtain,” just in case it is true that “S might and might not obtain.” Again, “will” and “will not” are contraries, not contradictories, so while both cannot be true, both may be false. And “might” and “might not” are subcontraries, not contraries, so both cannot be false, but both may be true.

Of course, S will end up either obtaining or not. But, as the Square reveals, this does not imply that it is now true that either “S will obtain” or “S will not obtain.” The logical possibility of a true proposition expressing conjoined subcontraries reveals that the truth condition of future tense propositions is not found in what eventually comes to pass but in the state of things at the time the truth claim is made.

To illustrate, the truth condition of the statement, “Hillary will be president in 2008,” uttered in 2004, is not found in the as yet non-existent state of reality in 2008, but in the state of reality in 2004. Is it in fact determinately the case in 2004 that Hillary will be president in 2008? The statement is false just in case it is either determinately the case in 2004 that Hillary will not be president in 2008 or indeterminately the case in 2004 that Hillary will be president in 2008. The second possibility reflects the state of affairs expressed by conjointly true subcontraries “might and might not” on the traditional Square: “Hillary might and might not be president in 2008.” If in 2004 it is true that Hillary “might and might not” be president in 2008, then it is false in 2004 that Hillary “will” be president in 2008 and false also that she “will not” be resident in 2008—even though Hillary will eventually turn out either to be president in 2008 or not.[4]

This entails, of course, that it is logically possible that God, by virtue of knowing the truth value of all propositions, knows in 2004 that it is false that Hillary will be president in 2008 and knows it is false in 2004 that Hillary will not be president in 2008 just in case God knows in 2004 that Hillary might and might not be president in 2008.

II. Two Shortcomings in the Traditional Square

Why has the western tradition mostly assumed that the future can be exhaustively expressed in terms of what “will” and “will not” come to pass? Why has the logical possibility of future indeterminacy expressed by conjointly true subcontraries “might and might not” been mostly neglected in the western tradition? Why have the contraries “will” and “will not” been treated as though they were contradictories? Part of the explanation, we believe, lies in two curious features of the Square that tend to obscure the logical possibility of future indeterminacy.

First, we should note that while a determinate future can be expressed on the Square by the single propositions “S will obtain” and “S will not obtain,” there is no single proposition expressing future indeterminacy. To express this third possibility, we must conjoin the two subcontraries “might” and “might not.” In other words, determinacy (“will” and “will not”) is given primitive status on the Square, while indeterminacy must be inferred.

This asymmetry between determinacy and indeterminacy perhaps explains why “might” and “might not” have tended to be understood exclusively in terms of their individual subaltern relations to “will” and “will not.” That is, while “will” and “will not” have been allowed to express states of affairs, “might” and “might not” have tended to be limited to expressing merely the epistemological preconditions of those two determinate states. If it is true that “S will obtain,” it must also be true that “S might obtain,” viz. it must be possible for S to obtain. So too, for it to be true that “S will not obtain,” it must also be true that “S might not obtain,” viz. it must be possible for S not to obtain.

But what has not been adequately appreciated in the western tradition is that the subcontraries “might” and “might not” may be conjointly true and the contraries “will” and “will not” conjointly false. In this case, “might” and “might not” are no longer related as subalterns to “will” and “will not.” Rather, when they are conjointly true, they have the same relation to “will” and “will not” that “will” and “will not” have to each other.  In other words, they express a third distinct possibility –future indeterminacy – that stands in a contrary relationship to both the positive future determinacy expressed by “will” and the negative future determinacy expressed by “will not.”  For any possible future state of affairs, one of the three – “will,” “will not” and “might and might not” – must be true and the other two false.

But, because “might” and “might not” must be conjoined to play this third, indeterminate, contrary role, the possibility of their playing this role has been largely overlooked. Consequently, the possibility that the future is in some respects indeterminate and known by God as such has been largely overlooked.

There is a second, closely related observation we need to make about the Square. If we begin with the truth of one of the two determinate contrary poles, we can know the truth value of the other three poles. If, for example, “S will obtain” is true, then the subaltern “S might obtain” must also be true while both “S will not obtain” and “S might not obtain” must be false, the former because it is the contrary of “S will obtain” and the latter because it is its contradictory. By contrast, if we begin with a true “might,” we can only know that its contradictory “will not” is false. We can know nothing regarding the truth values of “will” and “might not.” It could be that “will” is true and “might not” false, or it could be that “might not” is true and “will” is false. The same applies if we begin with a true “might not,” in which case the contradictory “will” is false and either “might” is true and “will not” false or “will not” is true and “might” is false.

In other words, the Square allows us to falsify “will” with a single proposition—a “might not”—while leaving open the question as to the truth values of “might” and “will not.” The Square also allows us to falsify “will not” with a single proposition — “might” — while leaving open the question as to the truth values of “might not” and “will.” But, though the Square allows us to express “might and might not” through conjoined subcontraries, it gives us no way of falsifying this state of affairs while leaving open the question as to the truth values of “will” and “will not.” “In other words, to know that it is false that “S might and might not obtain,” we must know that either “S will obtain” is true and “S will not obtain” is false or that “S will obtain” is false and “S will not obtain” true.

To achieve parity with the three truth claims the Square allows for, we must be able to falsify “might and might not” while leaving open the question of the truth values of the other two truth claims (will” and “will not”).  Yet, to achieve this requires a fundamental revisioning of the Square, for we must posit a single proposition expressing “might and  might not” just as we have for “will” and “will not,” and it must have the same relation to “will” and “will not” that they have with each other. What is more, we must posit a single contradictory proposition to “might and might not” which, by virtue of being true, can falsify “ might and might not,” just as “will” and “will not” can each be  falsified by a single contradictory proposition  (“might not” and  “might). This, we shall soon see, transforms the Square of Opposition into a Hexagon of opposition.

As with our first observation, the lack of parity between “will” and “will not,” on the one hand, and “might and might not,” on the other, reveals a prejudice toward determinacy within the traditional Square. The Square logically allows for indeterminacy but does not treat it on a par with determinacy. And given how influential the Square has been to the development of Western thought, we suspect that this inadequacy may help explain why the tradition has tended to assume that the future is exhaustively expressible in terms of what will and will not come to pass and thus that God knows the future exhaustively in terms of what will and will not come to pass.

III. The Hexagon of Opposition

We wish to explore a model that grants indeterminacy the same propositionally singular status as determinacy. Toward this end, we will use Q as a primitive operator meaning “It is indeterminately the case that…” alongside primitive operator Z meaning, “It is determinately the case that…”. We will also revise the Square in such a way that Q will be granted the same logical status as Z.

As we have stated, there are three, not two, distinct modes of being that may characterize the future. Using Q and Z as defined, we arrive at:

Z(S) = It is determinately the case that state of affairs S occur (“S will obtain”)

Z(~S) = It is determinately the case that state of affairs not-S occur (“S will not obtain”)

Q(S) = It is indeterminately the case that state of affairs S occur (“S might and might not obtain”)

Each of these propositions affirms a distinct metaphysical possibility concerning any possible future state of affairs. These possibilities are jointly exhaustive and mutually exclusive. As jointly exhaustive, at least one must be true for any meaningful future tense proposition. Thus we arrive at our first theorem:

I.          (S) [(Z(S) Ú Z (~S) Ú Q(S)].

As mutually exclusive, if any one is true, then the other two must be false, giving us three additional theorems:

II.        Z(S) « ~Z(~S) Ù ~Q(S)

III.      Z(~S) « ~Z(S) Ù ~Q(S)

IV.      Q(S) « ~Z(S) Ù ~Z(~S)

Because no two can be true at the same time, while any two can be false at the same time, these three possibilities are related as contraries, which we can represent by the following Triangle of Contrary Relations.

This Triangle of Contrary Relations generates a Triangle of Subcontrary Relations when we associate each possibility with its contradictory.  Consider first Z(S) (“It is determinately the case that state of affairs S obtain”). The contradictory of Z(S) is, of course, ~Z(S) (“It is not determinately the case that state of affairs S obtain”) and can be illustrated as follows:

The contradictory of Z(~S) (“It is determinately the case that state of affairs not-S obtain”) is ~Z (~S) (“It is not determinately the case that state of affairs not-S obtain”) which we locate opposite its contradictory:

Lastly, the contradictory of Q(S) (“It is indeterminately the case that state of affairs S obtain”) is ~Q(S) (“It is not indeterminately the case that state of affairs S obtain”), illustrated as follows:

Note that the first two propositions above, Z(S) and Z(~S) (“will” and “will not”) and their contradictories are explicit on the traditional Square. But the third proposition, Q(S) (“might and might not”) and its contradictory ~Q(S) have now been made explicit.

Now let’s consider how the contradictories (~Z(S), ~Z (~S) and ~Q(S) are related to each other. Consider the pair ~Z(S) and ~Z(~S). Since Q(S) entails both ~Z(S) and ~Z(~S) (by Theorem IV), it is clear that they are conjointly true when Q(S) is true. It is equally clear that ~Z(S)and ~Z(~S) cannot be conjointly false. For if ~Z(S) is false, then Z(S) is true, and if ~Z(~S) is false, then Z(~S) is true. But Z(S) and Z(~S) cannot be conjointly true (by Theorems II and III), so ~Z(S) and ~Z(~S) cannot be conjointly false. The same results obtain mutatis mutandis for the other pairs, (~Z(S) and ~Q(S); ~Z(~S) and ~Q(S). So, for each pair, it is possible that both be true and not possible that both be false, which means that they are subcontraries. We thus arrive at a Triangle of Subcontraries overlapping with the Triangle of Contrary Relations.

Thus far we have considered contrary, contradictory, and subcontrary relations. There remains one more logical relation to consider, namely, subaltern relations, which run outward from Z(S), Z(~S), and Q(S). We already know from the Square that ~Z(~S) is the subaltern of Z(S). Thus, if Z(S) (“will”) is true, the subaltern ~Z(~S) (“might”) is necessarily true. The same now applies to the relationship between Z(S) and the adjacent ~Q(S) (“not ‘might and might not’”). If Z(S) is true, ~Q(S) must be true. Likewise, if Z(~S) (“will not”) is true, the subaltern ~Z(S) (“might not”) is also true. The same subaltern relationship exists between Z(~S) and ~Q(S). If Z(~S) is true, ~Q(S) must be true. Lastly, Q(S) (“might and might not”) also has subaltern relations with the adjacent propositions. If Q(S) (“might and might not”) is true, both subalterns ~Z(~S) (“might”) and ~Z(S) (“might not”) are true.

As figure 7 below illustrates, the subaltern relations run from each of the three propositions forming our Triangle of Contrary Relations to each of the propositions forming the Triangle of Subcontrary Relations, completing a Hexagon of Subaltern Relations:

Note that the traditional Square of Opposition is still present in the Hexagon. We have simply enlarged and completed it. Indeed, one should notice that in completing the traditional Square we have uncovered two other intersecting Squares of Opposition, each exhibiting different truth functions but preserving the same logical relations. The traditional Square of Opposition is composed of contraries Z(S) and Z(~S) and subcontraries ~Z(~S) and ~Z(S). A second Square is composed of contraries Z(S) and Q(S) and subcontraries ~Z(S) and ~Q(S). A third Square is composed of Z(~S) and Q(S) and subcontraries ~Q(S) and ~Z(~S). The three squares may be highlighted as follows:

What we have in effect done is complete and correct the future tensed Square by replicating it three times from the vantage point of the three logically possible modes of being that the traditional Square allows for but does not adequately express. As with the traditional Square, the logical possibility of all three modes is implicit in each of the three Squares, but made explicit only when all three Squares are joined together, forming what we call the Hexagon of Opposition. It exhibits all the contrary, subcontrary, contradictory, and subaltern relations associated to the three logically possible modes of being.

IV. The Superiority of the Hexagon of Opposition

We may now more completely and elegantly account for the three logically possible modes of being and thus the truth values of all possible future tense propositions. The Hexagon’s advantages over the traditional Square in expressing future tense propositions include:

1. The Hexagon recognizes indeterminacy as a distinct mode of being about which we may offer true or false propositions (as opposed to the Square which only indirectly recognizes indeterminacy through conjointly true subcontraries). On the Hexagon of Opposition, indeterminacy is expressed by the operator Q, alongside the determinacy operator Z. The Hexagon thus recognizes indeterminacy in the same “propositionally singular” fashion as it recognizes determinacy.

2. Similarly, the Hexagon clarifies all the logical relations between all possible future tense propositions, whereas the traditional Square leaves some of these relations unexpressed. For example, the Hexagon clarifies the important difference between “might” (~Z(~S)) functioning as the subaltern of Z(S) and thus expressing the epistemological condition for  Z (S) and falsifying “ (Z(~S)), on the one hand, and “might” (Q(S)) expressing an indeterminate mode of being, on the other. In other words, the Hexagon illustrates the truth that “might” and “might not” may independently be true or false as the subalterns of Z(S) or Z(~S) respectively, but when conjointly true (Q(S)) their relation to Z(S) and Z(~S) is contrary, not subaltern. As we noted earlier, this distinction is not made by the traditional Square, a fact that we suspect has contributed to the relative neglect of indeterminacy in the western tradition.

3. The Hexagon allows us to falsify Q(S) (indirectly present on the Square through conjointly true “might and might not”) while leaving open the truth values of Z(S) (“will”) and Z(~S) (“will not”). The Square, we have seen, allows this for Z(S) and Z(~S), but not for Q(S). Because the Hexagon places Q(S) on equal, contrary footing with Z(S) and Z(-S), in knowing any one of the three contrary proposition is true, we know the truth value of its contrary, subcontrary, contradictory and subaltern relations. But in knowing any one of the three contrary propositions as false, we leave open the truth value of the other two contraries.

4. By clarifying the difference between the subaltern relations of “might” and “might not” to “will” and “will not” when considered alone, on the one hand, and the contrary relation of “might and might not” to “will” and “will not” when considered conjoined, on the other, the Hexagon makes explicit the present tense truth condition of future tense propositions. The truth value of “S will obtain” or “S will not obtain” or “S might and might not obtain” is located not in what eventually happens, but in what is now the case. Stated otherwise, the Hexagon reveals that the truth of a future tense propositions about future contingents depends on when the truth claim is made.  The Hexagon thereby reveals that the common philosophical assumption that the truth of all future tense propositions is timeless is misguided, for it arbitrarily assumes that all propositions expressing what “might and might not” obtain are false.

What then are we to make of the tenseless proposition, “S obtains at T”? In our view, it is an incomplete proposition in cases where S asserts a contingent state of affairs, for only necessary truths are timeless (viz. necessarily true at every moment). If a statement expressing the proposition “S obtains at T” is uttered prior to T, the statement is actually asserting the proposition “S will obtain at T” and is true just in case S will obtain at T, false that “S will not obtain at T” and false that “S might and might not obtain at T.” If uttered subsequent to T, the statement actually asserts the proposition “S did obtain at T” and is true just in case S did obtain at T and false that “S did not obtain at T.” And if uttered at T, the proposition “S obtains at T” actually asserts “S now obtains” and is true just in case S does in fact now obtain and false that “S does not now obtain.” In other words, the meaning and truth value of a proposition expressing a contingent state of affairs depends on when the claim is made with respect to the time of the event in question.

If the temporal relationship between when a statement is uttered and the contingent state of affairs asserted is not known, there is, strictly speaking, no propositional meaning or truth value to speak of. A tenseless proposition asserting a temporally indexed contingent state of affairs is like the proposition X + 2 = 4 where X is unspecified. If X =2, it is true. If X= 3, if is false. And if X = banana, it is meaningless.  But if X is unspecified, we must simply regard the proposition as incomplete and having no truth value.  So too, “S obtains at T” is incomplete unless we know the temporal relationship between when the proposition is asserted and when the event in question is supposed to obtain (or not) — that is, unless we know whether the proposition is actually asserting “S will obtain at T” or “S did obtain at T” or “S now obtains at T.”

V. Conclusion

We believe that the Hexagon of Opposition has a wide range of applications. One of these, we are convinced, is clarifying the argument we presented at the beginning of this essay. What are we to make of P3? To recall, P3 stated:

The future is exhaustively described in terms of what either will or will not come to pass.

As we have seen, the traditional Square itself demonstrates that this premise is arbitrarily restrictive, for it allows for subcontraries “might” and “might not” to be conjointly true thus rendering their contradictories “will” and “will not” false. But the Square also helps explain why the tradition has tended to assume P3, for it is prejudiced toward determinacy by virtue of not giving indeterminacy equally primitive status with determinacy, as we’ve shown. The Hexagon makes the arbitrariness of P3—and the limitations of the traditional Square that contribute to P3—explicit.

The Hexagon makes it clear that there are no logical grounds for assuming the future can be expressed solely in terms of what “will come to pass” and what “will not come to pass.” From a strictly logical perspective, the future can only be exhaustively expressed in terms of what “will come to pass,” what “will not come to pass” and what “might and might not come to pass.” Hence, the Hexagon makes it explicit that it is at least logically possible that God, by virtue of knowing the truth value of all propositions, knows some of the future as what might and might not come to pass. Just in case “S will obtain” or “S will not obtain” is true, God knows that “S might and might not obtain” is false. And just in case “S might and might not obtain” is true, God knows that both “S will obtain” and “S will not obtain” are false.

Of course, one could hold that while propositions expressing what “might and might not” come to pass (Q(S)) are logically possible, as a matter of fact God has rendered them all false by creating a world in which the future is exhaustively settled and thus known by God as such. True enough. God could have done this. But the Hexagon makes it clear that God could conceivably have done otherwise. And this is enough to demonstrate that P3 is not true a priori and thus that omniscience does not logically entail that God knows the future exhaustively in terms of what will or will not come to pass.

In the final analysis, the extent to which the future is in fact open and/or settled is a contingent matter that must be ascertained on grounds other than pure logic. However, the Hexagon of Opposition clarifies that nothing in logic itself, and thus nothing in the definition of omniscience, constitutes grounds for concluding there are no true “might and might not” propositions. It thus makes explicit that the future is not by definition exhaustively settled and thus that God does not by definition know it as exhaustively settled.

[1] For a discussion, see Alan Rhoda, Gregory Boyd, Thomas Belt, “Open Theism, Omniscience and the Nature of the Future,” (Publication Pending).

[2]  Some might at the outset object to the applicability of the traditional Square to future tensed propositions. Unlike “all” and “none” on the traditional Square, one could argue, “S will obtain” and “S will not obtain” are contradictories, not contraries.  In response, if one grants that indeterminacy is real, ontologically speaking, there are three, not just two, possible future-tense propositions that may describe the future, as we’ve already suggested.   All three are mutually exclusive, which means they cannot be contradictory.  They can only be contrary.  Not only this, but if we accept that “S will obtain” and “S will not obtain” are contradictories, we must deny that “S will obtain” is the contradictory of “S might not obtain” and that “S will not obtain” is the contradictory of “S might obtain.” But then, we must wonder, what is the relationship between these propositions?  Clearly “S will obtain” and “S might not obtain” cannot both be false (and so with “S will not obtain” and “S might obtain”). But, for reasons argued elsewhere, we argue they also cannot both be true  (see A. Rhoda, G. Boyd and T. Belt, “Open Theism, Omniscience and the Nature of the Future”), Hence, one must be true while the other must be false, which makes “will” and “might not” contradictory (and so “will not” and “might”).   The other relations of the traditional Square (contrary, subcontrary and subaltern) follow from this as illustrated above.

[3] See G. Boyd, “Neo-Molinism and the Infinite Intelligence of God,” Philosophia Christi, 5”1 (2003), 187-204, and item, “Unbounded Love and the Openness of the Future: An Exploration and Critique of Pinnock’s Theological Pilgrimage,” Semper Reformandum: Studies in Honour of C.H.Pinnock, eds. S. Porter and A. Cross (Great Britian: Paternoster, 2003), 38-58.

[4]  Another way of stating this is to note that while “Hillary will be president” and “Hillary will not be president” are contrary, not contradictory, propositions, “Hillary is president” and “Hillary is not president” are contradictory.  Temporal passage is marked by the transition from three possible modes of being regarding the future (“will,” “will not,” “might and might not”) to two possible modes of being regarding the present and past (“is,” “is not,” and “was,” “was not”).

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The affirmation of libertarian free will immediately negates the divine determinism that is characteristic of classical theism. But it also (though this is less widely recognized) negates the doctrine of God as timelessly eternal. To assert that humans possess libertarian freedom implies that there is a fundamental, ontological difference between the future and the past. The past consists of events that have already occurred, and are now and forever more unable to be prevented. The future, in contrasts consists in large part of events or better, of the possibilities for events that have not occurred, and may turn out in one way or another. This means that there is a real, objective, difference between past and future, separated as they are by a unique, though ever-changing, present moment. But this claim – that there is a unique moment that is literally and objectively – now stands in deep tension with the view of God as timeless. To see this, it suffices to point out that, if there is a unique present moment, a timeless God cannot know what moment that is. For in order to know which moment is really now, really the present moment, God would have to change, since the truth about which moment is present is itself constantly changing. But change is precisely what a timeless God cannot do. A timeless God cannot know what is happening right now. I believe that almost all theists, once they come to recognize this, will see it as an unacceptable compromise of divine omniscience. A God who has granted true freedom to his creatures must be a temporal God!

This same line of reasoning leads readily to the conclusion that contingent future events – those that are really able to turn out one way or another – cannot be known with certainty even by God. For it is true of God as of human beings that we exist only in the present, not in the future, which does not itself exist. At present, the future is a realm of possibilities for what may or may not come to exist, and is knowable only as such. To be sure, an infinite Mind will know incomparably more about these possibilities, and the likelihood of their being realized, than is knowable to any human mind. And an almighty Being may choose to guarantee that certain events will take place, and in so doing render events certain that would otherwise be mere possibilities. But a Mind that is perfect in knowledge will know all and only that which is inherently knowable, and this means knowing many future events as possibilities and not as guaranteed actualities. That this is so is the most characteristic, and also most controversial, assertion of open theism; it implies that for God, as for us, the future is open, still containing multiple possibilities.

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The notion of divine repentance is pivotal for the differences between classical theism and open theism. If God repents, then God undergoes change. If so, then God is not absolutely unchangeable, and certainly is not timeless. Divine repentance is closely associated with expressions of divine sorrow and regret over a decision previously made, or at least over the consequences that have flowed from such a decision. But a God who can experience such sorrow and regret is emotionally affected by his creatures; he is by no means impassible. Furthermore, divine repentance is typically a response to actions and decisions made by human beings which were not in accord with God’s intentions. If this really occurs, then God is not all-controlling but rather has placed some of the control in human hands – control that, in this instance, has been exercised contrary to what God wished to have happen. And finally, divine repentance of this sort strongly suggests that a previous divine decision has had unforeseen consequences. But if this is true, it negates the view that God has certain and comprehensive knowledge of the entire future. It is entirely understandable, then, that the proponents of classical theism have found the biblical references to divine repentance to be problematic, and have mustered all their interpretive resources in order to dispose of them in some acceptable manner.

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This article was taken by permission from Process Studies, “The Problem of Evil in Process Theism and Classical Freewill Theism,” Vol. 29, Number 2, Fall-Winter, 2000: pp. 194-208.

No topic in the philosophy of religion seems to be so universally engaging as the problem of evil. This problem can be counted on to hold the attention of practically any audience, regardless of their degree of philosophical sophistication. During the past several decades there has probably been more writing on the problem of evil than on all of the theistic proofs put together, and the flood shows no sign of abating.

This problem is generally regarded as the most powerful weapon wielded by atheists in their attacks on theistic belief. But it also comes into play in the internecine controversies among theists, where different conceptions of God are judged acceptable or otherwise in no small part because of their ability (or lack thereof) to provide a satisfactory solution for the problem of evil. In particular, this is true of the debate between process theists and traditional or “classical” theists. It would be no exaggeration to say that many process theists regard the phenomena of evil as providing the decisive reason why traditional theism should be rejected and their view preferred in its place. Many traditional theists would agree that process theism enjoys a certain advantage at this point, while holding that other benefits of traditional theism are more than sufficient to outweigh the advantage of process theism with respect to the problem of evil.

I have come to see, however, that there is one version of traditional theism that is very much on a par with process theism in its treatment of the problem of evil. The version in question has been described by David Griffin as “classical free will theism”; its adherents usually refer to it as the “open view” of God, or simply as “free will theism.” ¹

In what follows I shall begin by briefly characterizing the two views in question; then I shall proceed to examine their respective implications for the problem of evil. For the process approach I shall be relying mainly on the writings of David Ray Griffin, probably the best exponent of the process view of this topic. It is by no means my intention to provide a complete theodicy; but I will be giving special attention to those aspects of the problem where the two types of theism might seem to show major differences.

I. Free Will Theism and Process Theism

We begin with classical free will theism, a view that is closer to the mainstream of the theological tradition. In common with the tradition, this view holds that God is both omnipotent and omniscient. Omnipotence may be defined as God’s power to do anything that is neither logically incoherent nor inconsistent with God’s moral perfection. A singular exercise of divine omnipotence is found in the divine creation of the universe ex nihilo, out of nothing; omnipotence also entails the ability to perform miracles, actions that lie beyond the natural potentialities of created beings. Omniscience, similarly, means that God knows everything that is capable of being known. In contrast with the majority of the tradition, free will theism in its most consistent form holds that contingent future events are inherently unknowable and thus do not fall within the scope of omniscience, any more than it falls within the scope of omnipotence to create a square circle. ² Chief among the reasons why some future events are inherently unknowable is that they will come about through the free actions of creatures, where freedom is understood in the libertarian sense such that the agent is fully able, under the existing circumstances, to perform some other action in place of the one that is actually done. To be sure, God retains the power to “overrule” creaturely actions, but for the most part he graciously refrains from doing so, preferring to grant to the creatures a genuine, though limited, power of self-determination.

Process theism understands divine omniscience in a way that is similar to that described above, but its conception of divine power and its exercise is very different. The mode of God’s activity is formally the same in each and every event that takes place. God provides the “initial aim” for each momentary “occasion of experience”; this initial aim represents, one might say, God’s “ideal will” for that particular occasion. But the occasion then exercises its inherent power of self-determination in selecting its “subjective aim”; in so doing, it may follow closely the initial aim provided by God but it also may deviate widely from that initial aim. It is particularly important to see that God has no ability to control which of these actually occurs. God’s role in the situation is strictly limited to the provision of the initial aim. This means that the traditional doctrine of creation ex nihilo must be abandoned; the metaphysical structure of reality is such that God is always, and necessarily, confronted with an “other” which he must persuade, shape, and “lure” in the direction which he sees as being best and as leading to the richest fulfillment of experience. Process theists generally do not describe God’s power as “omnipotence,” but they resist vigorously the suggestion that God as they conceive of him is weak or ineffectual. God, they say, does not have all the power that there is, but he has the most power that any being could possibly have, and to see this power as weakness is gravely to underestimate the ability of persuasive love to gain its ends, given sufficient time and patience.

With these thumbnail sketches in place, we are in a position to consider the implications of the two views for the problem of evil. That problem may be simply stated by asking, How can we reconcile the supposed existence of a loving God with the many and grievous evils that afflict the world God has created? On the face of it, it would seem that this problem is far less acute for process theism, simply because God’s control over the events of the world is so much less. God provides the initial aim for each occasion, and that aim, we are assured, is for the best that is attainable in the given situation. If however the subjective aim pursued by the occasion deviates from the initial aim, resulting in pain and suffering, this is not God’s fault, and God can do nothing about it except to continue the process of loving persuasion in the hope of a better future.

Classical free will theism, in contrast, attributes to God a far greater degree of control over worldly events. God created the world ex nihilo, with no prior constraints apart from those of logical consistency. Creation, to be sure, need not take the form of the instantaneous production of a universe such as we see today. But even if the creation involved a very long and gradual developmental process, God has the power to control such a process and to assure its resulting in the very sort of world he intended to produce. It appears, then, that God carries a much greater share of responsibility for the evils of the world than would be the case on the assumptions of process theism. Process theists, to be sure, welcome the emphasis on libertarian free will for creatures, and consider this a major advance over the theological determinism that is characteristic of such classical theologians as Augustine, Aquinas, and Calvin. In spite of this, however, they maintain that God’s assumed ability to intervene supernaturally, and to exercise unilateral control over the course of events when necessary, leaves the free will theist with an intractable problem of evil.

We can see, then, why it has seemed plausible to process theists that their view is less troubled by the problem of evil than is any variety of classical theism, and why many classical theists have tended to agree with this assessment. Nevertheless, I shall maintain that, where the alternative view in question is classical free will theism, the perception of an advantage for process theism is largely an illusion. In order to see this, we must review in detail specific aspects of the problem of evil. ³

II. Moral Evil

Charles Hartshorne once wrote that the “only solution to the problem of evil ‘worth writing home about’. . . uses the idea of freedom, but generalizes it” (13). About the generalization (to natural as well as moral evil) we will be speaking shortly. But the reference to freedom points to an important area of commonality between process and free will theism. Both views agree that a vast amount of the world’s evil and suffering is traceable to the morally wrong actions of human beings. Both views hold that these actions are free in the libertarian sense, meaning that they are not predetermined by any prior circumstances. Both views agree, then, that the primary responsibility for these actions lies with their human perpetrators and not with God, who has in some way provided the circumstances in which the decisions are made but does not control the decisions themselves.

So far, then, there is agreement, but process theists are likely to think that their view still holds an advantage in dealing with moral evil. One possible line here is to point out that, on the assumptions of classical theism, God has deliberately chosen to endow his creatures with this kind of freedom; thus God, even though not directly responsible for the individual choices, bears a heavy responsibility for turning loose upon the world a freedom that has had such devastating consequences. For process theism, on the other hand, freedom is not the result of a divine choice; it is rather an essential component in the metaphysical structure of the world.

The argument in this form cannot succeed. Freedom in some form or other may be necessary according to process theism, but the complex and sophisticated variety of freedom involved in human agency is not; God could have refrained from “luring” the world in the direction that led to the development of such freedom. Or, freedom in this form having entered the world and having proved too costly, God could simply allow the world to revert to its earlier, less highly evolved state. So the existence of human beings possessing both free will and the capacity to use this to create great goods and great evils is indeed the result of a divine decision. Free will theists will agree with David Griffin, and with other process theists, that “God’s purpose . . . is to bring forth creatures with ever-greater capacities for realizing and influencing others in terms of the higher forms of positive value,” and that “this purpose necessarily means evoking into existence beings with ever-greater capacities for using their power in ways that are contrary to the will of God” (Cobb and Griffin 34). Which is to say: both in free will theism and in process theism it is God who is responsible for the existence of creatures who have the freedom and power to bring about great evils.

A more subtle form of this same argument is deployed by David Griffin when he points to a “serious objection” to the standard free will theodicy:

This objection takes the form of doubt that freedom is really such an inherently great thing that it is worth running the risk of having creatures such as Hitler. If it were possible to have creatures who could enjoy all the same values which we human beings enjoy, except that they would not really he free, should God not have brought into existence such creatures instead? In other words, if God could have created beings who were like us in every way, except that (a) they always did the best things, and (b) they thought they were only doing this freely, should God not have created those beings instead?

This argument seems convincing, given its premises. But process theology rejects its premises. (Cobb and Griffin 74) ⁴

Griffin goes on to point out that the correlation, noted previously, between a creature’s capacity “for realizing and influencing others in terms of the higher forms of positive value” and that same creature’s capacity “for using [its] power in ways that are contrary to the will of God” is on his view necessary rather than contingent, so that the process God could not have brought into existence beings with the positive capacities of human beings but lacking their potential destructiveness. A God endowed with classical omnipotence, however, would not have been limited by such a necessary correlation; such a God could — and, Griffin implies, should — have created rather the beings described in the quotation above, able to enjoy the positive values we now experience but endowed with a freedom which is illusory rather than real.

This argument abounds in problems. If it is acceptable to substitute the illusion of freedom for actual freedom, why not the illusion of knowledge for actual knowledge, and the illusion of love for actual love? Why, for that matter, shouldn’t God take on the role of a beneficent Cartesian demon, and create for each one of us an illusionary paradise within the recesses of our own minds? Descartes, it will be recalled, introduced the demon precisely because he was unable to suppose that God, who is “most good and the fountain of truth” should be capable of such deception. It seems to many of us (but not, apparently, to Griffin!) that Descartes was right in holding it impossible for God to engage in a policy of massive deception. ⁵

Perhaps, however, Griffin’s argument could be modified so as to dispense with the notion that created persons are to be deceived about the sort of freedom they enjoy Perhaps rather than being given the illusion that they enjoy libertarian freedom, created persons could be content with the possession of “compatibilist freedom,” freedom which consists in the ability to act upon one’s own inclinations, without being compelled by external forces. (After all, there are a good many people who even now persuade themselves that this is all the freedom we have, and all we really need.) So the argument would go as follows: The God of process theism, who is constrained by the inherent metaphysical structure of the world, could not create beings possessing the positive capacities of human beings but lacking in libertarian freedom. But God as conceived in classical theism, not being limited by such metaphysical necessities, could have done just that, and morally ought to have done so. So there is indeed a moral objection — a problem of evil — for classical free will theism that process theism is not subject to.

This version of the argument is more plausible than those canvassed previously, but it is still far from unproblematic. For one thing, free will theists would not endorse the view that all of the higher values enjoyed by human beings could be available to creatures lacking libertarian freedom. For example, all free will theists hold that libertarian freedom is essential for moral responsibility. Many would also assert that there could not be a genuinely personal relationship between God and human beings, if God were to exercise the sort of unilateral control over human actions postulated by Griffin’s argument. Thus, one of the crucial premises needed for the argument is not available.

It is also noteworthy that the process theist, if she espouses the argument just described, is in effect putting herself in the position of a disappointed Calvinist! That is to say: she thinks it would be better, all things considered, if God had been able to exercise complete, unilateral control over the world, exactly as postulated by Calvin and other theological determinists. In fact, however, God (the process God) is unable to do this, so she (and God!?) are obliged to settle for second best — for a universe containing the potential for all of these positive values, but also containing the peril and potential destructiveness of libertarian freedom. I suspect that very few process theists will upon reflection find themselves comfortable with such a stance.

In order to test this claim, I invite the reader to join me in a thought experiment. Imagine yourself then, as a prospective parent shortly before the birth of your first child. And suppose that someone has offered you the following choice: On the one hand, the child will be one that, without any effort on your part, will always and automatically do and be exactly what you want it to do and be, no more and no less. The child will have no feeling of being constrained or controlled; nevertheless, it will spontaneously carry out your wishes on any and every occasion. Or on the other hand, you can choose to have a child in the normal fashion, a child that is fulls’ capable of having a will of its own and of resisting your wishes for it, and even of acting against its own best interests. You will have to invest a great deal of effort in its education, with good hopes to be sure, but without any advance guarantee of success. And there is the risk, indeed the near-certainty that the child will inflict on you considerable pain and suffering, as you strive to help the child become all that he or she can be and ought to be. Which do you choose?

Such a choice is admittedly deeply subjective, and it may well be that some readers will choose the first alternative, to have a child that is always and automatically in compliance with their wishes for it. It is my hope, however, that many readers will agree with me in saying that it is far better to accept the challenge of parenting a child with a will of its own, even at the price of pain and possible heartbreak, than to opt for an arrangement in which the child’s choices will all really be my choices made for it, its life a pale reflection of mine lived through the child. I will hazard the conjecture, furthermore, that almost all process theists will End themselves in this latter group: if their preferences were otherwise, they would most likely have been Calvinists all along.

I conclude, then, that none of the arguments we have considered concerning moral evil affords process theism any advantage over free will theism. In both versions of theism it is God who is responsible for the existence of creatures who have the freedom and power to bring about great evils, and both versions of theism must hold that this choice of God’s is worth the risk it entails.

III. Natural Evil

Critics of theism often take the view that natural evil presents an even more intractable problem for theism’s defenders than does moral evil. David Griffin agrees with this: he asserts that classical free will theism “is even less able to explain natural evil, in the sense of evil produced by nonhuman nature than to explain humanly caused evil. The free will defense, he goes on to say, “provides no help with the problem of animal suffering, at least insofar as this suffering has not been due to human agency. [Free will theists] have not, therefore, given any explanation for the vast majority of the suffering that has occurred during the history of our planet” (“Process” 16-17).

What is the right way to view animal suffering? ⁶ My own view is that the world of nature, human depredations aside, is indeed the good creation of God, and that animal suffering, an inescapable part of a world so constituted, does not negate the world’s goodness overall. Griffin evidently disagrees with this, but what is the precise nature of his complaint? One possible view is that the world of nature as we know it is a bad thing, so bad that its existence is worse than its non-existence, and a good person would never have brought it into being. This, however, is profoundly inconsistent with the ecological consciousness, involving a celebration of the world of nature, that Griffin, along with John B. Cobb Jr., and many other process thinkers, thinks we should cultivate. It is also inconsistent with the process idea that God has “elicited” the existence of this very world by his guidance of the evolutionary process.

Griffin’s view, then, must be a different one. The most plausible alternative is that the world of nature, though not bad overall, is nevertheless distinctly inferior to alternative worlds we can envisage which a God endowed with classical omnipotence would have brought into existence in preference to the present one. Such a perspective is often thought to be plausible, but I believe it faces at least two serious objections, one derived specifically from process theism and the other quite general in its application. From the standpoint of Griffin’s process theism, it is hard to see why the world of nature should not have come out very much as God wanted it to be. In the chaos preceding the present cosmic epoch, according to Griffin, “the divine influence, in seeking to implant a set of contingent principles in the universe, would have no competition from any other contingent principles,” and would thus be able to “produce quasi-coercive effects” (“Process” 30). And what this means is that the fundamental laws of nature, established in the first moments of this cosmic epoch, will be exactly as God desires them to be. ⁷ Subsequent to this, evolution takes over, but an evolution that is not explainable along exclusively Darwinian lines. (About that, at least, Griffin and I are very much in agreement!) The “saltations,” or major advances in the evolutionary process, are brought about by “a specific form of divine creative-providential activity” (“Process” 29). Since it is these evolutionary “jumps” that determine the new types of creatures that appear, and these jumps are the direct result of special divine activity, it seems likely that the new forms are very much as God wanted them to be. And it is, of course, these new forms that determine the future lines of evolutionary development and thus, ultimately, the overall shape of the natural world God is luring into existence. It is conceivable, to be sure, that in some instances the creaturely response to the divine initiative was not what God desired, and things went awry as a result. It seems implausible, however, that the major sources of natural evil can be accounted for in this way. Consider, for instance, the origin of predators: Perhaps God was trying to produce a super-antelope, and a saber-toothed tiger emerged instead! But how plausible is this? I conclude that, on process assumptions, it is quite unlikely that the world of nature is radically different than God intended it to be. ⁸

The other objection to the theory in question (that the world of nature, though not bad overall, is less good than other worlds we can see to be possible) is that we just do not know anything like enough about possible alternative systems of nature to have any reliable views about what is and is not possible and/or desirable. Science-fictional fantasies and idyllic paintings of the “peaceable kingdom” just aren’t enough to go on here. In fact, our best present knowledge strongly suggests that even minor modifications in the fundamental laws of nature would result in a universe in which human life, and any form of carbon-based life, simply could not exist. ⁹

While Griffin’s assault on free will theism seems unsuccessful, Hartshorne’s suggestion about generalizing the free will defense to include natural evil may have considerable merit, and its sphere of application need not be limited to process theism. (the physicist-theologian John Polkinghorne has made a similar suggestion, quite apart from any commitment to process thought.) There is good evidence from physics that natural processes are inherently indeterministic, and our experience of living creatures certainly suggests to us that they exercise a genuine spontaneity rather than being deterministically controlled. If we add to this (as free will theists should) that God generally refrains from exerting direct control over such indeterministic natural processes, we arrive at the view that non-human nature does operate to a significant degree without being immediately controlled, though to be sure it does not exhibit moral agency as such. Thus we need not hold (for example) that God directly decreed the existence of the AIDS virus; no doubt viruses, like higher-level organisms, evolve so as to occupy an available ecological niche. The full development of these thoughts, however, must await another occasion.

With respect to all these considerations, process theism and free will theism seem to be very much on all fours with each other. (And both of them, let it be said, enjoy major advantages compared with other views such as Calvinism and Molinism.) If we are to find any distinct advantage for process theism, we must look farther.

IV. Divine Intervention

The most promising topic in this regard is undoubtedly divine intervention. According to process theism divine intervention, in the sense of God’s bringing about events that lie beyond the inherent powers of natural agents, is an impossibility. God’s role in the world is strictly limited to the provision of the “initial aim” for each occasion of experience, and in doing this God always selects the best possible aim for the occasion. Quite literally, God is doing all he can; the rest is up to us and to our fellow-creatures. That this is so is not, perhaps, in all respects a ground for rejoicing. It has often been pointed out, for example, that on this view any future triumph of God and of goodness is at best a conjectural possibility, resting on the hope that at some time in the future the overall response to God’s lure may be a great deal more favorable than has been the case up to the present. But it does mean that, with no possibility for God to do more, there is also no remaining question as to why he does not do more; on this topic, then, there is no problem of evil for process theism. ¹⁰

With classical free will theism, things are much different. God’s modality of acting in the world is not limited as it is for process theism. God can do anything that is logically coherent and consistent with his own moral perfection — and to our eyes, at least, there is a great deal that could use doing. So, why does God not intervene, or do so more frequently, to prevent great evils? Let us call this the problem of divine non-intervention.

On this point, then, a distinct difference emerges between process and free will theism. And it is clear that there is an initial advantage for process theism, in that there is a question that free will theism needs to answer whereas for process theism there is no such question. Whether this initial advantage turns into a permanent advantage will depend on whether an effective answer is forthcoming. In order to focus the discussion I shall proceed by stating and defending four propositions which together constitute an answer to the question on behalf of free will theism.

1. The problem of divine non-intervention is a serious difficulty for free will theism only if it is clear that there are situations in which God ought to intervene but fails to do so. This should be evident, but it needs saving because we may tend to assume the opposite. The mere fact that there are cases in which we might wish for divine intervention but none is forthcoming is not evidence that something is amiss in the government of the world, any more than the fact that we are shocked by some instances of predation shows that there is something wrong with the constitution of the natural world. What is needed here is a sober argument, one which is compelling after mature reflection, showing that a powerful and morally good being would of necessity intervene.
2. Frequent or routine divine intervention would negate many of the purposes for which the world was created in the first place. Clearly this is a very large topic, and a full discussion would go far beyond the scope of the present essay, But a little reflection will show the plausibility of this contention. If part of the purpose of creation was to bring about a rich, intricate, closely-interrelated natural order, then it would be a sign of failure if that order required frequent interference in order to function properly (Consider in this regard Newton’s conjecture that God must intervene frequently in order to maintain the stability of the planetary system.) Furthermore, some of the natural occurrences we might think most in need of restraint are demonstrably essential to the functioning of the system as a whole. There could be nothing like the ecosystem as we know it without extensive predation. Monsoons and hurricanes cause destruction, but also deposit much-needed rainfall in what would otherwise he regions of perpetual drought. Natural selection, an essential part of the process by which organisms evolve into richer and more complex forms, inevitably involves a great deal of suffering, death, and general failure of organisms to flourish.It should not be forgotten that we are directing this answer, in the first instance, to the process theist. It would be intelligible that someone might think that the world of nature as we know it is bad overall — that a good God would not have created such a world, and would certainly not have used an evolutionary process involving natural selection. Such a challenge, if made, would require to be answered. But the challenge cannot sensibly be made by a process theist who believes that God has in fact lured into existence the present system of nature, using an evolutionary process in order to do so. One might, to be sure, suppose otherwise — could the process theist not maintain that, while an evolutionary process was the only option available for the process God, a God endowed with classical omnipotence would rather have chosen to short-circuit the process by instantaneously bringing about the universe in its present state? This, however, would be in effect to maintain that the world of nature is a bad thing — one whose existence at present must perhaps be tolerated as instrumental to the existence of moral agents, but whose past existence during the vast epochs of evolutionary development (both cosmic and biological) is on balance a bad thing which had better have been eliminated. But this, let me say once more, is profoundly at odds with the advocacy of an ecological consciousness, and of love and reverence for nature, which forms an integral part of the process perspective.

   The point is if anything even more clear where moral evil is concerned. If it is of great inherent value for persons to exercise free moral choice (as the free will defense postulates), then that value — and free will itself — would be negated if God were to interfere each time a wrong action is about to be performed. Furthermore, were God routinely to intervene to prevent evil from being done, there would be far less incentive to form effective human communities, a large part of whose function is to encourage good behavior and to restrain evil. Much more could be said, but it really should not be necessary to belabor the point further.

   It is, however, important to stress what has not been said here. It is not claimed that the observations in this section constitute by themselves a complete answer to the problem of divine non-intervention. Much less is it claimed that, in view of these considerations, no divine intervention in the world’s affairs is possible. But it does seem that frequent and routine intervention — the sort that would be needed to substantially reduce the world’s evil overall — would not be consistent with what we reasonably assume to be God’s creative purposes.

3. In order for the problem of divine non-intervention to be an effective objection, we must be able to identify specific kinds of cases in which God morally ought to intervene but does not. That this is so may not be immediately evident, but a little reflection shows it to be correct. We have a situation in which a great many serious evils are constantly occurring, and God is believed to have it in his power to prevent any or all of them. It is clear, however, that for God to do this on a routine basis would undermine God’s purposes in creation. In fact, it seems that the amount of special intervention that could occur consistent with those purposes maybe rather small; almost certainly far less than would be needed to materially affect the overall balance of good and evil in the world. Now, it still might be the case that we can identify certain specific evils, or certain classes of evils, such that a wise and good God could not permit those particular evils to occur. But if not, we must remember that we are (by hypothesis) dealing with a God of infinite wisdom, and we must be prepared to defer to that wisdom concerning the suitable occasions for special intervention. So the principle stated above holds, and those who would employ the problem of divine non-intervention as an argument against traditional theism need to be looking for a strongly supported criterion by which to discern the situations in which intervention would be mandatory.
4. The needed criterion cannot be provided by supposing that God must prevent all “gratuitous” evils. At this point our argument departs from the conventional wisdom on this topic. It is often supposed that we can define a category of evils that are “gratuitous” in the sense that God could prevent them without incurring any equal or greater evils and without losing any goods that would be sufficient to outweigh them. It then seems reasonable to assume that a good God would of necessity prevent all such gratuitous evils, while allowing those evils that could not be prevented without either incurring some equal or greater evil, or losing some commensurate good. Given these assumptions, opponents of theism will point to instances of evil that give every appearance of being gratuitous in the sense specified, while defenders must maintain that all of the evils that actually exist are non-gratuitous. The initial advantage in this argument pretty clearly lies with the critics; defenders of theism are left with a tough defensive battle. ¹¹

In contrast with these widely held views, I believe the attempt to construct an atheological argument from evil on the basis of gratuitous evil is doomed to failure: A strong argument can be made that a theist should not accept the claim that a good God would necessarily prevent all gratuitous evil in the sense defined. Unfortunately, the full argument for this conclusion is complex and cannot be reproduced here in its entirety, so for the present the following sketch must suffice. ¹² We have already seen that, if God were to prevent all evils whatsoever, almost all of our own incentive and motivation to deal constructively with situations conducive to such evils would disappear. But what would be the consequence if, instead, God were known to prevent all gratuitous evils — all those evils whose occurrence would not lead to any greater good? If we knew that this was God’s policy, would not our own motivation to prevent or alleviate the world’s evils be greatly reduced? For whatever the evil in question, we could be certain that, if the evil in fact occurs, it has been allowed to occur by God only because its occurrence will lead to some greater good, or to the prevention of some other equal or greater evil. By preventing some evil that would otherwise have occurred, we are most certainly not increasing the total goodness of the world, and may very well be causing the world overall to be worse than it otherwise would be! Thus, the claim that God does and must prevent all genuinely gratuitous evils runs counter to God’s intention to make of us responsible moral individuals; such a claim should not, then, be endorsed by any Christian believer. ¹³

It has not been shown that the requirement stated in (3) above could be met only by supposing that God must prevent all gratuitous evils. To my knowledge, however, this is the only plausible candidate for such a criterion that has been put forward, so that its failure leaves a very large hole in the argument based on the problem of divine non-intervention. And since that problem marked the only remaining significant difference between process theism and free will theism with respect to the problem of evil, I conclude that the two positions stand roughly at parity in their ability to deal with that problem.

Almost certainly, Griffin would not agree. Even if the points just made are successful on their own terms, he would contend that the essentially defensive nature of the strategy employed leaves the free will theist with a position that is psychologically unsatisfying and thus at a distinct disadvantage vis-à-vis process theism. He writes:

But surely “psychological appeal” is what theodicy is all about! The question is: Can the ways of God he justified to human beings? And that is a psychological question. If theodicy does not have psychological appeal, it has failed In any case, theodicy is not primarily a game played by philosophers of religion, in which one wins simply by showing that no rigorous disproof of one’s idea of God has been produced. The question is whether that idea of God lends itself to an explanation of the world, including its evils, that is psychologically convincing to thoughtful men and women. (Evil79)

Perhaps this is correct. If so, then may I respectfully suggest that we should consider which view of God, and God’s relationship with the world, has in fact proved most convincing to the vast majority of Christian believers? It is unquestionably true that there are some who find the explanation of evil given by process theism more satisfying than those that are given by more traditional versions of theism, including free will theism. But it is also true that a very large majority of Christians are unconvinced and unsatisfied by the process doctrine of God. The advantage in terms of pastoral and evangelistic effectiveness does not lie on the side of process theism.

To be sure, such considerations by no means settle the issue in favor of free will theism. One may hold (and Griffin clearly does hold) that the widespread preference for a more traditional concept of God is merely a product of the religious conditioning to which many in our culture have been subjected, ¹⁴ and one may hope that a future generation of believers will be more enlightened in their conceptions of the divine. What one cannot do, however, is invoke psychological appeal as a criterion for validating a theological position, and then disregard the actual track record of practical success for the positions being compared. ¹⁵

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In his reply William Hasker urges that while the theological tradition is worthy of respect, the kind of deference to tradition insisted on by Freddoso is excessive and unreasonable; in the past, such deference might well have prevented theological developments now recognized as beneficial and important. It may be desirable to characterize divine transcendence in a “deep” metaphysical way, but the lack of such a characterization by no means leaves the interpreter of Scripture at the mercy of subjective prejudice. Finally, he argues for the superiority of the reading of the parable of the good Samaritan offered by the open view of God in comparison.

It is a pleasure to continue a discussion with my friend Fred Freddoso that has been going on for a number of years, and from which I have profited greatly.^[1] Fred has rightly discerned ^[2] the general nature and purpose of The Openness of God–and it is, of course, unbelievably gracious of him not to take us to task for the many faults he enumerates! Furthermore, he indicates quite accurately the nature of the issues which he between us. In reading over his critique, I am reminded of the subtitle of the book: “a biblical challenge to the traditional understanding of God.” To be sure, it would be an oversimplification to regard our differences as simply a matter of “Scripture versus tradition.” Yet that element does enter into our disagreements, as we shall see.

Tradition

I’ll begin my response by underscoring what I wrote about Augustine in my article. Reading the Confessions and other works by him was for me a major spiritual as well as intellectual experience, and It brought about in me a love for Augustine that persists to this day. I can’t testify to a similar personal and spiritual impact from the writings of Thomas Aquinas, but I have nothing but respect and admiration for his enormous achievements in both philosophy and theology, as well as for his deep piety.

The difference between our approaches to these two men lies principally in the fact that I am, and Freddoso is not, willing to contemplate the possibility that, despite their sanctity and intellectual eminence, either or both of them may have been mistaken about some fairly important matters. I really have no choice but to think this possible, in view of my unavoidable rejection of Augustine’s doctrine of predestination (a doctrine, incidentally, that Freddoso also rejects, though apparently less vehemently than I do). I also reject Augustine’s contention that we humans, in dealing with tragic situations in life, ought to abstain from feeling grief over the suffering and death of persons close to us — an inference he draws from the doctrine of divine “impassibility.” (Fortunately, Augustine’s rich emotional nature prevented him from fully carrying out his own injunctions in this matter.) ^[3] And I emphatically disagree with the doctrine of both Anselm and Aquinas that God’s compassion consists in the fact that “God acts as we would expect a compassionate person to act-but the feeling of compassion forms no part of the divine life and experience.”^[4]

I must confess I don’t see why it is so shocking to suggest that the writings of these two men are affected by “philosophical elements contrary to the Christian Faith.” ^[5] Anyone who engages with philosophy at all is bound to come into contact with ideas originating from pagan thinkers. (Even if one decided, unwisely, to read only Christian philosophers, one would still be affected by the pagans at second, or third, or fourth hand.) Augustine was under no illusion that Plotinus was a Christian, nor did Thomas suffer from such an illusion concerning Aristotle. What this meant was, that both of these men needed to make a conscious effort to correct those elements in the philosophers’ teachings that were contrary to the faith–and the eminence of Augustine and Aquinas as Christian thinkers testifies to their considerable success in this endeavor. But to insist that no “philosophical elements contrary to faith” remained, is to insist that they were 100% successful in every case in removing all “alien” elements and in transforming the pagan systems of thought into something that is Christian without remainder. And that is a great deal to ask, even of such wise and holy men as Augustine and Thomas.

Permit me the luxury of a historical conjecture: If Thomas had been as deferential towards the past in his own day as Freddoso thinks we now ought to be, he would never have been able to carry through his major achievement, that of welding together Aristotelian philosophy and Christian thought into a unified system. This is no idle supposition. The new-fangled Aristotelianism of the thirteenth century was in conflict at important points with the tradition of Platonized Christian theology stemming from Anselm John of Damascus, and the Greek Fathers-and from Augustine. ^[6] In 1277, just two years after Thomas’s death, the bishop of Paris condemned a long list of “Aristotelian” propositions, including some endorsed by Aquinas. Even after Thomas had been canonized, the dominant Augustinian tradition continued to resist and to reject many of his most important insights. The preeminence we now attribute to Aquinas is more a product of retrospective appreciation than it is an accurate reflection of the actual situation at the time. ^[7] What a good thing, then, that Aquinas refused to be intimidated by those who reproached him for “setting aside some of the principal metaphysical claims” of the “brilliant and holy men” who were his predecessors!

Divine Transcendence

One of the things Freddoso finds lacking in the book (and indeed, in analytic philosophy of religion generally) is “a philosophically rigorous account of God’s transcendence.” It is important to see just what Freddoso is complaining about here. He is not denying that contemporary analytic philosophers have devoted energy and attention to producing careful, detailed, and sophisticated analyses of the various divine attributes, the characteristics which distinguish the divine being from all actual and possible creatures. In fact, an enormous amount of work has been done along these lines (some of it by Freddoso himself), and this work is reflected in The Openness of God to the extent that it contributes to the book’s purpose ^[8]

What Freddoso finds lacking is rather a “forceful metaphysical account” of God’s transcendence, one that would be comparable to Aquinas’s description of God as pure actuality (derived from the Aristotelian tradition) and as unparticipated being (derived from the Platonic tradition). Such notions as these characterize the ontological divide between creator and creatures in a “deep” metaphysical way, and they provide a principled basis for deciding which scriptural descriptions of God should be taken as literal and which as metaphorical. Lacking any such deep metaphysical account of transcendence, we proponents of divine openness are very much at the mercy of our own (highly fallible) metaphysical predispositions (or, to put it more plainly, our prejudices). “Why, for instance, do they cling to the idea that God is immaterial and thereby relegate a whole host of Scriptural descriptions of God to the realm of the metaphorical, given that immateriality is just another one of those ‘Hellenistic’ divine attributes that has little appeal for the modem mind.”

I must admit that I do not, at present, have any such deep metaphysical account of divine transcendence to put forward. And on the other hand, I am not of a mind to dismiss such a project as chimerical. At this point Freddoso’s reminder that analytic metaphysics is of fairly recent appearance on the philosophical scene is very much in point. So I am willing to accept his suggestion that the formulation of such an account deserves a place on the agenda of analytical philosophers of religion. ^[9]

But given that we are, for the time being, lacking such an account, does this leave us at the mercy of arbitrary prejudice? I think not. Somewhere, I have heard, it is written that “God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth”; God is also referred to as “the King of ages, immortal, invisible.” ^[10] Even in the Old Testament, most of the biblical descriptions of God as possessing bodily parts seem to have been consciously metaphorical. There is, in fact, a fairly clear and consistent biblical tradition supporting the immateriality of God–something that emphatically cannot be said of the metaphysical attributes championed by Freddoso. There is not even a hint in Scripture of anything like the scholastic doctrine of divine simplicity, and the same is true of divine timelessness, in spite of misguided attempts to read this doctrine into such texts as Exodus 3:14 and John 8:58. ^[11] And the biblical affirmations of divine changelessness do not by any means support the metaphysical doctrine of immutability espoused by classical theologians; rather, they attest to the reliability of God, the fact that he, unlike changeable mortals, can be relied on to remain true to his intentions and constant in his character and capabilities.

I don’t mean to suggest by this that the search for a penetrating philosophical understanding of the various divine attributes is pointless; far from it. Nor do I mean to imply that all is clear sailing for those who seek in the Bible for an account of the nature and attributes of God. There is much difficult and demanding work to be done here, and on many points legitimate differences of opinion may remain. (As one says, the theory is underdetermined by the data.) My point is simply this: lacking such a deep metaphysical characterization of divine transcendence as is given by Aquinas, one is not left at the mercy of sheer prejudice; there remains the option-rather, the indispensable necessity-of interpreting Scripture by Scripture. And if we find, as I think we do find, that the formulas of the classical theologians force us to relegate too much of the scriptural witness to the realm of metaphor, then we need to look for better formulas-or if need be, to five for a time without formulas.

The Waiting Father

Finally, let us turn once again to the parable of the Prodigal Son — or as some have called it, the Waiting Father. As Freddoso correctly observes, “Hasker invites us to conclude that if the traditional conception of God is correct, then the parable of the Prodigal Son is at least in part misleading, since it portrays the father as having certain traits which are of central importance to the story and yet which a divine being could not possibly have.” As Freddoso views the matter, the key question here is whether, if God were to become human, he would be like the father of the parable. He observes that, if we knew of God only what has been said by philosophers ignorant of the Christian revelation, we would find it incredible that God in human form would be like the father. But as Christians “we have a pretty good idea of what our transcendent God would be like as a human being – namely, exactly like Jesus Christ.” And as a result, “We Christians hardly need to invent an ‘open’ conception of the divine nature in order to marvel at the ‘folly’ of a risk-taking, passible God; all we need to do is to contemplate Christ crucified.”

This strikes me as peculiar reasoning. In the first place, the issue with regard to the parable is not what God would be like if he were to become human, but what God is in fact like quite apart from any consideration of his becoming human. Jesus told the story about the Father, not about himself, and he told it to hearers lacking the faintest notion of the doctrine of the Incarnation.

But suppose we waive this point, and view the parable as Freddoso suggests. What exactly does he think we should learn from it? Apparently, we are to find in Christ crucified “the ‘folly’ of a risk-taking, passible God.” So, we learn from Christ that God-is indeed capable of suffering, and that God is a risk-taker? But that is exactly what the open view of God affirms; it can’t possibly be what Freddoso has in mind. Perhaps, then, the following sentence will give us a better clue: “According to the traditional Christian understanding of God, it is precisely in the person of our Lord Jesus Christ that the impassible, immutable, eternal and ineffably transcendent God becomes passible, mutable, and time-bound.” These words seem to suggest that God, who prior to the Incarnation was impassible, immutable, and eternal, underwent a change after the conception and birth of Jesus, so that now, if not before, the suffering and vulnerability of the father in the parable come to characterize the divine nature. But that can’t be right either; immutability, unchangeableness, is precisely one of the attributes Freddoso is most concerned to uphold. But in that case, what shall we understand him to be saying?

What is intended, of course, is that in Jesus we see God suffering and taking risks because Jesus is God; the human mind and body of Jesus constitute the human nature of the eternal divine Logos, the second Person of the holy Trinity. So far there is agreement between Freddoso and the friends of divine openness. But here is the question: What does this tell us about the divine nature itself? Freddoso’s answer to this has to be: virtually nothing. The divine nature – the nature of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit-is and remains impassible and immutable. The humanity of Jesus is the human nature of the eternal Son. But Jesus’ sufferings concern only his human nature; the impassibility of the eternal Son means precisely that the sufferings of Jesus form no part of the divine life. In the end, the most Freddoso can say about the Waiting Father is what Anselm and Aquinas said about the divine compassion: God acts as such a father would act, in that he remains ready to forgive and restore the errant sinner, but the anguish, the hopefulness, and the emotional risk experienced by such a father play no part in the life of God.

But if the meaning Freddoso intends for his words is in the end unsatisfying, the words themselves suggest something much better. Indeed we have no need to “invent an ‘open’ conception of the divine nature.” But we may need to rediscover such a conception, and if so we can do no better than heed Freddoso’s advice and contemplate Christ crucified, holding fast to the deep conviction that in Christ’s sufferings we are coming to know the very mind and heart of the everlasting God.

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