Over the past several days, there has been a discussion at Out of Egypt on why Reformed Christology is heretical. As it turns out, the argument is about the heretical nature of Nestorianism. What, you may ask, does this have to do with Reformed Christology? Nothing, other than the fact that Josh S has asserted that Reformed Christology = Nestorianism. His claim in support of this is that “‘nature’ is defined by Reformed dogmaticians and the WCF in such a way as to be equivalent with the Chalcedonian term ‘hypostasis’”. This claim, as I hope to demonstrate, is indefensible. His argument is, therefore, nothing more than a straw man.
It may help to consider Chalcedon in the context of its time and of other Christological controversies. Arius believed that the Logos was the first and most exalted creature. He was not co-eternal with the Father. Consequently, he was not consubstantial (homoousios) with the Father since the Father’s substance is, by definition, eternal. Arius refused to say that Christ was “homoousios,” that is, of one or the same substance with the Father; hence, this word’s inclusion in the Nicene Creed. But it wasn’t an easy decision. Earlier, the same word had fallen out of favor within orthodox Christianity. It had been the word of choice for, among other heresies, Modalism. The Modalists argued that God was only one person who would manifest himself in various modes. To say that the Son was “homoousios” with the Father meant that they were numerically the same person. Orthodoxy responded by claiming that the Logos was “homoiousios” with the Father; that is, he was of like or similar substance, and therefore, a different person. But then, Arius liked “homoiousios” because it could imply “heteroousios,”-of a different substance. Not only was the Son a different person from the Father; he was of a different substance altogether and, therefore, a different being. He was not actually God. After weighing the options, the church decided that it had to return to “homoousios.”
The next word is “hypostasis.” This is a compound word comprising “hypo” -“under,” and “stasis” -“existence.” It means “existing under.” Under what? For this, go back to your Aristotelian philosophy (all those who were in Metaphysics with me, think of “Fluffy”). Aristotle distinguished between “substance” and “accidents.” These were not the vehicular or bone-breaking kinds of accidents. Rather, they were those appearances or attributes that were not essential to the thing itself, which was the “substance.” Thus, if we disinvest Fluffy of his tail, Fluffy is still a cat. The “substance” exists under the “accidents.” “Substance,” incidentally, is the literal English translation of “hypostasis” by way of the Latin “substantia.” “Sub” -“hypo,” and “stantia” -“stasis.”
Nevertheless, the church was not succumbing to Greek philosophy, even if it was using Greek terminology. Whereas “substance” and “accidents” was the distinction between the essential and the non-essential, this was not the difference implied in the ecclesiastical use of “hypostasis.” The hypostasis was the person as distinguished, but not separated, from his essential attributes. The person exists under the attributes. His existence supports the attributes. The attributes exist within the person and define what or who the person is. Still, the word did not always support this technical distinction. It was often used to mean the person/essential attributes combination. And then the definition was further flipped around so that “hypostasis” did not refer to the subject of the essential attributes, but to the essential attributes themselves. It became synonymous with “ousia” (found in the word “homoousios). Both the Latin “substantia” and the English “substance” are closer in meaning to “ousia” than to “hypostasis” in its technical meaning of “that which exists under.” But, in the Greek of the time, “ousia” and “hypostasis” were being used interchangeably. God was both three hypostases and one hypostasis. The meaning was determined from the context.
The classic orthodox formulation of the trinity was first articulated by Tertullian. He said that God was three in “persona” and one in “substantia.” After the Nicene Creed, the Cappadocians, in order to protect the word “homoousios” from a modalistic interpretation, presented a similar formula. God was three in “hypostases” and one in “ousia.” Actually, this, and not Tertullian’s was the original orthodox formulation. When the Cappadocians said “ousia,” they meant the essence, that which was essential, or the being of God. But this is not what Tertullian had in mind. Not to say that he would not have affirmed what the Cappadocians meant; he was just dealing with a different issue. Tertullian first articulates this formula in “Against Praxeas.” Praxeas was a Monarchial Modalist. He believed that God was a monarch. Since “monarch” meant “one ruler,” only one person could be ruling. Consequently, God was only one person. Tertullian used “substantia” in a sense closer to the Biblical usage of “ousia,” which, there, means “property,” “money,” or “wealth.” He used it to indicate God’s monarchy: that over which he ruled. And then he looked at Praxeas and said, “Co-regents.” Technically, Tertullian’s formulation did not guard against Arianism; but then, he lived before Arius.
The Greeks, upon hearing Tertullian’s formula translated, didn’t like it. They had no problem with translating “substantia,” but they didn’t take Tertullian’s meaning. The problem came when they translated “persona.” The English translation “person” has the same connotation as the Latin. However, the Greek translation “prosopon” carries the additional meaning of a mask. The Greeks thought that Tertullian was a modalist. The misunderstanding worked both ways. Years later, when the Cappadocians would claim that God was three in “hypostases,” the Latins would translate this into “substantia” and think they were advocating Arianism. The Definition of Chalcedon would recognize this problem when it used both “prosopon” and “hypostasis” to describe the unity of Christ. Christ does not have a “prosopon” and a “hypostasis.” This double terminology denotes the same thing- the Logos, who is the subject of the hypostatic or personal union of two natures.
This debate that led to Chalcedon came about between two traditions in the Greek church: the Antiochene and the Alexandrian. Both sides spoke of the “nature” or “physis” of Christ. The Antiochene emphasized two natures, and the Alexandrian, one. Upon becoming the bishop of Constantinople, Nestorius discovered a controversy between those who thought Mary should be called “theotokos” -Mother of God, or “anthropotokos” -Mother of man. He tried a compromise: she should be called “kristotokos” -Mother of Christ. It didn’t work. It looked to his opponents as though “Christ” were just a name for the sum of two natures. And if just a name, then Mary can’t be its mother. But Nestorius was not advocating simple linguistic addition of natures. He believed that there really was a oneness that existed within the person of Jesus. But he could never adequately identify what that was. Eventually, he had become convinced of the anti-theotokos side of the argument. His chief reason was fear that the Arians would latch onto this word to argue that a god who could be born could not be the true God. Nestorius was also jealous to maintain the integrity of the natures. If the two natures were to be so merged, then Christ’s nature was necessarily something else, but it was neither human nor divine. His insistence on avoiding any hint of such a merging at all costs made it nearly impossible to express his belief in the actual unity within Christ. Complicating matters was the fact that his chief opponent, Cyril, Bishop of Alexandria, had a different concept of “nature.”
Cyril thought of nature in terms of the active and living subject. It was sort of like the broader definition of “hypostasis:” the person along with all of his attributes, whether these were human or divine or both. There was no confusion of these attributes: Cyril still believed in the full deity and the full humanity of Christ. Nevertheless, his emphasis when using the term “nature” was on the dynamic person. Where Nestorius had failed, Cyril was brilliant in expressing the unity of Christ. But he couldn’t express the full humanity or deity of Christ as well as Nestorius. When Cyril heard that Nestorius was preaching against the term “theotokos,” he was incensed. This term had long been accepted in the Alexandrian tradition, which focused on Christ as a person. If Mary was not the Mother of God, it stood to reason that Jesus was not God. Cyril decided to take action. In 431, he had Nestorius brought to the Council of Ephesus where he was condemned. [Wrongly, I believe. Although there would be plenty of real Nestorians in the Nestorian church, Nestorius was not one of them.]
The Nestorian formula that Josh mentioned -one person, two natures, two hypostases- came from Narses, the first major theologian of the Nestorian church. The Nestorian church had moved East into the Persian Empire; consequently, their language was neither Greek nor Latin, but Syriac. Nature -“kyane” and hypostases -“knume” would be understood the same way that they are in Chalcedon. Each hypostasis would be a person, or an ego. One would possess a nature that was homoousios with the Father, the other a nature that was homoousios with humanity. Remember that, in this definition, although the Greek “prosopon” is used, its identification with “hypostasis” would preclude the Greek concept of a mask and give it the same meaning as the Latin “persona.” Likewise, the inclusion of the Latin for “person,” even if in Greek translation, precludes the idea that the hypostasis is the same as the nature. Christ is one person in two natures. However, in the Nestorian formulation so far, Christ is two persons each with its own nature. The overemphasis on separating the attributes must lead to this conclusion. Nevertheless, they still need a unifying principle. This is found in the word “parsufa,” which is equivalent to the Greek “prosopon.” Since that aspect of the word which means “person” or “hypostasis” is already taken in “knume,” the word “parsufa” refers to a mask or the appearance of a person. The unifying principle in classic Nestorianism is that Christ looks like a single person. Reformed Christology is not identical to this formula.
Eutyches was a disciple of Cyril who carried his belief in one nature even further. He had maintained Cyril’s Monophysitism, but not his orthodoxy. He did not define nature according to Cyril’s idea of a dynamic subject. Instead, he defined it as that set of attributes belonging to a person. Consequently, by merging them, he did precisely what Nestorius had feared. Christ was now neither human nor divine. In 448, Flavian condemned him in Constantinople for not claiming that Christ was homoousios with humanity. And then there was war. The next year, Dioscorus, the bishop of Alexandria held a synod at Ephesus in which he endorsed Eutychus and deposed Flavian. Flavian appealed to Leo, bishop of Rome. Leo then sends a letter to Flavian in which he denounces both Nestorius and Eutyches while endorsing Antiochene Christology. In 451, the Council of Chalcedon meets, affirms Leo’s letter, and draws up its definition.
Josh explains that, “in Reformed dogmatics, each of the two natures in Christ does things, effectually making the natures into hypostases.” He then lists various claims by Beza, Hodge, Calvin, and Zwingli. Because he has given no more precise a reference than the authors’ names, it is not practicable to double check his facts. Nevertheless, for the sake of argument, I will accept his representations as accurate. Does it follow from the statements that one of Christ’s natures does something while another does not, that ‘nature’ is being defined as a Chalcedonian ‘hypostasis’? Not unless the question is asked with prejudice. All of these men are Reformed and, therefore, would claim to affirm what Chalcedon means. It is inappropriate, on a surface reading of their claims for the natures of Christ, to accuse them of Nestorianism. Poor choice of words? Perhaps. But, in the absence of a significantly larger investigation into their thought, not heresy. On a related note, Josh’s statement, “In Reformed practice, what has always mattered is agreement on the words alone,” is both patently false and slanderous. Make up your mind: you cannot judged the intent of Reformed people based on what we say while, at the same, you assert that we do not intend what we say (which is an altogether different proposition from intending what we say but not being terribly cogent in how it is said).
It is not always possible to derive a Reformed definition of ‘nature’ from particular statements. However, in the case of the WCF, nature is defined in such as way as to be equivalent with the Chalcedonian term ‘nature.’ Here it is in the definition of Chalcedon:
“One and the same Christ, Son, Lord, Only-begotten, made known in two natures [which exist] without confusion, without change, without division, without separation; the difference of the natures having been in no wise taken away by reason of the union, but rather the properties of each being preserved, and [both] concurring into one Person and one hypostasis.”
And the WCF VIII.2:
“So that the two whole, perfect, and distinct natures, the Godhead and the manhood, were inseparably joined together in one person, without conversion, composition, or confusion.”
So where is the idea coming from that when the Westminster divines write ‘nature’ they mean ‘hypostasis’? Josh elucidates, “But the Westminster Confession explicitly says otherwise-that Scripture often refers to one nature when it means the other.” Here, in the WCF VIII.7, is what it actually says:
“…by reason of the unity of the person, that which is proper to one nature, is sometimes in Scripture attributed to the person denominated by the other nature.”
The reference in Scripture is to the one person, not to one nature when the other is meant. The example given in the confession is Acts 20:28, in which we read that God has purchased the church with his own blood. The WCF is not saying, “When Luke wrote that Jesus’ divine nature has blood, he really meant that his human nature has blood.” It is the person, not the divine nature, who is called God; that is, in this case, the person of Christ has been denominated by his divine nature. It is the person, not the human nature, who bleeds. The same person who is called by his divine nature is said to do something that is only possible on account of his human nature.
Josh persists further in this fallacy when he writes, “Somehow the self-identity of the Logos is possessed by Jesus Christ apart from the divine attributes (destroying the simplicity of God.)” Later, he expresses the same thought, “In major Reformed dogmatics, the human Jesus possesses the Person of the Logos completely apart from any of his attributes, which is unthinkable in a truly enhypostasizing christology.” In the first case, Josh objects to the separation of the self-identity of the Logos from his attributes on the grounds that this destroys the simplicity of God. In the second, he objects that if the human Jesus does not possess the Person as well as the divine attributes of the Logos, then there has been no true enhypostatization. Both of these miss the point. In neither case is Josh particularly concerned that the Person of the Logos is the object possessed rather than the subject possessing. Reformed dogmatics does not divide the Logos from his divine attributes. Rather, it affirms that because the Logos has been in eternal possession of the divine nature, he has likewise been inseparable from the corresponding divine attributes. And, now that the Logos has become incarnate, he also possesses a human nature, along with its full complement of human attributes. One and the same person possesses two inseparable, yet distinct natures. Inseparable from one another because they are inseparable from the person that supports them; distinct from one another because the person would be neither God nor man if they were merged.
The Definition of Chalcedon had to be precise. I’ve already mentioned that “hypostasis” and “prosopon” both refer to the unifying subject, or the person, which is the Logos. “Nature” was reserved for the substance or the essential attributes of the person. Two natures were affirmed, the one homoousios with the Father, the other with humanity. Theotokos was affirmed; however, it was carefully qualified. Note the precision with which it is applied to Mary. It is in respect to Christ’s manhood. Mary is not the mother of the divine nature. She is the mother of the Logos who, as to his divinity existed from eternity, but whose humanity derives its existence from Mary. Just as the WCF would later affirm, the person, not a mere linguistic concept, has been called God according to his divine nature and has been described according to his human nature. Chalcedon does not refer to one nature when it means the other. Mary is the mother of the person. Mary is a woman: she is anthropotokos. Mary is the mother of the person. The person is the Christ: Mary is kristotokos. Mary is the mother of the person. The person is God: Mary is theotokos.
The incarnate second person of the Trinity, along with the Father and the Holy Spirit are worthy of all praise. I worship the Son because he is God and because he has taken on a human nature for my salvation. I will not worship a human nature, nor will I worship a divine nature. I worship Jesus Christ, theanthropos.
After writing the post entitled, "Covenantal Calvinism," I was asked just how this Calvinism was covenantal. I gave a short answer, which was, "the surety of God's grace towards his elect is based on our union with Christ, our Covenant head." But this answer is deficient in that it assumes an audience familiar with Covenant theology. Aaron, my interrogator, had disclaimed such knowledge. So now, I'd like to provide a context for this answer by attempting to explain the basics of Covenant theology. Rather than starting directly with the confession or scripture, I'd like to take a slightly more subjective approach.
My own introduction to Covenant theology came by way of contrast to Dispensationalism. I grew up both as a dispensationalist and a Calvinist. Because I never really studied either one of them, I was able to hold to both without any tension. The stage was set to notice a conflict after we moved to Washington state and joined a nearby church. I was sitting in the 9th grade Sunday School class when the teacher made the statement that God does not choose who he wants to be saved. Heads were nodding as though this were perfectly obvious. I disagreed, but never said anything. Instead, I embarked on a thorough study of Calvinism. The intent was to either confirm myself in this belief or abandon it. I am, too this day, a staunch five-pointer.
At the same time that I was disagreeing with this church's Arminian stance, I was soaking in it's dispensational teaching. The most fundamental teaching of dispensationalism is that God has two distinct peoples: the nation of Israel and the church. The church age, in fact, exists as a parenthesis within God's dealings with Israel. The church is a mystery that was never foretold in the OT. God turned away from Israel after they rejected their Messiah. However, after the rapture of the church, he will once again turn his attention to Israel. This will occur in two stages: a seven year tribulation and a thousand year reign. During this time, all of the promises made to Israel in scripture will be literally fulfilled.
All of this made sense. And then the pastor preached that the various dispensations entailed different means of salvation. The biggest contrast was between the dispensation of law and the dispensation of grace. Israelites under the Mosaic law were saved by works; furthermore, if they failed to live up to the terms, they could lose their salvation. In the church age, salvation is all of grace. Works are not required. It's not even necessary to repent. Just pray the prayer and you're eternally secure. As a Calvinist, I could not agree with either one of these. Still, I attributed it to a fluke in the pastor's theology. I was later to learn that, though in the minority, he was being consistent with classic dispensationalism.
This much is sufficient to provide the needed contrast between the two sytems, so I'm going to skip over the intervening years to the time that I joined the OPC. Whereas Dispensationalism believes that Israel and the church are distinct entities, Covenant theology believes that the church is the fulfillment of Israel. Dispensationalism had drawn a distinction between works and grace. This was valid, but, historically, they drew the line several thousand years too late. In the WCF chapter VII, Of God's Covenant with Man, this covenant is divided into two parts: works and grace. The covenant of works was made with Adam. After Adam breaks it, God enters into a covenant of grace with those who have been "ordained unto eternal life." This covenant of grace covers everything after the fall. The confession affirms a single covenant of grace "differently administered in the time of law, and in the time of the gospel." In keeping with Paul's teaching in I Corinthians 15:22, "For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive," each covenant, works and grace, has a Federal head (from the Latin foedus- "covenant").
It should also be noted that "works" and "grace" have different referents. "Works" refers to the activity of the Federal head. Had Adam been obedient, all those represented by him in his Federal headship would have been rewarded with eternal life. While this exhibits the goodness of God and represents a large measure of condescension on his part, it has nothing to do with grace. Grace is always presented as the goodness of God toward sinners. The covenant of grace is then the goodness of God shown towards some of those who had sinned in Adam. He did this by providing them with a second Adam, that is, Christ. Yet, while grace is truly exhibited to us, our Federal head must merit salvation for us.
Now that I had given up Dispensationalism, there was no longer any conflict with being a Calvinist. Covenant theology was compatible with Calvinism. Not only this, but both were taught in the WCF. But compatiblity wasn't enough. I wanted to know why the confession taught both of these. Was it just an accident or is there a deeper connection? The answer is definitely in the second option. The focal point is Christ as he fulfills his role as the last Adam. When commenting on the Covenant made with Abraham and his seed, Paul makes an unusual linguistic point. He claims, "Now the promises were made to Abraham and to his seed. It does not say, 'And to seeds,' referring to many, but referring to one, 'And to your seed,' who is Christ" (Galatians 3:16). Unusual because even the original context compells one to understand 'seed' in a collective sense. Paul is making a theological point. The promises given to Abraham were not made with his physical descendants. Nor, for that matter, were they made with spiritual descendants considered in themselves. The Covenant was made with Christ. Only insofar as the spiritual descendants of Abraham are in union with Christ does the Covenant apply to them.
Paul is even more explicit about the unity of Israel and the church in Ephesians 2:13-16. He is speaking of the inclusion of the Gentiles into the commonwealth of Israel:
"But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing the law of commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility."
The passage should probably be read in its larger context, at least vs. 11-22. Note what happens here. God is in covenant with the nation of Israel and the Gentiles are left out. Then Christ comes. But, unlike the teaching of the dispensationalists, he doesn't make a separate deal with them. Rather, he makes them fellow citizens with the Israelites. And it isn't merely the sovereign decree of God declaring that we shall now get along. The reconciliation occurrs within and by means of the flesh of Christ. Both Gentiles and Israelites are then reconciled to God through the cross in the body of Christ. The church, or the body of Christ, is the fulfilment of Israel. But Paul does not stop at teaching that Israelites and Gentiles have been reconciled to God by means of a divinely ordained institution. This would be Covenant theology, but only at its most rudimentary level.
The reason that the church, which comprises both Jew and Gentile, can be designated 'the body of Christ' is that we are united to the flesh of Christ. By virtue of his union with us, Christ becomes totally depraved and must endure the punishment of the cross. Christ is the elect one of God. Because we are in union with him, we are elect. Notice the difference here in emphasis between Calvinism considered in abstraction and considered as part of the covenant. "Unconditional election" was Dort's response to the idea that God elects us on the basis of a foreseen faith. There is no reason within ourselves that God has decided to place us into union with Christ. Dort is correct, as far as it goes. However, the biblical doctrine of election is not concerned with the secret decree of God. It is concerned with Christ and, in this sense, our election is very conditional. We are elect because Christ is elect.
By enduring the wrath of God on the cross for what has become his own depravity, Christ makes atonement for his own sin. Our sins are atoned only because we are in union with Christ. Again, the doctrine of limited atonement is not derived from the decree of God (although he certainly did decree the extent thereof); it is limited to all of those who are reconciled to God in the body of Christ on the cross. Atonement for my sin requires union with Christ. Union with Christ guarantees the atonement of my sin. Because Christ has paid the full penalty of his sin, he is declared righteous. Death can no longer hold him and he is compelled to life. Even so, the same Holy Spirit that sovereignly brings Christ back to life works the same life in us. It is not possible that those who are in union with Christ should remain forever dead. One by one, we are are regenerated in a glorious display of irresistible grace.
Finally, we persevere because Christ persevered. He kept perfectly the law of God. Just as our depravity is imputed to his account and paid for in his death, his righteousness is imputed to us. Yet, much more than a forensic declaration of rightoeusness or a moral example for us to follow, we persevere because the Son of God became incarnate in human flesh. When Christ lived on the Earth, we lived the life of the righteous one. Christ now relives his life in us. We cannot finally fall but will one day be glorified in our flesh as he is glorified in his.
The connection of Calvinism to the covenant goes beyond the mere fact that Christ takes on the office of the second Adam. It depends on the fact of our union with Christ. If it were strictly a matter of forensic decrees, then the Angel of the Lord could have filled the role. However, a Christophany will not do. The Son of God must take on the nature of the first Adam; he must become incarnate. In John 17:21, Jesus prays concerning those who will believe, "that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me." The prayer of Christ is that believers will ultimately be united with God himself. The elect are thereby given a double surety of God's grace. Not only are we in union with Christ by virtue of Christ's human nature, but, in Christ, we are destined to be in union with God by virtue of Christ's divine nature.
Think not of me for that which I could be,
Consider, rather, what I am today:
Of no substantial use in any way;
A parasitic burden. If I be
No more than here I have described myself,
A noble thing would then be my demise.
But I am more, for deep within me lies
A soul alike to that within yourself.
And this makes me a person just as much
As anyone established here in might.
Not only of the strong that walk the Earth,
But also of the weak or sick- the touch
Of God himself is on that life. The right
To live comes not from usefulness, but worth.