This post relates to trinities podcasts 239 and following. A central theme therein is competing definitions of trinitarian versus unitarian theologies. The ideas in this post are from this textbook, which I used to use in teaching a college course on critical thinking.
A dictionary definition is supposed to be a record of various ways people use certain word. But the sort of definition I’m interested in here is basically classification. It is really concepts that we are trying to define, not words. The point is to sort what those concepts are about into an orderly and sensible scheme, in which there is a place for everything, and everything fits into its own place.
Kelly points out that a good definition should do three things. First it should give us relatively precise boundaries for a concept. Second, it should locate that concept within our classificatory scheme, the structure of genus and species, and it should be found at the correct level of abstractness. Third, a good definition is the first step in summarizing our knowledge of what the concept refers to.
He then suggests six rules for definitions.
- State the genus and species. For example, a police officer is a government employee (genus) tasked with the general enforcement of laws and with the protection of citizens (species). It would be a mistake, for instance, to define a police officer as a man in New York who carries a stick and a gun. The concept of a man in New York is way too far down our overall classificatory scheme.
- The definition should be neither too broad nor too narrow. That is to say it should not bring in too many things, nor should it exclude too many things. For example, if I define a religion as a social movement based around worshiping God, that is clearly too narrow, for there are religions which are not based around worshiping God. Or if I define religion as a system of practices which helps to give meaning to people’s lives, that is clearly too broad, as there are such practices which are not religions, such as book clubs or volunteer organizations. Interestingly, a definition can be too broad and too narrow. If I define a domestic dog as a four-legged animal which can be trained to help humans, that excludes naughty or immature dogs (and so is too narrow) on the same time it would include some elephants as dogs (and so is too wide).
- A definition should state the essential or fundamental or “deep” attributes of what the concept refers to. So if I define a Caucasian person as a typical resident of Vermont, this fails to get at what makes a Caucasian person a Caucasian person.
- The definition should not be circular. For instance, one cannot define human happiness as the state of a human in which he or she is happy.
- A definition should avoid negative terms, unless it is a negative concept that we are defining. We can define a Gentile as a human person who is not a Jew, because that is what the term means, but we can’t define a cat as a domestic pet which is not a fish, lizard, a bird, or dog.
- Finally, the definition should be understandable, intelligible. It should avoid vagueness, obscurity, and metaphor. We should not define a grandma as sort of like a mom but more fun. Nor should we define college as the last hurrah of youth. Of course, some concepts are clearer than others, and many concepts will admit of borderline cases, such as the concept of being mentally handicapped, or the concept of being bald. If a concept is vague, its definition should be about the same, not more vague
Kelly notes that generally if a definition meets the first three criteria, and it will automatically meet the final three criteria.
Now Dr. Branson and I are both trying to sort the unwieldy field of Christian theologies. And both of us would like to use the common and seemingly useful terms “trinitarian” and “unitarian.” Both of us have noticed that these terms were coined in part to express contrary concepts, to reflect mutually exclusive types, so that no theology which is self consistent can go in both categories. Both of us would like our classification to use, as much as is possible, widely understood terms. And both of us are trying to make sense not only of present day theologies, but of the whole history of Christian theologies. Finally, both of us are committed Christians. He is an eastern Orthodox believer, and I am a biblical unitarian Protestant. We have different commitments as to what counts as authoritative sources, and I think this does play a role in this dispute. In any case, the goal of classification is to as it were divide things by their natural joints; one is trying to carve up the reality in question (here, the range of Christian theologies) in a natural, non-arbitrary, and revealing way. Clearly, one can’t say that both of our definitions are correct or even substantially on the right track. Perhaps both of us are badly mistaken, but it is clear that at least one of us is not dividing things up the best way. If you’re following this dispute, then take a look at his definitions using the above criteria. These are perfectly general desiderata for defining, and so are not in any way skewed by theological commitments. If they are good rules, then they should work for definitions in any field, whether geology or biology or linguistics or theology. How do they apply to our definitions?
This is in reply to your podcast, “The Case Against Preexistence”
You have posed only two arguments against the preexistence of Christ:
(1) the doctrine is not taught in the synoptic gospels (an argument from silence)
(2) a person cannot preexist his birth and still be truly human (begging the question).
These are both fallacious arguments. I expect better from a philosopher.
I cannot understand how anyone can avoid seeing preexistence in the New Testament.
“No one has ascended into heaven but he who descended from heaven.”
“I have come down from heaven.”
“What if you were to see the Son of Man ascending where he was before?”
“You are from below, I am from above; you are from this world, I am not from this world.”
“I speak of what I have seen with the Father.”
“Before Abraham came into being, I was.”
“Glorify me in your presence with the glory I had with you before the world began.”
That is only the tip of the iceberg. It might be possible to explain one of these verses away if it were an isolated text, but taken together John is clearly trying to tell us something. Nor is Paul or the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews any less ambiguous.
Hi Scott,
You said:
“You have posed only two arguments against the preexistence of Christ:
(1) the doctrine is not taught in the synoptic gospels (an argument from silence)
(2) a person cannot preexist his birth and still be truly human (begging the question).
These are both fallacious arguments. I expect better from a philosopher.”
While I agree with you about #2, not all philosophers and historians would agree that an argument from silence is necessarily invalid.
See: https://ipfs.io/ipfs/QmXoypizjW3WknFiJnKLwHCnL72vedxjQkDDP1mXWo6uco/wiki/Argument_from_silence.html
An argument from silence will typically be inclusive, but they can be compelling in situations in which we have good reason to expect an author to say something about some subject or issue but find that the author is silent about it. Bart Ehrman once noted that if the authors of the Synoptics thought that Jesus was God, then surely they would have talked about it, because there couldn’t have been anything more astonishing to convey! Conclusive? No. Compelling? Yes, quite so.
Two other examples of compelling arguments from silence were given by James Dunn and Maurice Casey in their response to Larry Hurtado’s model involving early opposition to Christ devotion:
James D.G. Dunn: “The silence on this score [of opposition to Christ devotion] cannot be because we have no means of knowing what Jewish reaction to earliest Christian theology was at this stage; on the contrary, we can see well enough from the literature of first generation Christianity that Paul’s understanding of the law was a sore bone of contention for those who valued their Jewish heritage highly. Had Paul’s christology been equally, or more contentious at this time for his fellow Jews, we would surely have heard of it from Paul’s own letters. The absence of such indicators points in the other direction: that Paul’s christology and the devotional language of the earliest Christian worship did not cause any offense to monotheistic Jews. So far as both Paul and his fellow Jews were concerned, early Christian devotion to Jesus still lay within the bounds of the Jewish understanding of God in his dealings with his world and people.” (The Partings of the Ways, 1st edition), pp. 205, 206
Maurice Casey: “The disputes extant in Acts and the epistles are about halakhah rather than christology, and if there had been a general perception among Jewish members of the communities that other Christians were hailing Jesus as fully God, there would have been disputes severe enough for us to hear about them.” (From Jewish Prophet to Gentile God), p. 115
Crispin Fletcher-Louis employs similar argumentation in his own response to Hurtado.
Such arguments are appropriate vis a vis Hurtado’s thesis in part because Hurtado’s own historical reconstruction incorporates assumptions about what happened in those early years of Christianity for which there is no compelling evidence.
I should point out that I agree with Hurtado’s thesis broadly conceived to a considerable degree, but in my judgement he hasn’t offered compelling evidence that the early Christians were persecuted because of the ‘highness’ of their Christ devotion.
I had said:
“An argument from silence will typically be inclusive”
I meant to type “inconclusive” for that last word.
I had said:
“An argument from silence will typically be inclusive”
Please replace “inclusive” with “inconclusive”.
“Bart Ehrman once noted that if the authors of the Synoptics thought that Jesus was God, then surely they would have talked about it, because there couldn’t have been anything more astonishing to convey!”
Well, if Bart Ehrman said it, then it must be true!
Was the purpose of the synoptic gospels to convey astonishing information per se or to report the life of Christ?
Could it be that the synoptists considered the incarnation so ineffable they left it for others to explain? That they humbly considered themselves mere historians and not theologians?
What if the Gospel of John should be dated prior to the Synoptics and the latter were written in part against the heresy of docetism? In that context, would it not be natural to focus solely on Christ’s humanity?
It is folly to emphasize what is absent in the synoptists but ignore what is present in John, Paul, and Hebrews.
To clarify, I hold to the Arian view of the incarnation.
Scott,
It isn’t true because Bart said it; rather, Bart said it because it’s plausibly true.
The belief that “Jesus is God” has been the historic Church’s crowning obsession, and to suggest that the writers or the Synoptics believed it yet didn’t bother mentioning it is simply too implausible to be taken seriously. It’s an argument from silence, and as far as some of us are concerned it’s too compelling to be dismissed. The same goes for the other arguments from silence I referenced.
The bottom line is that arguments from silence are used by historians from time to time, and for good reason. As I said, not everyone considers them to be fallacious. Inconclusive? Yes, but often quite compelling.
Sean, I never said the Synoptists (or any New Testament writers for that matter) believed Jesus was God. I explicitly said that I hold to the Arian view of the incarnation.
Excellent article about definitions. The one thing that I would add is that some languages tend to use words in ways that are less precise than others. Hebrew/Aramaic seems to be that way. It is a language that is far more concrete than abstract. It uses concrete terms to describe abstract concepts. In 1 Samuel 20:34 we read that “Jonathan arose from the table in fierce anger” but the original language says that he had a burning nose, which is a functional description of anger. Hebrew uses concrete words in their functional (similar to metaphoric) sense. Functionally, or based on appearances, sleeping can mean death (the story of Jesus and Lazarus), Peter can be Satan (Jesus said, “get behind me Satan”), there is a source for our actions (“I am from above, you are from beneath”), there is a source for things (Every good gift comes down from above…”James 1:17). God is our father, not literally, but functionally if we adopt him as such.
People, and perhaps Dr. Branson, tend to confuse functional and literal. Even the disciples confused sleep instead of understanding that Jesus referred to death (Jn. 11:11-14). Yes, God has always been “father” in a functional sense that all things that have ever existed are in some way from him who is the ultimate, primary source. But this should not be confused as if saying that God has always had a literal son.
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