Pro-Nicene Culture

In constructing his conception of a “pro-Nicene culture,” Ayres grounds the various doctrinal formulae of pro-Nicene theologians in a doctrinal synthesis inclusive of various aspects of Christian experience: religious epistemology, cosmology, a way of reading the Scriptures, an account of the human's transformation in Christ, etc. In circumscribing “pro-Nicene culture” within this intra-Christian framework, Ayres does not analyze the role of currents in the wider culture in the formation of competing Christian cultures. However, I in fact agree with Ayres that, while such discussion can be a useful supplement to theological explanation, we may legitimately refrain from making it the primary mode of analysis. Where a theological position appears intelligible in terms of internal criteria (e.g., debates over scriptural interpretation), its intelligibility may be analyzed and articulated on its own terms. Such an account should always be open to supplementation by studies that emphasize overlapping sociocultural influences. Nevertheless, to the degree that such influences are actually assimilated in Christian terms, the task of analyzing the intelligibility of that assimilation remains valid, without any prejudice against the validity of other complementary tasks.

Given the validity of attempting a reading of pro-Nicene culture “from within,” I would offer two more justifications for the appeal to a doctrinally synthetic presentation of pro-Nicene theology. First, it is simply a basic hermeneutical rule, from Hellenistic literary theory to modern criticism, that the meaning of parts of a text are discerned through a view of the whole. By extension, the meaning of a given theologian's position with regard to a specific aspect of doctrine becomes intelligible through reference to the whole of his or her theological vision. Secondly, in the particular case of trinitarian theology, where the subject matter is conceded to be ineffable, it is all the more important to grasp the whole vision of a given theologian in order to explain his or her trinitarian position. It is one thing to refine our descriptive nomenclature for describing various conceptions of the relation between Father and Son, but it is another really to explain why Athanasius and Basil, for example, were committed to saying that the Son was equal to the Father, and that Arius, Eusebius of Caesarea, and Eunomius were not. Only reference to the whole vision of a given theologian can even begin to offer such an explanation. This is why I welcome Ayres's efforts to connect pro-Nicene doctrine with the wider theological frameworks, or cultures, which inform them.

My central concern in this regard, however, is that what would be a very sound methodological principle if applied consistently to the narrative of the trinitarian controversies remains rather extrinsic to that narrative in Ayres's work. So, first we have the story of the different trends and trajectories, manifesting a fairly narrow preoccupation with differing accounts of the relation between Father and Son, and then, separately and altogether too briefly, we have some examples of the implications of the various pro-Nicene positions for other aspects of Christian experience.⁴

The only “culture” ultimately depicted is what Ayres calls the pro-Nicene culture in its final moment of triumph. We do not get a dramatic presentation of the formation of that culture through the earlier stages of the fourth-century debates; we do not get much of a sense of competing cultures; and, for the most part, we do not even see how pro-Nicene culture, defined generally by a mosaic of references to different figures, is particularized in its wholeness in the thought of individual figures. The relative lack of attention to Athanasius's theology as a whole, understood on its own terms, is symptomatic of this problem. Ayres concedes that “Athanasius already prefigures key elements of later pro-Nicene theologies,”⁵ but, inasmuch as he presumably does not quite make the grade, we are not granted an exposition of Athanasius's own theological culture but rather an assessment of how he falls short of later pro-Nicene standards of tri-unity. I contend, however, that Athanasius's significance has much to do precisely with the fact that he espoused so many of the elements of “pro-Nicene culture” without a fully developed vocabulary for tri-unity. A close study of Athanasius is invaluable precisely because it demonstrates that the constitutive elements of pro-Nicene theology are not reducible to terminology.

I worry that Ayres's tendency to marginalize Athanasius is indicative of the degree to which his narrative is still beholden to a modified version of the word-study approach to doctrinal development: we know what the right answer is—“three persons in one nature”—so we look back to see how close different people come to this answer. Only once we get to the correct formulation do we look more closely at the whole theological visions of those who have articulated it. But, surprisingly, even when we do get to the “right answer,” the focus is still largely restricted to the terminology, concepts, and analogical references relating to unity and diversity, rather than on the entirety of the theological visions that undergird a commitment to pro-Nicene trinitarian doctrine. Ayres's section “Understanding Pro-Nicene Theology” offers extended treatments of Gregory of Nyssa and Augustine as Eastern and Western exemplars, respectively, of pro-Nicene theology. However, in both cases, the treatment still all too narrowly restricts itself to the terminology of unity and diversity, as is evident from the emphasis on Ad Ablabium in the chapter on Gregory and on Books V–VII of De Trinitate in the chapter on Augustine. It is true that the chapters on Gregory of Nyssa and Augustine are preceded by Ayres's exposition of some general features of pro-Nicene theology; but Ayres misses his chance to particularize and integrate these features of pro-Nicene theology in the context of the thought of the two figures that he has selected as exemplary of that theology, understood precisely as a “culture.” In making this criticism, my intent is not to subject Ayres to an impossibly perfectionist standard by which any omission is judged an indication of failure. Rather, I consider the fundamental question to concern the location of the intelligibility of trinitarian doctrine. Does this intelligibility reside in mere categorizations of ways of conceptualizing and articulating divine tri-unity, or in a whole vision of Christian life? If one holds to the latter, then an attempt must be made, however flawed and incomplete, to show concretely how the trinitarian theologies of particular figures arose out of such a vision.

Pro-Nicene Trinitarian Exegesis

The second area in which I find myself cheering for Ayres's theoretical commitments but conflicted about his manner of execution is his emphasis on the exegetical character of the fourth-century debates. I am sympathetic to his claim that the validity and intelligibility of pro-Nicene theology can be summed up by saying that it proved itself to have greater claim to the “plain sense” of Scripture, “the way the words run.”⁶

But aside from desiring a clearer presentation of what exactly he means by the plain sense, I am concerned that any purely formal definition would be incapable of sustaining Ayres's claim if that claim is not actually substantiated in the very telling of the story of the fourth-century debates. Here again, I lament the extrinsicality of Ayres's narrative to his assessment of its import. He tells us, a priori and a posteriori, of the exegetical character of the fourth-century debates, but he does not demonstrate it in the telling of the narrative. We have no significant comparisons between the exegetical theories and practice of pro-Nicene and non-Nicene theologians, nor of crucial controverted texts, such as Prov 8:22, nor of the exegetical construction of the main theological positions; the discussion of Gregory of Nazianzus does not grapple with the exegetical arguments of the Theological Orations; the treatment of Augustine's On the Trinity does not even mention the exegetical first four books! While I am already convinced that pro-Nicene trinitarianism has strong exegetical grounding, other readers might reasonably insist that such a claim be substantiated and not merely asserted.

In this regard, there is a telling passage in Ayres's discussion of pro-Nicene exegesis. He writes: “In most important ways pro-Nicene reading practices are simply those shared by virtually all Christian readers in the fourth century. The distinctive character of pro-Nicene exegesis is to be found in subtle twists given to common reading practices, and in links drawn between these reading practices and the principles of pro-Nicene trinitarianism.”⁷

Now, notwithstanding “the subtle twists,” this seems to suggest that pro-Nicenes read Scriptures like everyone else in the fourth century except that they connect their reading to a pro-Nicene position. This begs the question: how does a pro-Nicene position arise, insofar as it was supposed to accord with the way the words of Scripture run? Is it the subtle twists, then, that actually make the difference? Ayres refers rather summarily to two such twists, which I agree are significant: “the pro-Nicene skopos” and “the complexity of scriptural semiotics.”⁸ The problem, however, is that he does not offer any concrete demonstrations of just how these twists differ from non-Nicene readings of Scripture, nor does he explicate these twists within his narration of the story of fourth-century theology. This again raises for me the specter of extrinsicality between the telling of the story and the conclusions drawn from that story. Finally, to recall my earlier comments, I find it ironic that these two all-important subtle twists can be demonstrated to be central to Athanasius's theological vision. Both of them find clear and explicit articulation in the Orations against the Arians, among other places.⁹

Historical and Systematic Theology

I also find myself in fundamental sympathy with Ayres's insistence on the integration of the historical and systematic moments in current doctrinal theology. I fully agree that there is no authentic Christian systematic theology that is not at the same time historical. And I can empathize with Ayres's frustration in what amounts to a sound scolding of virtually the whole population of modern systematic theologians for their lack of deep engagement with the historical processes of doctrinal formation. But I am not sure that the extent and intensity of his denunciation is altogether fair and constructive. Indeed, one sometimes suspects an “eye for an eye” logic of ressentiment, rather than a modeling of the kind of sympathetic reading that Ayres wishes systematicians to give historians of doctrine. So, in one significant example, while he denounces the modern narrative of early Christian theology as beholden to Greek metaphysics, arguing for a distinction between “piecemeal adaptation”¹⁰

of philosophical ideas and their alleged subversion of Christian doctrine, Ayres himself is not shy of tarring a broad range of modern theologians (Rahner, von Balthasar, Walter Kasper) with the brushes of Hegelianism and idealism. Unfortunately, this blanket judgment is not balanced by an attempt to construe their thought in its native wholeness.

Moreover, I believe it is not only systematicians who are to blame for the fragmentation of the historical and systematic tasks in theological discourse. If it is granted that systematicians do not know enough about the fourth century, it is also pertinent that historians of doctrine do not do enough to clarify the inner logic and internal connectedness of emergent doctrinal positions. Ayres's theoretical espousal of the project of analyzing a pro-Nicene culture is a move in precisely the right direction, but his propensity to lapse back into taxonomies of terminology and categorizations of tri-unity, more or less abstracted from the native theological landscapes that inform them, is less helpful to the cause.

At the beginning of these remarks, I identified my position in regard to Ayres's work as one of “critical solidarity.” Indeed, I do not wish to have these criticisms annul my fundamental solidarity with some of his key principles and motivations, which I have identified. It is precisely for the sake of these principles (if indeed I construe them correctly) that I challenge Ayres to apply them more consistently. As he himself intimates, the story of doctrinal development will never be finally told this side of the eschaton. The best that can be hoped for is that one telling will enable a deeper one; certainly, Ayres's telling of this story, valuable as it is in itself, is also equally valuable in enabling further tellings. I am sure that he will continue to contribute considerably to this ongoing task.