Divine Agency and Divine Action,

Volume IV: A Theological and

Philosophical Agenda William J.
Abraham
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 Introduction
Orientation

This volume represents the final in a tetralogy devoted to a network of issues in

and around claims about divine agency and divine action in the Christian
tradition. As I send it forth, I find the following comment of Austin Farrer
exceptionally pertinent.

Those who draw their swords for the Lord are aware that they face the Gideon
predicament. If the canon is laid down that nothing is to be accepted for
philosophical consideration but what is at least virtually contained in the flattest
common sense and that the homme moyen sensuel is to be the measure of all
things, the Christian argument has nothing to say. We know, surely, that the
acknowledgement of God involves a sharpening and stirring of the conscience,
and an acceptance of unqualified claims. The acceptance may be forced upon us
in more ways than one: through our being thrown into situations which bring the
weight of such claims to bear on us; through the example of others; through
verbal persuasion.¹

The first volume reviewed the debates about divine action that cropped up at
Oxford and Chicago in the middle of the last century. Both theologians and
philosophers worried that somehow the way in which divine action had been
handled presented acute problems for contemporary theology. One set of ques-
tions arose because of the challenge presented by the very idea of divine action and
whether it involved a category mistake; the other focused on the failure of the
Biblical Theology Movement to say exactly what God was supposed to have done
in his mighty acts in history. Interestingly, scholars sought to solve “the problem
of divine action” by looking for a general conception of divine action which could
then be taken on the road to solve the problem of “special acts of God.” I argued
that this whole enterprise was a dead end because there was no fixed conception of
action, say, in terms of necessary and sufficient conditions, that was available.
Moreover, even if it was available, it threw no light on the meaning of specific acts

¹ Austin Farrer, “A Starting-Point for the Philosophical Examination of Theological Belief,” in Basil
Mitchell, ed., Faith and Logic: Oxford Essays in Philosophical Theology (London: George Allen and
Unwin Ltd, 1957), 26.

Divine Agency and Divine Action Volume IV: A Theological and Philosophical Agenda. William J. Abraham,
Oxford University Press (2021). © William J. Abraham. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198786535.003.0001
2     

of God for it would be much too general to be helpful, say, in distinguishing divine
inspiration from divine revelation. In the end we had to come to terms with the
particularities of divine action. However, that meant we had to come to terms with
theology proper, for particular acts of God from creation to eschatology are the
meat of theology.
In the second volume, I provided a network of soundings in the premodern
traditions of Christian theology. Thus, after working through Paul, I went on the
road and looked at figures from Irenaeus to de Molina, picking particular acts of
God for attention and exploring what were the problems our forebears thought
significant and how they sought to resolve them. The aim was to get out of the
bubble of modernity and postmodernity and immerse myself in the deep rumina-
tions of some of the great theologians of the past. This also represented an effort to
avoid the ahistoricism that bedevils the conversation in much analytic philosophy
of religion, and, until more recently, in analytic theology. This was not a move to
evade, say, the challenges of Kant, but to set aside the contraceptive pill handed
out by him and by many others which prevented detailed, material proposals
about divine action from being conceived much less brought to birth.
In the third volume, I turned to theology proper, offering my own normative
account of the great loci of systematic theology. This involved setting relevant
epistemological issues to one side and getting on with speaking directly and
faithfully about God and all he has done for us. It also involved a defense of the
use of the loci in systematic theology, securing it as a natural follow through from
catechesis, as we can see in the great founders of systematic theology like Origen.
Thus, I wanted to provide a single-volume presentation of Christian theology that
would build on, rather than be a rejection of, one’s initial formation in the Gospel
and in the church. Thus, I construed systematic theology as post-baptismal,
university-level catechesis. While this is a deflationary vision of systematic theol-
ogy, I think it deserves a hearing in both the church and the academy. Within this
I also sought to connect theology to the life of faith in a constructive and positive
way. Theology is unique, as I see it, in that it seeks to foster deep love for God and
neighbor. This is a very demanding goal in doing theology; I only wish that I could
have done better on this front; but I am grateful for any progress made.
It quickly becomes clear from all the earlier volumes, but especially from the
volume in systematic theology, that doing theology raises deep metaphysical
questions about the central concept or concepts that we use as our starting
point in our thinking about God. For me, the crucial move at this point is to
construe God as an agent. Yet, it is not exactly clear how this conception of God
should be articulated. In doing theology, most of the time we use our fundamental
semantic machinery informally. However, sooner or later we need to step back
and take a hard look at the wider horizon within which we work conceptually.
This work comes naturally to the philosopher; we are interested in the central
concepts, like meaning, agency, causation, explanation, and so on, which we
 :  3

tacitly use, but which can readily lead to all sorts of mental cramp if we do not step
back and examine them.
Sorting out how to think through the claim that God is an agent is the starting
point of this fourth and final volume. As I proceeded, I quickly discovered that
going beyond this starting point meant undertaking a research agenda that then
became the central goal of the exercise. Once we take seriously the idea of God as
an agent, the various strands that constitute this way of thinking of God become
the backdrop for looking at a whole network of interesting questions that arise in
doing systematic theology, but which require further attention in their own right.
We are given a fresh angle of vision, say, on the relation between freedom and
grace, or on divine action in liberation theology, that helps us sort through and
critically examine what is on offer. Equally important, we can look afresh at those
conjunctive debates, say, between theology and history, or theology and apparent
design in nature, that make theology both so difficult and so fascinating once we
dig deeper into our formation as theologians. I could readily have expanded the
list of issues to take up, but I am happy to provide the initial vision of God as an
agent and a diverse sampling of interesting issues. It is this vision together with a
network of theological issues where attention to divine action is the first desider-
atum that holds the current volume together. In time I hope others will expand the
conversation and take it to topics and levels that escape me.
A glance at the table of contents will make clear that after the opening two
chapters which set the table, the others belong together as explorations of the
significance of divine action for theology. Some of the chapters that follow
naturally fall into a unit and can be fruitfully read together. However, readers
are free to roam as they think fit and allow each chapter to stand on its own feet.
 1
On God as an Agent

The move to conceive of God as an agent has lumbered around in philosophy and
theology for close to a century but it is virtually impossible to find a careful
articulation of what this might mean. The idea of God as “The One who Acts”
came to the fore in biblical studies in the Biblical Theology Movement after the
First World War but those who championed this way of thinking did not spend
time to spell out what this might mean. Their interest lay in rehabilitating the
biblical narratives of what God had done in Israel and in Jesus of Nazareth. Karl
Barth deployed the notion at times, a feature of the history that gave it a boost,
but Barth’s interests and extraordinary skills lay elsewhere. Analytic philoso-
phers at the time were generally dismissive of any discourse about divine action.
Thomists were interested in expounding the concept of God as Being and
sometimes dismissed the notion as a quirk of modern Protestantism seeking
to get beyond the strictures of its liberal Protestant phase. When theologians and
philosophers took the matter seriously by the 1960s and beyond, their primary
concerns centered on debates about how to handle those special acts of God that
seemed to be incompatible with the logic of science and the logic of historical
investigation.
Yet the proposal that God is best construed as an agent laid dormant, buried in
the basement or hidden away in the attack of the Christian tradition. It is a delight
to note that the great Irish philosopher Bishop George Berkeley put the issue with
stark simplicity when he once asked: “And is not God an agent, a being purely
active?”¹ However, given his radical Idealism, Berkeley has always been seen as
something of a brilliant outlier, more important for his proposals in epistemology
than in metaphysics. His suggestion that we should construe God as an agent
has essentially gone under given his rejection of material objects as an illusion.
He worried that adopting materialism was but halfway to atheism, a claim that
can be turned upside down to become the claim that all thinking about personal
agents, both human and divine, is simply the afterglow of a discredited theistic
metaphysics.
The central thesis of this chapter is that Christian philosophy and theology
should conceive of God as an agent. I shall proceed in the following manner. First,
I shall very briefly delineate the territory within which this thesis is lodged.

¹ George Berkeley, Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philinous (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett,
1979), 65.

Divine Agency and Divine Action Volume IV: A Theological and Philosophical Agenda. William J. Abraham,
Oxford University Press (2021). © William J. Abraham. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198786535.003.0002
      5

Second, I shall indicate schematically the content of the claim that God is an agent.
Third, I shall indicate what motivates the move to think of God as an agent both
theologically and philosophically. Fourth, I shall enter a caution about the phil-
osophical status of my basic orientation. Finally, I shall take up an important
network of objections which deserves attention and rebuttal.
The claim that God is best construed as an agent is first and foremost a claim
about the fundamental categories that should be deployed when we speak of God
in the Christian tradition. We are interested in the best conceptual resources
that we should use when we think of God. Over the centuries Christians have
proposed an extended list of the most fundamental categories we should use.
Consider the following: First Cause, Being, Being Beyond Being, Perfect Being,
Pure Act, the Absolute, Absolute Spirit, the Whence of the Whole, the Infinite,
the True Infinite, Process, Creative Serendipity, and the like. The aim in all these
instances is to find a concept that will be the primary horizon in which we think
about God. The category deployed is like the house we inhabit or the ocean in
which we swim.
Precisely because they are so fundamental such developments have evoked a
host of protests on various fronts. Consider the following worries. These concepts
replace the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob with the god of the philosophers;
they fail to do justice to the scriptures; they systematically distort the structure and
content of the Christian faith; they are spiritually disastrous in that they involve
idolatry. The number and intensity of these objections reveal that we are entering
very precarious territory where the stakes are very high.
I confess that I find none of these categories satisfactory; later I shall indicate
one of the main philosophical reasons for this judgment. Here let me indicate how
one might naturally baulk at a category like Being or Being Beyond Being as
applied to God. In being initiated into the Christian faith, one may not at first
know what categories do or do not fit aptly in thinking about God. Of course,
one’s initiation may include reference to God in precisely these terms; but this is
relatively rare, and most certainly this was not my experience. I was introduced
to the Gospel in preaching; I read the scriptures; I heard gracious testimonies;
I learned the great hymns of Wesley and their companions in my Methodist
community; I became immersed in Wesley’s canonical sermons. In this relatively
informal manner, I found my way into the central elements and practices of the
Christian faith. My dissatisfaction with most of the standard philosophical con-
cepts that were supposed to fix the meaning of the term “God” arose because they
did not square with my informal sense of how to think of God, that is, the God
tacitly assumed in my journey into the life of faith. There was simply too much
cognitive dissonance. So over time I shelved the issue until I began a systematic
study of the issues that swirl around claims about divine agency and divine action.
It is in this context now that I venture forth with the proposal of this chapter. How
new it may be, I leave to the judgment of historians.
6     

Let me offer a first shot at delineating what I mean in speaking of God as an

agent. To think of God as an agent is to think of God irreducibly and ontologically
as a logically distinct entity constituted by various capacities or powers that may or
may not be exercised. God is an agent who acts or exerts power, as distinguished
from a patient or an instrument. God is the One Who Acts rationally and
intentionally. This does not confine God to actions in this domain, for not all
personal actions are done intentionally and it would be an obvious blunder to
limit the range of divine actions to the kinds we can identify in the case of human
agents.
In everyday discourse and life agents come in a great variety of forms. Consider
this informal taxonomy. There are animal agents, like tigers and snakes, which kill
their prey. There are vegetable agents, like cauliflower and tomatoes, which
nourish the human body. There are mineral agents, like copper and iron, which
conduct electricity. There are physical agents, like electricity, that light up our
homes. There are medicinal agents, like chloroform and aspirin, which suppress
pain. There are angelic agents, who operate as messengers; and demonic agents
that possess and seek to destroy human agents. Most important, there are human
agents. These can act as individual agents, say, ambassadors or senators. They can
act as corporate agents, like nations and universities. They can act as legal agents,
like banks or the British parliament, or as social agents, like the Republican Party
or the African-American caucus in Congress. One of the more recent develop-
ments is to speak of agents in the world of computers where an agent generally can
mean a program that performs a task such as information retrieval or processing
on behalf of a client; or more specifically an agent is a program set up to locate
information on the internet on a specified subject and deliver it on a regular basis.
Like the concept of action the concept of an agent and agency is an amazingly
open concept that defies any easy move to work out the necessary and sufficient
conditions of its usage. Not surprisingly philosophers readily seek to ease their
cognitive dissonance by reaching for precision. My own disposition is deflationary
and relaxed at this point. We can find our way around the terrain relatively well
without having in hand the kind of precision we may find, say, in epistemology or
philosophy of mathematics. Not surprisingly we resort to stipulation and opera-
tional distinctions that provide initial roadmaps. The most obvious distinction is
that between personal and impersonal agents. Even then, some philosophers
hesitate in that they find the whole idea of personal agents puzzling precisely
because it does not fit the ontological primacy given to impersonal agents. Others
have focused on personal agents construed fundamentally along the lines of
rational and intentional agents as fundamental; they take the idea of impersonal
agency to be an extension of the idea of personal agency. These are helpful
distinctions to make but they are by no means exhaustive or comprehensive.
It is a form of personal agency that is in the neighborhood when I speak of God
as an agent. I am thinking of agency in terms of one who operates in a particular
      7

direction, who produces an effect rationally but is not causally determined to

produce that effect. For those who cannot move beyond personal agency without
thinking of this exclusively as a form of intentional agency, I allow that intentional
actions are sufficient to secure the idea of personal agency. However, I am
extremely skeptical that intentional action is a necessary condition of personal
agency. These are not just matters of conceptual rigor and sensitivity; they also
involve sensitivity to the radical ontological diversity that is essential to under-
standing life in all its complexity and diversity. With that qualification in place,
I want to speak of God initially as a mysterious, transcendent personal agent with
superlative powers which may or may not be exercised. I want also to speak of God
as a mysterious, transcendent Triune agent with superlative powers and attributes
who is the primary agent in a genuine cosmological and historical narrative
stretching from creation, through freedom and fall, to redemption, and then on
to perfect liberty. Hence, what I propose can be adopted either by the mere
monotheist (if there are any), by Jews and Muslims, and by robust Christian
monotheists.
One point of entry into speaking of God as an agent can be found in the notion
of agent causation. I consider the idea of agent causation to be both conceptually
irreducible and ontologically fundamental. The classical account of agent causa-
tion in the modern period was developed by Thomas Reid.² Reid developed his
vision of agency in reaction against the skepticism of Hume with respect to
causation.³ Famously, Hume noted that when we look at what we ordinarily
take to be a causal relation (heating the water causes the water to boil) we find
no “impression,” no sensory experience, which stands for the relevant causal
relation. All we really have is constant conjunction between, say, heating water
and boiling water. Given his empiricism this left Hume with a puzzle about
causality, for we ordinarily think that causation is something more than constant
conjunction; there is some kind of necessary relation between heating water and
boiling water. Clearly there are immediate problems here for Hume’s reduction of
causation to constant conjunction. For one thing, this would mean that we could
never perceive a causal relation when it happened for the first time. For another,
this would mean that night is the cause of day, for there is constant conjunction
between night and day. Reid’s diagnosis of Hume’s error was simple: our ordinary

² For a recent exposition of Reid’s position see Maria Alvarez, “Thomas Reid,” in Timothy
O’Connor and Constantine Sardis, eds., A Companion to the Philosophy of Action (Oxford: Wiley-
Blackwell, 2010). In what follows I am indebted to Ryan Nichols and Gideon Yaffe, “Thomas Reid,” The
Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Winter 2016 Edition), ed. Edward N. Zalta, <https://plato.
stanford.edu/archives/win2016/entries/reid/>. I am also indebted to extended personal conversation
with Professor Nichols.
³ It is tempting to dismiss Reid from the outset by claiming that he is inventing a “modern” notion of
agency and action which is bound to be misleading when deployed within theology. This would be a
mistake. Reid can rightly be read as retrieving Aristotle’s notion of efficient causation after crucial
elements in and around the idea of efficient causation had been deconstructed in the early modern
period.
8     

conception of causation is not derived from our impressions; it is not a copy of a

sensation. We have to go back to first principles.
How then should we think of causation? Initially, consider physical causation.
There are a variety of ways of spelling out how causation might be construed.⁴
Some recent work in metaphysics has thought of causation in terms of the exercise
of the dispositions and properties of various entities.⁵ Here is how this might be
spelled out in terms of the interaction of two material objects.

[Mass] is a disposition that manifests itself in the mutual attraction of massy

objects. The presence of another mass acts as a stimulus on m (and conversely)
for the manifestation of the disposition in terms of mutual acceleration. As soon
as there are at least two massive objects in a world, that disposition is triggered. It
is essential for the property of gravitational mass to manifest itself in the mutual
attraction of the objects that instantiate this property. That’s what gravitational
mass is—the property that makes objects accelerate in a certain manner.⁶

Koperski notes three objections to this way of thinking as it applies to theories in

natural science. First, it does not work, say, in the case of the center of mass in the
solar system. Second, it marks a return to an Aristotelian framework, the rejection
of which was crucial to the history of modern science. And third, it is much too
vague and incomplete. Be this as it may, Reid was more of a traditionalist in his
understand of causation in that he wanted to retain the notion of natural law, but
natural law as lodged within his vision of God as a lawgiver.
So, Reid held that one event causes another event when they are conjoined by
means of natural law. Discovering the relevant physical laws between events is a
matter of science and ordinary reflection. However, this, avers Reid, is but a first
step in understanding causation. Even if we had a full and comprehensive account
of all the laws of nature, we would still not have reached what we really need,
namely, what Reid called “efficient causation.” The laws of nature are the rules
according to which the effects are produced; but there must be a cause which
operates according to the rules. “The rules of navigation never navigated a ship.
The rules of architecture never built a house.”⁷ Hence we need a deeper concep-
tion of cause, that of efficient causality. “In the strict and proper sense, I take an
efficient cause to be a being who had power to produce the effect, and exerted that
power for a purpose.” It was this notion that Hume missed. Reid is positing that

⁴ For a splendid exposition as it applies to the idea of the laws of nature see Jeffrey Koperski, Divine
Action, Determinism and the Laws of Nature (New York: Routledge, 2020), chapter 5.
⁵ For a fine articulation of this view see Stephen Mumford and Rani Lill Anjun, Getting Causes from
Powers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011).
⁶ Quoted in Koperski, Divine Action, Determinism and the Laws of Nature, 91.
⁷ Thomas Reid, Essay on the Active Powers of Mind, ed. B. A. Brody (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press,
1969), 46.
      9

causation involves the ability to see to it that an event occurs and to make an effort
to ensure that it does occur.
Causation ultimately requires reference to agents with active powers. Here we
hit the jackpot.

The name of a cause and of an agent, is properly given to that being only which,
by its active power, produces some change in itself, or in some other being. The
change, whether it be of thought, or of motion, is the effect. Active power,
therefore, is a quality in the cause, which enables it to produce the effect. And
the exertion of the active power in producing the effect, is call action, agency,
efficiency.⁸

What Reid is insisting on here is that the notions of agent and action are logically
primitive; they cannot be reduced to events and to event causation. Indeed, the
latter is parasitic on the former. It is only because we have the notion of agents and
agent causation that we really understand the idea of event causation. Event
causation is a matter of natural law; but natural law, while it provides a legitimate
form of explanation, is not itself ultimate; beyond natural law, it is appropriate to
press on to explanations in terms of personal agents and their actions. In this
instance, either the notion of natural law presupposes the idea of a genuine
lawgiver; or event causation somehow trades on the idea of agent causation as a
kind of background music. In the latter case, natural law is a story of events
abstracted from a wider story of agent causation.
Reid filled out his vision of agent causation in several controversial directions.
Thus, any agent who has the power to do action A has other interrelated powers:
the power not to do A, the power to try to do A, and the power not to try to do
A. He also claims that agents with the power to do A must believe that they have
the power to do A. Reid appears also to have held that in order to move our bodies,
we first exercise various volitions, leaving him vulnerable to charges of an infinite
regress. In order to raise my arm, he thinks that I first have to will to move my
arm, thus exerting the power to determine my will, thus causing a volition that my
arm raise. Hence the crucial action here is not the raising of my arm but the
volition to raise my arm. Immediately we are faced with the question whether
I need to have a volition to have a volition to raise my arm, and so on ad
infinitum.⁹ Furthermore, Reid argues that in order to act, the agent must have
understanding and will. Ordinary material objects like tables and chairs, strictly
speaking, do not act. Only entities with minds have the power to act. So if we think

⁸ Ibid., 268.
⁹ This clearly opens up the possibility of occasionalism, namely, the doctrine that between my
willing and my arm raising, other agents or instruments may be at work. For a cogent defense of Reid
against the charge of being committed to an infinite regress, see Timothy O’Connor, “Thomas Reid on
Free Agency,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 32 (1994): 319–41.
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that every event in nature is efficiently caused, everything in nature is directed

towards an end. Given his wider ontology, all events are caused either by God or
by human agents.
In performing this or that action, Reid claims that agents act according to
various motives. But motives are not causes in the sense that they follow various
psychological laws and are predictable if we know the relevant initial conditions.
To act according to the strongest motive is not to be physically necessitated to act.
The influence of motives is like that of advice or exhortation. Human agents have
animal motives—appetites and passions—which immediately influence the will.
However, they also have rational motives, motives directed to their judgment
which present an action under the description of our duties or of something that
will contribute either directly or indirectly to our good. Whatever the motives, it is
still up to the agent as to what he or she does. Whatever the motivation, we are still
at liberty to act or not to act. We can readily discern the strongest animal motive
by noting the conscious effort to resist them; we detect the strongest rational
motive by noting what most contributes to fulfilling our duties or gaining happi-
ness. Citing motives clearly provides a causal explanation of what we do; we are
explaining the causes of various actions. However, what is at issue here are the
factors which influence the agent; motives are not causes in the sense that they
necessitate what the agent does.
We do not need to buy into all the details of Reid’s account of agency and action
to note that the crucial elements that should interest the theologian are these. First,
the notions of agents and agent causation are logically primitive. Agents are not
reducible to events; and the explanation of actions cannot be reduced to that of
event causation. You either understand them or you do not; you either go with
them or you do not. Second, agents are essentially distinct ontological entities who
possess certain active powers, which they are free to exercise or not exercise. There
is nothing more metaphysically ultimate behind or beyond them. Third, agency
involves a direct causal relation with the mental or physical changes they bring
about; the agent-causation relation is not between an agent and his actions but
between the agent and the results of his actions.¹⁰ Fourth, agent explanations
involve the citation of relevant motives, reason, and intentions; these are not
deterministic causal explanations but furnish their own intelligible account of
what is going on and why. Physical causation is a matter of natural law. In cases of
physical causation, one explains an event “x” as the cause of event “y” by predict-
ing that event “y” will happen if event “x” occurs and relevant natural laws joining
“x” and “y” are available. In personal causation one explains the actions of an
agent by providing an illuminating account of why the agent performed the
actions that they did because of various reason, motives, intentions, and the like.

¹⁰ I am following Maria Alvarez here in stripping Reid’s account of the commitment to volitions. See
Alvarez, “Thomas Reid,” 511.
      11

This in turn will inescapably take one into the world of narrative, of biography,
and of autobiography.
Given this sketch of agents and agent causation, we have to hand an attractive
account of agents and actions that can be appropriated by the contemporary
theologian in search of resources for understanding divine agency and divine
action. Reid has attempted to unpack our ordinary notions of agency and action;
there is nothing essentially theological about them, as is indicated by the fact that
Reid provides no theological warrants for his arguments and by the fact that his
vision has been defended by secular philosophers. To be sure, Reid was a
Presbyterian minister who in his day subscribed to the standing creeds and
confessions. However, to ascribe his proposals on agency and action to his
theological location would be to commit the genetic fallacy. His arguments
stand independently of any theological origination they may have had psycholog-
ically. Nor is the argument here that Reid provides some sort of foundational
argument for God as an agent. Rather I am appealing to Reid because his work
represents a splendid way into working our way into thinking as clearly as we can
of personal agency.
We might capture the issue as follows. In thinking of God as an agent, I am not
taking the idea of a human agent and then constructing a vision of God by adding,
say, a list of properties to it. Rather, standing before the living God as depicted in
the Gospel, articulated with circumspection in the scriptures and wider canonical
heritage of the church, deploying the limited but real intellectual faculties given to
us, I am looking for an apt way to think and speak of this incomparable, beautiful
Reality who stands in need of nothing and no one. It is not as if we have a genus,
personal agent, within which the Living God stands; rather, we find ourselves
seeking for an image, a concept, a verbal icon, by means of which we can both
speak of God and express our thanks and praise. Reid gives us the scaffolding;
once it is in place, we kick it loose and do what we can to use the concepts he gives
us to depict and adore the God of Israel revealed in Christ and present among us
in the Holy Spirit.
The idea of agent causation dovetails beautifully with the theological doctrine
that human beings are made in the image of God, that is, they are endowed with
the kind of active powers that are essential to exercising sovereign care over
creation.¹¹ Equally, it fits with the claims that human beings are morally account-
able for what they do before God; often they have genuine freedom to act
otherwise than what they actually do; and that they are not reducible to physics
and chemistry. Human agents are unique in creation; they are ontologically
distinct creatures equipped with consciousness, minds, consciences, souls, hearts,
and the like. They are agents who can become saints and sinners; they can enter

¹¹ This is nicely indicated in the narrative of Genesis 1.

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into genuine personal relations and union with others and with God. They act
with genuine freedom, voluntarily but not of necessity acting this way rather than
that. Whatever features they share with animals and material entities, they are not
merely trousered apes or complicated computers decked out with consciousness.
The warrants for these complex convictions are not merely exegetical or
doctrinal. They involve our inward sense of our own personal reality and identity,
of our own freedom and of the meaning of what we do, the values we entertain,
and the destinies we fulfill. They also involve the crucial place of narrative in
understanding human action, the uniqueness of historical investigation and the
explanations it utilizes, and the sheer mystery and complexity of what it is to be
human. The theologian can surely build on this basic, logically primitive, and rich
conception of agency and action. She will not, of course, be confined by this
picture; it can readily be transfigured by the resources of spiritual experience and
theological reflection; but it provides a fitting place from which to start a theolog-
ically robust anthropology. It provides an apt metaphysics of agency and action.
Agent causation also provides a fitting platform for developing a doctrine of
God as an agent. We can stretch our notion of agents to refer to a divine Agent
who is constituted by various active powers, by genuine freedom to create and
redeem, and by unceasing compassion. Thus, we can readily distinguish God
ontologically from creation; the world is not divine; nor is the world essential to
divinity; it is ontologically distinct yet causally dependent on divine creation ex
nihilo and on providential activity. We can also naturally conceive of God as
immanent in all creation by the exercise of his universal providential action even
as God also transcends it. Beyond that, we can readily conceive of God acting in a
special way within the world to redeem it, knowing that such action is in no way
competitive with the best interests of human agents and what they do.
We can even take care of the so-called problem of “the causal joint.” The
problem arises when we ask two simple questions. How can God interact with
physical reality? In both instances the quest is for some sort of mechanism or
model of divine action that would allow God to be connected to the world and to
human agents. The problem does not need to be solved but dissolved. The very
term “causal joint” is misleading here. Its usage puts God into the world of physical
causes on a par with a plumber looking for a causal joint he might use to fix a toilet.
Once we think of God as a genuine agent, with a host of active powers (direct and
indirect), which may or may not be exercised straight off, the whole idea of a causal
joint evaporates. Invoking the idea of a “causal joint” involves a category mistake
which reduces divine action to the level of physical causation within the universe
and fails to reckon with the radically different ideas of agency and action which
are at stake.¹² It would be on a par with asking a human agent to identify the

¹² For a fuller discussion of the problem of the causal joint see Vincent Brummer, “Farrer, Wiles and
the Causal Joint,” Modern Theology 8 (1992): 1–14. On the discussion of the causal joint as it relates to
      13

causal joint needed to think a thought or raise an arm. The plumber may need a
“causal joint” to fix the toilet; when he finds a “causal joint” he will not need a
causal joint to hook it into place; he just hooks it into place. Likewise God
simply acts directly in the physical universe.
Consider one further argument for thinking of God as an agent. It is obvious
that significant theological work centers on thinking through the explanations as
to why God acts as specified in the Christian tradition. Thus, thinking through the
problem of evil looks to finding plausible reasons why God would create a world
with so much evil in it. Resolving disputes about atonement require careful
consideration as to why this or that theory, say, penal substitution or ransom
theories, provides an apt explanation that would be in keeping with solving the
problem of sin and alienation. Or think of the debates about the place of
incarnation in the economy of divine action. Should we think of incarnation
happening whether or not there was a need to redeem us from sin? If not, what
is the divine rationale for thinking in this way? None of these enterprises make
sense if we do not think of God as an agent doing this or that action for certain
intentions and purposes. Hence, agency is not a peripheral or secondary concept
in our thinking of God; it is utterly central and non-negotiable. Without the
concept of agency and the wider conceptual framework in which it is lodged,
these enterprises collapse forthwith.
These are, then, compelling arguments for deploying a subtle and suitably
adjusted conception of agent causation in thinking about divine agency and
divine action. It provides an attractive array of concepts for answering basic
questions about the meaning of divine agency and for sorting out how to find
one’s way around in dealing with divine action. These are in the neighborhood
of my own informed intuitions about agency and action. However, it is important
we register carefully the status of these claims. It is foolish to think that this network
of concepts is secure philosophically; it is even more foolish to think that they will
provide all that is needed for a theology of divine agency and action.
First, in reality, the whole idea of agent causation is a minority report in
contemporary analytic philosophy of action. Some find the whole idea mysterious;
others find it outright incoherent. Yet others find it incompatible with the findings
of modern science or what is often referred to as “the scientific worldview.” I find
none of these observations compelling. However, while theologians are at liberty
to take up this conception of agency and explore its explanatory power both as the
core to a theology of divine agency and as the platform for understanding divine
action, there is no consensus within philosophy that it is the only or the best way
to think about agency and action. If it is put forward as a closed conception of
agency—as the conception of action governing our everyday usage—I would reject

the created order see Chris Doran, “The Quest for the Causal Joint,” The Journal of Faith and Science
Exchange 4 (2000): 161–70.
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it outright because I think that the concepts of agency and action are open rather
than closed concepts. If proposed as an illuminating way of tracking a crucial
stratum of agency and action, then I am on board. This is as far as I am prepared
to go. Moreover, the theologian at this point should reserve the right to enrich the
core ideas involved from his or her own resources in the tradition. Hence, there is
nothing here that undermines the significant place of theology in developing the
relevant metaphysical categories needed to develop a rich conception of divine
agency and divine action.
Second, this kind of resource does nothing to tell us what God really did or why
God acted as specified. My proposal simply provides a formal conceptual frame-
work that signals how we might fruitfully proceed in thinking about divine agency
and divine action. To get to the level of material claims we need to specify what we
think God has done and set about understanding what may be involved by way of
genuine agent-oriented explanation. The what and the why require us to spell out
the specific actions we plan to predicate of God in theology. In and around this
investigation we can then tackle the whole raft of issues that crop up in debates
about divine action. In this respect we encounter once again the gains and
limitations that come from philosophical analysis of agency and action discourse.
These apply as forcefully to this way of thinking about agency and action as any
others we may deploy.
Note immediately that I am not construing God as a moral agent in the sense
that we can stand in judgment over what God does, rather than God standing in
judgment over what we do.¹³ Sorting out this move is not one I will take up here.
However, I am claiming that God is an agent and this will sound not just odd but
idolatrous in many ears. The worry is that I am conceiving God as just one more
item in the universe alongside other agents. This, it will be said, is simply a form of
idolatry. It involves an obvious anthropomorphic vision of God that puts God in
competition with other agents for space in the universe and eschews a properly
apophatic caution about all our discourse about God. While we may allow such a
conception of God for those who need it, say, bog-Irish Pietists who have not
benefited sufficiently from their exposure to Heidegger or to Meister Eckhart or to
an accurate reading of Thomas Aquinas, we should keep all such discourse within
a wider context where we think more purely and accurately of God as Being or
Being Beyond Being. Lowering the temperature, it will be said that we need some
such designation if we are to preserve the transcendence of God, adopt fitting
dispositions in our worship, and preserve a proper distinction between God and
creation. God as Being or as Being Beyond Being succeeds here because, some
insist, the distinction between the Creator and the creature is greater than any
distinction between creature and creature. Perhaps it is something along these

¹³ See Brian Davies OP, “Is God a Moral Agent?” in D. Z. Phillips, ed., Whose God? Which Tradition?
(Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 97–122.
      15

lines that notions such as Pure Act, the Absolute, Absolute Spirit, the Infinite, the
True Infinite, and their near relatives are meant to keep in place.
The worry that thinking of God as an agent has evoked another objection that
shows up in the neighborhood. Thus Michael J. Dodds worries that the kind of
position embraced here involves adopting a doctrine of univocity with respect to
the semantics of divine action and treats God on a par with other items in the
universe. Taken together the claim is that God is being construed as “a univocal
cause.”¹⁴ We are saddled with “a univocal understanding of divine causality.”¹⁵
Drawing on his exposition of Thomas Aquinas, he states the matter formally as
follows.

Univocal cause. An efficient cause that acts with another efficient cause of the
same order to produce some effect. Since they belong to the same order, their
effect belongs only partly to each, and one may interfere with the causality of the
other. When two men carry a table, for instance, they act as univocal causes. Each
is only partly responsible for the motion of the table, and the causality of one may
interfere with the causality of the other. The more weight one lifts, for instance,
the less weight there is for the other to lift . . . In a second sense, “univocal cause”
means a cause belonging to the same species as its effects, as a parent and its
offspring in biological reproduction.¹⁶

In response, first, let me clear the decks by making it transparent that the issue
here is not whether we should affirm an apophatic dimension to all our talk about
God. I affirm that without reservation. The issue is whether we have taken with
radical seriousness the cataphatic dimension of out discourse about God. My
worry here is that there has been a semantic overdose on the apophatic which has
lost its carefully guarded place in the economy of the faith. It is the cataphatic
content of Christianity that is at stake here; no serious theologian can sacrifice it in
the name of the proper qualifications that can and should be made. Speaking of
God as Being or Being Beyond Being undercuts this and we lose our bearings on
all fronts. Likewise, clearly if we think of God as a “univocal cause” we are in
danger of the opposite error by reducing God to a bigger and better version of
human agents.
Second, it is surely much too quick a move to bring up charges of idolatry.
Charges of idolatry are commonly made against analytic philosophy. The charges
strike me as odious and inappropriate. For one thing charges of idolatry are very
serious indeed; these are not casual asides. More importantly, we should not elevate
radical philosophical differences about the semantics of our discourse about God

¹⁴ Michael J. Dodds, Unlocking Divine Action: Contemporary Science and Divine Action (Washington,
D.C.: Catholic University of America, 2012), 118.
¹⁵ Ibid., 137. ¹⁶ Ibid., 266.
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into the high-octane charge of idolatry. They are what they are: serious differences
in semantics and metaphysics. Let them be kept at this deflationary level.
Third, let me highlight precisely why I reject the main alternative encapsulated
in the language, say, of Being or Being Beyond Being. According to some of its
proponents, the difference between the Creator and the creature is greater than
any difference between a creature and creature. Aquinas puts the issue as clearly as
anyone at this point: “Although it may be admitted that creatures are in some way
like God, it must in no wise be admitted that God is like creatures . . . A creature
may be spoken in some way like God; but not that God is like a creature.”¹⁷
Consider a scale of differences at this point. Think of the difference between a
table and a motorcar. Now think of the difference between a table and human
being, between a table and a symphony, between a table and the plot of a novel,
between a table and the complex mathematical equation that Andrew Wiles
invented to solve Fermat’s Last Theorem, and so on. As we progress through
the series, I completely lose any grip on how to think of the difference. Now, if the
difference between Creator and creature is off this scale, even more so I totally lose
any grip on the concept of God and how such concepts as action can be predicated
of God. This is silence with a vengeance. And there is a price to pay: we are
condemned to utter darkness in the life of faith. Moreover, we cannot build this
concept of God out of the idea of creation ex nihilo because, however difficult this
notion may be, it clearly assumes we can think of God as our Creator, that we can
genuinely predicate the action-predicate “creation” of God. Furthermore, I cannot
see how this can for a moment be reconciled with the Gospel where we announce
the good news of what God has done for the salvation of the world. Here my
pietism of a lower order is simply non-negotiable.
Fourth, and coming closer to the issue in hand, it is simply an obvious error to
disallow the option that is in play here on the grounds that I am working with an
account of predication which is committed either to univocity or to treating God
as one more item in the universe. I leave open for now the issue of how to deal
with the longstanding option on freedom and grace that has real difficulty in
allowing for any human action in the doctrine of salvation. Synergism which
allows for genuine co-operation between God and the human agent, as opposed to
monergism which does not find any deep role for human agency, is prima facie a
live option.
The crucial points to register at this stage are simple. To begin, the deployment
of the language of causation as applied to God operates with a doctrine not of
univocity but of analogy; we are building on our concept of action as predicated of
human agents to apply it to divine action. We do this when we think of God as like
a Father, or a Good Shepherd, or a Savior, and the like. Against Aquinas we do

¹⁷ Quoted in ibid., 161n5. Emphasis mine.

      17

indeed say that there are highly appropriate ways in which God can be spoken of
as like creatures. Furthermore, we are not at all treating God just like one more
item in the realm of ordinary causes because God is the Creator who uses his
causal powers to create every other creature in the universe. Thus, we can allow for
a radical distinction between the Creator and creature in which there is an
asymmetrical relation of dependence. This is more than enough to sustain the
claim that God is not simply one more item in the universe. In addition, the real
difference in play here arises in the end because we have two radically different
research agendas in play. On the one hand, there are those who find that agent
causation has metaphysical possibilities that need to be exploited. This is the
project in play here. On the other hand, there is the massive effort to retrieve and
defend a fresh appropriation of the Thomistic tradition in metaphysics. The latter
is like a vast maze of systematic intuitions, technical concepts, metaphysical
distinctions, and metaphysical speculations that can readily capture the imagina-
tion. From within this it is all too easy to cut corners by failing to take the measure
of and avoid a pejorative interpretation of the more modest alternative on offer
here. This is nothing new in philosophy and theology.
Given the radical differences in perspective that are inevitable in theology I take
solace in the comments of a Thomist of an earlier generation whose work I have
long admired. Thus, W. Norris Clarke, in developing a Thomistically inspired
metaphysics, has this to say.

It is one of the paradoxes of intellectual history . . . that St. Thomas and the other
medieval scholastics did indeed develop a remarkable notion of the person in use
of their theological explanations of the Trinity. But for some reason they did not
exploit this remarkable intellectual achievement for the philosophical explanation
of the person. Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger . . . takes St. Thomas—and other scho-
lastic thinkers—to task rather sharply for not developing this relational notion of
the person within Christian philosophy but instead slipping back into the
traditional Boethian definition of a person as “an individual substance of a
rational nature.” And so St. Thomas failed to recognize that in the relational
notion of the person developed within the theology of the Trinity “lies concealed
a revolution in man’s view of the world: the undivided sway of thinking in terms
of substances is ended; relation is discovered as an equally valid primordial mode
of reality . . . and it is made apparent how being that truly understands itself
grasps at the same time that in its self-being it does not belong to itself; that it
only comes to itself by moving away from itself and finding its way back as
relatedness to its true primordial source.”¹⁸

¹⁸ W. Norris Clarke, Explorations in Metaphysics: Being, God, Person (Notre Dame, IN: University of
Notre Dame Press, 1994), 212. Emphasis as in the original.
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I do not find the rejection of the notion of substance here and its replacement by
“the relational” at all convincing. However, Clarke is drawing attention to a deep
tension within the thinking of Aquinas that has not been resolved, namely, the
formal conception of God as found in his metaphysics and the informal concep-
tion of God needed for theology proper. The primordial mode of thinking that is
needed when we think of God is that of God as an agent; this is indeed a revolution
in our way of thinking of the world, and it begins with the difficult but revolu-
tionary notion of agent causation.
As we move to conclude it is worth dwelling briefly on an objection that has
been lodged against this whole way of thinking by the distinguished Jewish scholar
David Patterson, an objection which is shared by many who find the very idea of
reaching for metaphysical help for theology a snare and a distraction. To put the
issue mildly, the problem for Patterson is not just the mistake of seeking to find
concepts to articulate our thinking about God, but that this very process and its
accompanying implications constitutes deicide and leads to the elimination of
the Jews. It is hard to think of a more dramatic objection to the kind of project
attempted here. My aim here is not to engage the broader elements in his proposal,
but to respond to one crucial element in his work.
Patterson’s objections are set forth as follows.

My argument is that in this case anti-Semitism stems not from the theology as
such but from the theological longing to conceptually possess God, to presume to
know the judgment of God, and thus to be as God. In its efforts to determine the
judgement of God from the content of doctrine, dogmatic theology conceptua-
lizes, thematizes, and thus appropriates God; as Emmanuel Levinas states it, “in
thematizing God, theology has brought him into the course of being, while the
God of the Bible signifies . . . the beyond of being.” In a word the God of the Bible
is not the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.¹⁹
Once comprehended and turned over to a concept, the God of theology is no
longer a persona, no longer a Who with whom we enter into a relation and from
whom we conceive a commanding revelation; rather, the conceptualized God is a
What, an object to be seized and an authority to be invoked when attempting to
justify what is otherwise unjustifiable.²⁰
The drive to establish such a dogmatic theology is rooted in anti-Semitic longing
to be as the God of history, not only knowing good and evil but holding the keys
to the kingdom that awaits humanity when Christ returns at history’s end.²¹

¹⁹ David Patterson, Anti-Semitism and Its Metaphysical Origins (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2015).
²⁰ Ibid., 57. Emphasis as in the original. ²¹ Ibid., 64.
      19

. . . when Christians lose the law, they lose love: the suppression of Judaism is a
suppression of love. It is true that the Christian Scripture invokes the importance
of faith, hope, and love, declaring that “the greatest of these is love”
(I Corinthians 13: 13). But when Christian theology goes dogmatic, the formula
is faith, hope, and dogma, and the greatest of these is dogma, whose dogma
determines the creed that unlocks the gates of paradise.²²

For the moment let’s distinguish between what is going on intellectually in the
formation of creeds from the move to think of God in terms of agency as I have
argued heretofore. It is clearly the latter that gets us off on the wrong foot initially,
so let’s tackle Patterson’s objection head on. First, it is interesting that in deploying
the work of Levinas he invokes the very language that I rejected at the outset of
this chapter and applies it to God. Thus, the God of the Bible, we are told, signifies
“the beyond of being.” So, we are after all attempting to thematize the divine even
though I find the whole notion of Being Beyond Being unintelligible. Second,
Patterson himself deploys concepts to depict the divine when he tells us that God
is “a persona,” a “Who” with “whom we enter into a relation and from whom we
receive a commanding revelation.” Third, Patterson is also very clear that he is
prepared to predicate various actions of God. Thus, God has made a covenant
with Israel, has revealed himself at Mount Sinai, gives commands, and will send a
Messiah who will bring an end to the exile of the Jews and somehow lead all of
humanity to realize the oneness of the human-to-human and the human-to-
divine relationships.
It would be cheap and easy to point out that Patterson is now hoist by his own
petard, for after all he is now seeking to possess God and has set his foot on the road
to anti-Semitism. The more serious objections to his position are these. First, the
real dispute initially is a dispute about what God is said to have done in Israel and
whether that includes the possible activity of God in Jesus Christ in fulfillment of
God’s promises to Israel. This is a theological dispute and there is no point in
running away from theology into a distracting contrast between belief and doing if
we are to deal with it adequately. Second, it is surely plausible to argue that anyone
committed to any narrative of divine action will need to explore the crucial concepts
in play as we do so. In turn this will naturally lead, depending on the narrative
invoked, to efforts to specify more comprehensively what God has done and why.
Third, the whole point of pursuing the option of thinking about God as an agent
is precisely to preserve the claim that God is a Who and not a What, and
thereafter to use our God-given powers of reflection to see where that leads us. It
is nonsense to explain this kind of work as some kind of effort to possess God, or
to be as God, or to deliver judgments as to who is or is not in God’s kingdom.

²² Ibid., 65.
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Moreover, it is equally nonsense to think that this per se is the source of anti-
Semitism. Patterson is right in his broad rendering of the horrendous history of
anti-Semitism; and he is right in many of the other criticisms he lodges against
theologians. However, he is equally right to commend those who are challenging
the long reign of supersessionism from within the heart of Christian theology
itself.
In making this commendation he is in fact calling not for less but for more
theological reflection. Indeed, one feature of his work that I find deeply attractive
is the unapologetic and bold stance he takes in insisting on a metaphysical account
of the origins of anti-Semitism. In reality Patterson’s project is theological rather
than metaphysical. Given his rejection of theological work as he understands it,
this is not surprising. The only space left over in the academy when we jettison
theology is perhaps a stammering use of the term “metaphysical.” However, the
argument as a whole is a theological argument. It can be summed up as the claim
that anti-Semitism stems from a native human rebellion to acknowledge the
reality and revelatory action of the God of Israel. This is a refreshing position to
adopt and to develop with the erudition and brilliance on display in Patterson’s
work here and across the years. This is in fact the beginnings of a move into a
theological theology which refuses to be confined to the categories that have
developed various vetoes in order to keep us tongue-tied and embarrassed. So
may Patterson’s tribe increase and flourish. In time may they join with the rest of
us who take with radical seriousness claims about what the God of Israel has done
for the welfare of us all.
Finally, on a positive note, one way to think of my claim is to see it as what
emerges when we stand inside the canonical heritage of the church and seek to
indicate the fundamental category in play when we think and speak of God.
Nothing less than construing God as an agent is sufficiently felicitous. I would
say exactly the same about the doctrine of the Trinity. Indeed, I think that one
advantage of thinking about God as an agent is precisely that the concept of agent
is a sufficiently open enough concept to be stretched to include a Tri-Personal
Agent who is the object of our adoration and service. Looking back almost a
century, I think that the Biblical Theology Movement was not wide of the mark
when it proposed that we think of God as the One Who Acts. The movement as a
whole was riddled with problems, not least visible in its lack of philosophical
sophistication and its hostility to systematic theology, but it was on the right track.
That right track is its basic intuition that in the Jewish and Christian tradition God
is best understood as an agent.
 2
Divine Agency, Divine Freedom,
and Divine Suffering

The use of agent causation to spell out the metaphysics of divine agency is an
exciting enterprise; it can also be a precarious one. The theological rationale for
this proposal is straightforward. Human agents are made in the image of God; to
use a daring phrase recently attributed to Anselm, we share in a measure in the
aseity of God.¹ God in making us has bestowed on us the capacities and powers
needed to care for creation. More significantly, God in the Person of the Son
became one of us, living a full human life even to the point of death by crucifixion.
Rather than see this as a puzzle to be resolved, we built it into our very conception
of divinity. God became incarnate in Christ; therefore, there is an entirely proper
kinship between the divine and the human. I want to locate that kinship under the
rubric of agent causation. From the philosophical side, conceiving God along the
lines of human agency is in keeping with the long-standing practice of using
human discourse to depict the divine by means of analogy, as when we use a host
of human analogies to portray what God is like. We can do this informally without
a precisionist calculus, making the necessary adjustments as we work our way into
the highways and byways of Christian teaching.
It is important to grasp our mode of thinking here. We are not starting out with
some vision of the human agent and then adding a network of great-making
properties in order to come up with a bigger and better version of human agents.
Nor are we projecting a superlative image of ourselves on to the universe. We are
seeking as best we can to articulate what we encounter and see once we immerse
ourselves in the Gospel of the Kingdom of God and go on to stand within the deep,
canonical faith of the church. This happens initially in Christian initiation and
then in the work of systematic theology. Beyond that we are in search of an apt
conception of the divine that can help us negotiate our intellectual conversion and
that will provide appropriate background assumptions in our systematic theology
and in our worship and service to the Living God. In traditional terms we are still
working in the mode of faith seeking understanding.
Even with all this in place, there is plenty of room for acute pain in the brain.
We now want to know what this vision of divine agency involves with respect to

¹ Kathryn Rogers, Anselm on Freedom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 91.

Divine Agency and Divine Action Volume IV: A Theological and Philosophical Agenda. William J. Abraham,
Oxford University Press (2021). © William J. Abraham. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198786535.003.0003
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what we might call the material and ontological substance of the proposal. How
far can we deploy our conventional thinking about personal agency in thinking
more deeply about the agency of God? Of course, there is no agreement on how to
interpret conventional thinking about personal agency. Think for a moment of
the debates about freedom and determinism. Or think of the puzzles that arise
when we use such concepts as motives, emotions, passions, affections, intentions,
desires, inclinations, and reasons. So, it is to be expected once we dig deeper into
agency as predicated of God that we are going to run into a host of extra puzzles,
not least because we want to preserve a radical distinction between the Living God
and human creatures of flesh and blood.
Our inquiries are both enriched and handicapped by the work of our prede-
cessors. They are enriched in that we do not have to start from scratch. There is a
wealth of splendid biblical, theological, and philosophical material already in play.
They are handicapped in that the West has taken its cues on many of the issues
involved from Augustine and Aquinas, both of whom are solidly lodged as
canonical theologians in both Catholicism and Protestantism. For many the
default position is to take these figures as having effectively solved the relevant
problems; so, the task is essentially one of exposition, defense, and enrichment.
Hence there is a default stance in which a range of concepts such as Pure Act,
impassibility, atemporality, and simplicity form a tightly coordinated system of
thought that is taken to be normative and definitive. If one thinks that this
research program is the way to go, then well and good. If one does not, the weight
that it has in the current landscape is so great that it is very easy to be drawn so
deep into it that it inhibits the articulation of a better way forward. Even critics in
search of an alternative find themselves inadvertently driven by its agenda.
I shall proceed in this chapter in the following manner. First, I shall indicate the
grounds for holding to a strong, material account of agency as applied to God.
Thus, I shall argue that we cannot avoid predicating such concepts as choice,
mercy, rational deliberation, love, suffering, wrath, and long-suffering patience to
God. Let’s call this the agent account of divine agency; to give it a more formal
name, let’s call it agentism.² In the course of my exposition I shall respond to some
standard objections that are readily available. Second, I shall argue that the central
claims of agentism are incompatible with one prevailing theological paradigm,
namely, Thomism, which has long been one of the most sophisticated options in

² I was inspired to develop this designation from the use of the term “actionistic providence”
deployed by Simon Maria Kopf in his fine doctoral dissertation, Divine Providence and Natural
Contingency: New Perspectives from Thomas Aquinas on the Divine Action Debate, unpublished PhD
dissertation, University of Oxford, 2019. I prefer it to, say, personalism, a term which has too much
baggage attached to it for present purposes. In working through the challenge of delineating what
I mean here I have found Reinhard Feldmeier and Herman Spieckermann, God of the Living: A Biblical
Theology (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2011) exceptionally stimulating.
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the West.³ Third, I shall argue why I do not find the alternative Thomistic agenda
at all persuasive. Finally, I shall indicate some of the issues that naturally arise but
which I will leave to others to pursue in the future. I shall take note of the crucial
elements involved in a rich research agenda which seeks to think of God in terms
of agent causation.
As a point of entry to my account consider the following pivotal text from the
book of Exodus.

Years passed, and the King of Egypt died, but the Israelites still groaned in
slavery. They cried out, and the appeal for rescue from slavery rose up to God.
He heard their groaning, and remembered his covenant with Abraham, Isaac and
Jacob; he saw the plight of Israel, and he took heed of it.⁴

Shortly thereafter in the dialogue with Moses, the text goes on to say:

The Lord said, I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard
their outcry against the slave-masters. I have taken heed of their suffering, and
come down to rescue them from the power of Egypt, and to bring them up out of
that country into a fine, broad land . . .⁵

If we think of the agency of God implicit in these texts then we can say that God
has certain beliefs that constitute knowledge, that he has empathy for the people in
their suffering, and that he is responsive to their suffering. Put more formally, God
has certain mental states and certain emotions. We can add that God acts in time
and that he deliberates about the best way in the circumstances to keep covenant
with Israel, which is threatened by genocide at the hands of Pharaoh. We can also
add that God has memories in that he remembers his covenant with Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob. God also has desires in that he desires to set his people free. More
broadly, we might say that God has an enduring character or nature, that is, one of
faithfulness to his chosen people, and because of their acknowledgement of that
nature, the people have until this point trusted in his promises to give them a land.
Moreover, it precisely this promise and the character that it expresses that has
been called into question by the actions of Pharaoh, for if Pharaoh succeeds then
the covenant with Abraham is a sham. Put differently we might say that God has
certain enduring dispositions that may or may not be exercised. Equally God has
various capacities, say, to make covenants, to speak to Moses, to be aware of the

³ There are, of course, other options, notably the proposals developed in Process theology and Open
Theism, proposals that I do not find persuasive. In any case, given the revival of Thomism, I do not
think there is anything to match the depth and care that this tradition articulates relative to my
project here.
⁴ Exodus 2:23–5 (New English Bible [NEB] translation). ⁵ Exodus 3:7–8 (NEB).
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plight of slaves being ill-treated by their masters, to rescue his people from Egypt,
and presumably these capacities may or may not be exercised.
So, we have a package of characteristics that we can now quickly identify in
terms of memories, beliefs, desires, emotions, dispositions, and capacities. God is a
dynamic agent with many of the qualities we find in ordinary human agents. Yet,
if we broaden our observations to take into account the wider biblical canon,
we discover that this is no ordinary agent. This agent is also the Creator of the
universe and is worthy of trust and worship. This agent is not visible to the
physical eye, acts inside and outside Egypt and across all space, and endures
across time. So, God is spiritual and transcends space and time, for his actions are
not constrained by space and time. As God is omnipresent in creation his actions
reach across all space and time. This agent enters into enduring, genuine relation-
ships but cannot in any way be reduced to some kind of sentimental agent who is
to be taken for granted or treated as a pious, super-friendly labor-saving device.
For this is an agent who judges us and takes our decisions seriously. This agent has
transcendent knowledge, for God knows the future actions of human agents, say
of Pharaoh, including what Pharaoh would do if he were in different circum-
stances. Where human agents have comprehension, can speculate, and can
make predictions, God has super-comprehension that reaches as far as every
aspect of future human actions.⁶
In the case of human agents, it is clear that their actions are sometimes
determined and not just influenced by the actions or presence of other agents. It
is also clear that at times human agents are so overcome by their emotions and
inclinations that they do things that are no longer constrained by reason.
Normatively, however, human actions are held to be genuinely free when they
are not determined to act by others; and when they are not at the mercy of their
passions. In addition, it is clear that human agents not only have empathy for
others and thereby suffer but also suffer in the more direct sense of enduring great
pain and mental anguish. So, it is natural to ask in what sense God has freedom, is
governed in his actions by emotions and passions, and may or may not endure

⁶ Thomas Flint dismisses this possibility noted by Louis de Molina as “murky and unhelpful.” See
Flint, Divine Providence: The Molinist Account (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1998), 56n26.
Yishai Cohen agrees with this observation: “[I]t is difficult to see, among other things, why one must
infinitely surpass some person in intellect in order to know certain truths about that person. At any
rate, until we are given a contemporary defense that appeals to metaphysical and epistemological concepts
with which we are at least familiar, our credence in the doctrine of supercomprehension should be low.”
See his “Counterfactuals of Divine Freedom,” forthcoming in the International Journal of Philosophy of
Religion, 12, emphasis mine. Cohen allows for the coherence of the notion. Moreover, I agree it would
be helpful to be able to connect divine super-comprehension with our ordinary ideas of comprehen-
sion. The deeper question here is whether we should limit God’s access to truth to the modes of access
that are normative for human agents, a notion that is itself highly contested. It may well be here that, as
the reference to the difficulty of “seeing” makes clear, we are dealing with radically different intuitions.
Cohen’s paper is an outstanding exercise in detached, precisionist analytic philosophy that captures
many of the issues at stake.
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suffering. How do our answers to these questions figure in the account of divine
agency I am seeking to articulate here?
As for freedom, the crucial initial observation is that by freedom I mean that it
is up to God what God does. So, God is the source of his own actions. His actions
involve the voluntary exercise of the relevant capacities. Put in other words, God
enjoys complete self-determination. This means that in some circumstances God
could do otherwise. So, for example, there was no necessity that God create the
universe; it is a spontaneous act of sheer creativity akin to the creativity of an
artist. Moreover, in his acts of particular providence, God could achieve his
purposes in more than one way. So, God could create human beings otherwise
than by the process now generally agreed within the biological sciences, that is, by
evolution.⁷ I see no good reason not to apply this conception of freedom, the
freedom to do otherwise, in certain circumstances to God.
However, this is not the only conception of free actions available to us.
Consider Jolene, who has a mentally handicapped child called Penelope. She
was advised during the pregnancy by her doctors to have an abortion. She
consulted with friends and the father of Penelope and it became clear that,
while she could have done otherwise, her conscience did not allow her to do so.
There was a real sense in which she could not do otherwise. We can call the
necessity involved here not a physical or metaphysical necessity but a moral
necessity. Moral necessity comes in degrees. As Jolene lovingly takes care of
Penelope, it becomes clear that a deeper moral necessity develops such that
when she looks back, she finds it abhorrent that she ever even considered an
abortion for Penelope in the first place. Moreover, if given vast sums of money or
threatened by some radically evil person to engage in harming Penelope in any
way, she would insist that this was utterly impossible to do. Her enduring love for
her child prevented this from even becoming an intellectual option. God help her,
she could do no other.
This sort of love is exactly the kind of love the saints develop through grace.⁸
For them their love for God and for others has reached the point where a whole
range of actions are off the table. Moreover, they insist that the expressions of that
love in various actions are profoundly free even to the point where the very idea of
being able to do otherwise is silly if not otiose. They do, of course, in expressing
their love for God and neighbor, make decisions which could have been otherwise,
for there is more than one way to love God and neighbor. In making these
decisions they deliberate by considering various alternative; and in weighing the
alternatives they consider various beliefs about the world and various reasons, but
these beliefs and reasons are not causes in the sense that they determine the outcome
in the way the movements of billiard balls causally determine the movement of

⁷ I shall take up the proposals represented by the Intelligent Design Movement in chapter 10.
⁸ I shall take up the role of grace in such actions in chapter 3.
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other balls on the table.⁹ There are no covering laws that fit so that we can
predict the outcome of the exercise of reasons in the case of the saints. The
beliefs and reasons operate like advice to a friend; and they provide explanations
which render intelligible the actions carried out by the agent. These explanations
are discerned by other personal agents; they are not the result of some kind of
scientific form of reasoning. There is an inescapable element of spontaneous self-
determination; it is up to the agent to call the shots, as we say; we explain their
actions causally by means of explanations in terms of dispositions, reasons,
beliefs, and the like.¹⁰
Just as freedom in the sense that one could have done otherwise can be applied
in certain cases of divine action, like creation, so too can this deep conception of
freedom and action rightly be applied to God per se. God’s character as repre-
sented by compassion, long-suffering patience, and appropriate judgment is
marked by this kind of freedom and necessity. We might even say that there is a
superabundance of love eternally within the tri-personal agency of God. This is
not something gained by way of habituation or practice. What human agents
attain by grace God has by nature. There is no possible world in which God is not
gracious, merciful, discerning, powerful, and all-seeing. God has these dispositions
and capacities eternally.
To be sure, human agents come to know about these truths from below through
divine revelation and sanctified reflection. God has no need of such modes of
access to the truth about his own nature; God knows himself comprehensively and
directly. On our part we cannot know God’s essence in the sense that we can know
what it is to be God; in that sense we can say that the essence of God is inaccessible
to us and will forever remain so given our human capacities.¹¹ Yet we know in a
real way the essence of God through the acts which reveal the everlasting nature of
his character. We love God because we know that he has first loved us though the
gifts of the Son and the Spirit.
So, we know that when God acts in his covenant relations with us that those
acts are the necessary but not determined expressions of his love toward us. We
can also say, in order to avoid any kind of naïve sentimentality, that God acts for

⁹ We have been deeply misled at this point by Aristotle’s account of four causes, none of which are
in reality what has often been named as efficient causality in the philosophical literature. Thus, to take
but one element in his analysis, the goal of an action is not in a deterministic sense the cause of an
action, it is a consideration that an agent takes into account in performing an action. The relation is not
one of causality at all; it is a relation of dependence. The specified goal enters into the explanation of the
action; it is not a cause, which together with other causes (the formal, the material, and the “efficient”)
determines the outcome of the agent’s exercise of his powers.
¹⁰ For this reason, I am not a compatibilist in the debate on the relation between freedom and
determinism. It is no accident that determinists either ignore or can find no sense in the idea of agent
causation. Genuine agents in any robust doctrine of determinism are reduced to constellations of
causes that operate by strict necessity even though these actions are described as voluntary.
¹¹ Here I side with Palamas against Aquinas in claiming that even in the life to come we will never
fathom the essence of God as if we could know the essence of God as God knows himself.
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the sake of his honor, reputation, holiness and glory. But let’s stay with the
example of love for a moment. There is a real sense in which God at this level
cannot do otherwise; he cannot but love the lost sheep that have gone astray; like
the waiting father whose son has gone astray, he cannot but throw lavish parties
for the prodigal who returns. There is joy in heaven over one sinner who repents
and has discovered his true destiny as a child of God. This love and joy are a
spontaneous expression of the everlasting love and joy that is at the very heart of
the Triune God. God’s love is not just a generic love, but a network of loving
actions providentially directed to each person and tailor-made for each person’s
character and situation. As such they are an ingenious and comprehensive
response to the actions of the human agent. In this instance God has freedom of
choice as to how he acts; but he does not have freedom of will of the kind beloved
by certain philosophers of freedom.
With this initial picture of the divine emotions in place we can now formally
describe the nature of impassibility as applied to God. God acts in keeping with, or
as an expression of, such emotions as compassion and apt judgment, but is in no
way at the mercy of an inappropriate expression of those emotions. Thus, being
impassible does not mean being apathetic or indifferent. Given that these are often
confused with impassibility, it would be great to have an alternative designation
for what is at stake. However, we can proceed at this point by way of stipulation.
By impassibility I mean here that God has no disordered desires; that the expres-
sion of his emotions is always morally constrained and ordered by the divine
mind; that there is no sense in which God can become a slave to such negative
emotions as anger, hatred, resentment, envy, and the like. It was precisely for these
reasons that the term impassibility was first introduced in patristic theology. The
aim was to eliminate any association with the wayward passions of the pagan gods
of the ancient world.¹²
We are also now in a position to take care of the predication of suffering as
applied to God. Three points need to be made. First, it is obvious that God does
not endure any physical pain, given that God is a spiritual agent without a physical
body. Second, it is entirely proper to speak of God entering into the suffering of
the created order by means of empathy. This was classically captured in the work
of Abraham Joshua Heschel in terms of the importance of divine pathos.¹³ Third,
and at a more complex level, there is the question of how to handle the suffering of
Christ in the incarnation. Traditionally, this has often been understood in terms of
only the human nature of Christ suffering. However, this is surely questionable in
that it calls into question the unity and integrity of Christ as a person with two

¹² For a splendid treatment of this topic and other issues relative to this paragraph and the
paragraph which follows see Paul Gavrilyuk, The Suffering of the Impassible God: The Dialectics of
Patristic Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004).
¹³ See his seminal treatment of this topic in Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Prophets (San Francisco,
CA: HarperCollins, 2001), especially part 2.
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natures. It is not just the human nature that suffers, as if the human nature is an
additional agent in its own right alongside the agency of the divine nature and
somehow connected to a third agent in the Person of the Son. Thus, we have a
fresh iteration of the three-agent problem that was so deftly cleared up by
Maximus the Confessor in the two-wills controversy. It is surely more apt to say
that the Son of God suffers in the incarnation, an experience unique to the Second
Person of the Trinity. How this is shared with the other Persons of the Trinity can
then be identified as a distinct problem worthy of extended treatment in its own
right. Suffice it here to suggest that the other Persons of the Trinity share in the
unique once-for-all suffering of the Son, analogously to the sharing of the actions
of the Persons of the Trinity relative to the unique actions appropriate to each. In
fact, we can express the issue in terms of divine action. If the Father and the Holy
Spirit are uniquely involved in the action of the Son for the redemption of the
world, part of what is involved is that they share in the suffering of the Son that
actually occurs during the incarnation of the Son, most especially in his suffering
for the sins of the world on Golgotha.
I have sketched heretofore a robust account of the metaphysics of divine
agency. Building on the work of the last chapter where I argued for the propriety
of using the language of agent causation to capture crucial formal features of God
as an agent, I have sought to move to a more material, ontological level by
proposing that it is entirely in order to speak of God as having beliefs, reasons,
intentions, motives, and emotions. Within this I have proposed that we can
develop a complex vision of the freedom of God, a substantive account of the
divine emotions, and a strong vision of divine suffering both in terms of empathy
and in terms of the suffering endured by the Son in the incarnation. I have also
proposed that we identify the position articulated here as agentism.
It is astonishing to me that it is virtually impossible to find a version of agentism
in the relevant literature. Clearly, some of the building blocks have long been
available for such a development; but I know of no effort to pull these blocks
together into a building worthy of attention in its own right. I hope that this sketch
is more than enough to provide the essential ingredients for this vision of God as
an agent.
Undoubtedly one of the reasons for this state of affairs stems from the deep
worries that have been lodged against it from within various versions of Thomism
across the centuries. We met with some of these worries in the last chapter when
we dealt with the objections that conceiving God as an agent somehow was guilty
of idolatry and required a doctrine of univocity. I suggested that the former
charge, aside from being otiose in converting a difference in philosophical com-
mitment to that of idolatry, did not construe God as one more item in the
universe. As Creator, God could not be a part of the universe that somehow
created the non-divine part of the universe. God created the whole of the universe.
Moreover, in creating human agents in his own image, he condescended to share
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certain properties with human agents, but these properties were to be understood
in terms not of univocity but of analogy.
The Thomists that interest me in this discussion may be happy to speak of God
as an agent when they deal with the great themes of Christian theology from
creation to eschatology. In technical terms they insist that God is a concrete
universal and this is required to make sense of what has to be said about God in
the narratives of scripture.¹⁴ They may, therefore, agree that it is appropriate in
some contexts to speak of God as an agent with causal powers that may or may not
be exercised. So, God is free to create or not to create the universe.¹⁵ However, they
insist that this is but half the story. Once we begin to think through all that needs
to be said about God, then we need a deeper set of categories to capture the truth
about God, either because certain claims of scripture require it or various doc-
trines, say, of divine perfection, derived appropriately from scripture, require it.
This development, they insist, has long been instantiated in both Catholic and
Protestant forms of Christianity. In conventional terms it has been a central
element in what has been termed “classical theism.”
The task of articulating the various ingredients and inferences that constitute
classical theism is a significant research agenda in its own right. Like most living
research agendas, it has a lot of unfinished business. There is a vast literature pro
and con that I have no intention of reviewing in any detail here. It will suffice to
identify here some of the crucial concepts that show up and that would appear
prima facie to be incompatible with the competing research agenda that I prefer.

¹⁴ The issue is especially important in the work of Eleonore Stump. See, e.g., her The God of the Bible
and the God of the Philosophers (Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press, 2016). However, it is not
clear how deep a concept of agent is in play at this point. Moreover, some have argued that once
Aquinas’s position is explored it moves from the possibility of God as an agent to God as a set of
activities. Consider the following from Fergus Kerr. “Clearly Thomas is unwilling to collapse the
concept of an agent into that of action (S.T. 1.13.8). Yet once the concept of the divine substance is
subject to the appropriate negative analysis, and is determined as esse subsistens, it surely means that
God’s nature is activity—though activity with a certain ‘subsistency.’ God is not a substance with
accidents, a subject with properties, an agent capable of activities that occasionally express but never
totally realise himself (as agents like us). In God, being, knowing, loving and creating are identical (the
doctrine of divine simplicity); yet this activity has at the same time something of the character of a
substance. In short, the risk for Thomas is not to reify God as a static and motionless entity, but rather
just the opposite, to make so much of the divine essence as activity, denying the distinction between
agent and agency, that God becomes sheer process, perpetuum mobile. Thomas’s God is more like an
event than an entity.” See Fergus Kerr, After Aquinas: Visions of Thomism (Oxford: Blackwell, 2002),
189–90. The deep ambiguity also shows up in the work of D. Stephen Long: “What image of God does
Holy Scripture present? The Christian God has agency; God acts without being constrained by it. But to
make God a character in a story is to misread Scripture. It is, again, to use the indefinite article to speak
of God that cannot but make God an entity among entities. A sign that theology has gone wrong is
when the language of ‘a being’ is used for God. A better way forward is to speak and think of God not as
a character in a story but as its Author.” See D. Stephen Long, The Perfectly Simple God: Aquinas and
His Legacy (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2016), 214. This is surely very confusing. How are we
going to think of God as the Author of a story if God is not an agent?
¹⁵ However, the problem of divine freedom in the creation of the world is an acute one for
Thomists, so I am not at all sure they will allow that God has causal powers in the sense with which
I am working.
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The crucial elements are the doctrines of simplicity, immutability, impassibility,

atemporal divine action, and God as Pure Act.¹⁶
The doctrine of divine simplicity can be spelled out by reflecting on the claim
that God is not composed of parts, whether of bodily parts, or substance and
accidents, or matter and form, or essence and existence, potentiality and actuality,
and the like. It follows from this that all the attributes of God are identical with
one another. So divine omnipotence is identical to divine love, and divine knowl-
edge is identical with divine omnipresence. While the meaning we may attribute
to these attributes differs in our minds, the reference in all cases is the same. Thus,
the evening star is different in sense from the morning star but the two are
identical in reference. The summit of the mountain as identified as the top of
the mountain from the eastern slope is different in meaning from the summit as
described as the top of the mountain from the western slope, the reference in both
cases is the same.
The doctrine of immutability is the doctrine that God does not undergo change
of any sort whatsoever. Thus, in the case of God, absolutely nothing could have
been otherwise. If some property were to be added to God, then this would mean
that God suffered from some kind of diminution and thus was imperfect.
Immutability also means that there can be no potentiality in God. If God had
the potential capacity to create the universe and then proceeded to do so, there
would be change in God from potentiality to actuality; so, to preserve the
immutability of God, God is actuality without potentiality. God is pure act in
whom there is no potentiality whatsoever.
The doctrine of impassibility is closely related to this in that if God had the
capacity for emotion, then that emotion might or might not be expressed depend-
ing on God’s response, say, to the actions of human agents. Thus, God would be
subject to change. Passibility would mean, moreover, that something external to
God made a difference to the being of God, and thus compromise his absolute
independence from any causal influence outside himself. This does not mean that
God lacks life and action; on the contrary God is identical with his life and
actuality. There is no ontological gap between God and his actions for he is
identical with his actions; and being identical with his actions God possesses
radical liveliness. If God were impassible like a rock or a chair, then, of course,
God would lack life and action. However, God is so full of life and action, so
dynamic in being, that nothing can make him more act. He is act, pure and simple;
he is actus purus. Thus, we arrive again at the claim that there is no potentiality
in God.

¹⁶ I have found James E. Dolezal, God without Parts: Divine Simplicity and the Metaphysics of God’s
Absoluteness (Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications, 2011) very helpful in working through the summary
that follows.
  ,  ,    31

Similar considerations lead to the claim that God is eternal in the sense of being
atemporal. If there is any chronology in the life of God, then God undergoes
change, and this undermines any commitment to divine immutability. Suppose
God promised Abraham numerous progenies and then fulfilled that promise later.
This would mean that God acts within time, and we could say that in performing
the action of keeping his promise God necessarily underwent temporal succession.
In order to preserve both immutability and simplicity, it is necessary then to think
of God as above all temporal limits and succession of moments. There cannot be a
before and after in the life of God. So, eternity as predicated of God means the
whole simultaneous and perfect possession of a boundless life. A certain part of
time as we conceive it is present to the divine eternity, but divine eternity is not
constituted by adding up the parts of time as we know them in terms of past,
present, and future.
If God is simple and is therefore identical with his acts, and his acts in turn are
identical with one another, then it is clear that we need a way to speak of divine
action that preserves these doctrines. That is exactly what we find. The proposal is
straightforward: there are no distinct acts of will in God, for God wills everything
in one simple act. There are two distinct moves in play here. First, this one simple
act of God is essentially an act within the Godhead. God wills in one simple act all
non-divine things by willing the goodness of his essence. The divine act is done for
the sake of goodness, but goodness is in turn identical with God. Second, if there
were more than one act of will in God, say, a volition to create the world and a
volition to become incarnate within it, then this would introduce composition into
the being of God. In order to avoid this, we must think of divine action in a
radically different way. So, God wills himself and wills all other things in a single
act of will. In this way God’s act will not be contingent and uncertain. It is in no
way dependent on the creatures he has made. Hence, what we identify in our
minds as a particular act of God, say, creation, over against another act of God,
say, incarnation, is really the effect of the one simple act of God in eternity.
I have nothing new to add to the body of ingenious argument that has emerged
of late for and against this network of proposals. Taken with the wider elements to
be found in Thomism broadly conceived, they represent an amazing body of
metaphysical and theological commitments. It is no surprise that they have
attracted the attention of philosophers, who find in theology the kind of puzzles
that run as deep as anything they have come across in sorting through the claims
of science.¹⁷ In one case, careful attention to the central claims of this research
agenda have led one leading philosopher to abandon the priesthood of the

¹⁷ I have in mind the work of Richard Gale, who late in his career turned to philosophy of religion as
a source for philosophical scrutiny and reflection. See Richard H. Gale, On the Nature and Existence of
God (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991).
32     

Catholic Church and find a home in agnosticism.¹⁸ It has won the allegiance of
some of the finest philosophers of the last and current generation.¹⁹
It is tempting to take note of this research agenda and move on. However, given
that its adherents see no serious incompatibility between this agenda and the deep
faith of the church, it is appropriate to register why I hesitate to get on board. After
all, what is on offer is a well-tested set of metaphysical proposals which are said
to be required by the internal requirements of Christian theology. So, it seems
churlish and ungrateful not to accept the gifts that are offered. Let me see if I can
explain why I am not persuaded.
I begin with the most significant issue and one that cuts to the very heart of the
project. Classical theism as I have identified it requires that divine action in history
be understood as the effects of the one divine act that is willed atemporally by God.
This is surely odd in the extreme. The incarnation of God is not an effect of one
simple divine act of God; it is an act of God simpliciter, an astonishing act of
revelation, mercy, and grace, carried out once and for all at a particular time in
history. This is enough to give one pause, for the vision of divine action as one
simple divine act is not a minor element in the package on offer; it is an integral
element that if challenged calls for skepticism about the other elements in the
package.
In response it might be said that I have taken the notion of “effect” much too
literally. I am suggesting that the incarnation is an effect of some other act of God
which is still to be individuated. However, this is not the case. It is an effect not of
some other act of God but of the one simple act of God. Thus, my objection is
based on a serious misreading of the original claim. However, we are now landed
with a further worry. This rejoinder merely repeats what we already know; it does
nothing to relieve the cognitive dissonance. We have, moreover, the additional
worry that the language of “effect” has lost its meaning, even if we allow for an
analogical reading of “effect.” I can only confess that I have no idea what to make
of this claim if we are given no serious analogies to help make sense of it. To date,
no serious analogies are on the table.
We can come at the issue from another angle. All acts of God in history, it will
be said, are somehow present in the originating singular, simple act of God. This
means that the incarnation can now be predicated of God as eternal in the very
being of God. The divine actions in the divine economy are now identical with the
one, simple act of God. So too is the divine act of atonement and the sending of the
Spirit at Pentecost and the calling of Moses. These are now eternally present in
God. However, there will be no way of individuating these acts in the Godhead

¹⁸ See Anthony Kenny, Aquinas on Being (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002) and A Path from Rome
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986).
¹⁹ I have in mind the splendid work of Eleonore Stump, Paul Helm, Barry Miller, Paul Davies,
Alexander Pruss, and many others.
  ,  ,    33

because they are all identical with each other and in turn identical with the being
of God. We will be told, no doubt, that all this is merely the case from a human
perspective; from within the divine perspective governed by divine simplicity they
are all identical. However, aside from the intelligibility of the claim, we now begin
to have serious worries about the gap between what we think and say about God
and what is true of God. We readily find ourselves saddled with an unknown God
who lies behind the God we encounter and know in the faith of the church.
Let’s pursue our quarry a little further. In speaking of any particular act of God,
it is appropriate, I have argued to date, to think of God as having various motives
and reasons for, say, becoming incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth. He did so, say, to
reveal his true nature to us. We can also say that God has desires, capacities, and
dispositions. These clearly factor in the explanations in that God desires to reveal
himself and has the capacity and disposition to reveal himself. So, now we want to
know if these features of divine action can be accommodated within the ontology
of one simple divine act. Clearly, different actions will have their own unique
explanations, and differentiating these is crucial to understanding what God has
done, say, in raising Jesus from the dead. However, if all God’s properties are
identical, then the property of having reason A to do B and reason X to do Y will
mean that reason A and reason Y are identical in the Godhead. Frankly, this is
absurd. However, we know the response that will be made. These distinctions only
apply within our human perspective; in the Godhead they do not apply. But then,
we cannot but lose our grip on any robust sense of understanding God. The gap
between an unknown God and the God we think we understand and love becomes
so large that reflective faith in God is bound to falter.
Incidentally, it is also strange to think of such phenomena as reasons, motives,
capacities, and dispositions as parts of God. If I have a reason to call the doctor
because I have a pain in my arm, only someone in the grip of a metaphysical
theory would think of my reason as somehow a part of me. Hence, the standard
charge that such talk commits us to a denial of the unity of either the human agent
or of God should strike us as implausible. We need a conception of the divine
unity that allows for God to have reasons, capacities, dispositions, and the like.
This is much too embedded in our discourse about God and in our spiritual lives
to be treated as mere appearance from a human point of view. The conceptual
bank is too big to fail.
Moreover, we most certainly need the notion of a divine capacity to make sense
of such divine actions as creation and incarnation. We have in these and many
other cases the possibility that God may or may not exercise a particular capacity.
God is free to create or not to create.²⁰ To use the technical terms on offer, God has
the potential to perform these actions but is free not to exercise that potential. To

²⁰ Dolezal is well aware that the problem of freedom is an acute one for divine simplicity. See
Dolezal, God without Parts, chapter 7.
34     

think of God in terms of Pure Act cannot allow for this possibility in that the claim
is that there are no potentialities in God. Again, close attention to the particula-
rities of divine action, in this case the explanations for divine actions, turns out to
be incompatible with the Thomistic story.
I have no illusions that any of these considerations are likely to be construed as
an insuperable problem for those committed to the doctrines under review here.
The impasse involved deserves consideration as we move to the end of this
chapter. What may well be at stake in the discussion is not just radically different
intuitions about complex philosophical theses, but different conceptions of the
nature of theology and different views as to the place of metaphysics within
theology.
Thus, Thomists generally show next to no interest in the historical revolution
that has radically altered the way we may handle the biblical text. With Thomas
they tend to start with the biblical text as given directly by divine inspiration and then
simply move from that to various philosophical conclusions. Thus, they read that
God is love in 1 John 4:8 and immediately take this as a statement about the
ontological identification of love with God. Or they appeal to Exodus 3:14 where
we are told that God speaks to Moses as “I am that I am” and then proceed to see
this as a proof text for taking God ontologically to be Pure Act. Beyond that, if they
are conservative Protestants, they may construct an elaborate vision of biblical
theology, which in turn will be identified as systematic theology, and thereafter
they will argue that various metaphysical doctrines, say, simplicity, are required
to make sense of the moves made in systematic theology. On the Catholic side,
the tendency is to take on board a perfect-being vision of theology and proceed
to work out the consequences of this vision for, say, divine impassibility.
My own approach is much more deflationary in that I do not share the account
of biblical authority in play. Nor am I confident that either the biblical texts or
human ingenuity can secure any kind of well-grounded biblical theology, as much
as work under these auspices is often extremely valuable. With respect to perfect-
being theology, it is surely an important point of entry to serious thought about
God, but it assumes a capacity for understanding divine perfection that leaves me
highly skeptical. I am less confident about arriving at inferences from the notion of
divine perfection than I am at arriving at claims about God from below by
immersion in the divine actions given in the canonical tradition of the church.
We can, of course, add any number of other elements that show up in the full
package, like doctrines of unconditional predestination, or accounts of grace and
freedom, that I find thoroughly implausible.
It is not always easy to know the deeper formation and grounding which may
lie behind the intuitions that are in play. For example, once doubts crop up about
the viability of the whole enterprise, it is not difficult to find historical reasons why
such doctrines as simplicity, pure act, and impassibility became so central within
Christian theology. Thus, it is common knowledge that there is a deep borrowing
  ,  ,    35

from the Greek philosophical tradition represented by neo-Platonism and this

strikes one as the imposition of alien philosophical categories that are likely to
distort the central doctrines of the faith. This is not an example of the genetic
fallacy because it presupposes that one has good reason to reject the philosophy on
offer; finding a historical source in the ancient world then confirms in a soft but
genuine sense that the doubts that generated the rejection should be taken more
seriously than otherwise. For those already convinced about divine simplicity, this
soft move will carry no weight; the relation to similar claims within Greek
philosophy will be seen as a gift of common grace.
I can approach the issue of the status of the metaphysical doctrines in play from
another angle. In the introduction to his fine study Dolezal makes the following
comment:

Historically the doctrine of divine simplicity (DDS) has been regarded as indis-
pensable for establishing the sufficient ontological condition for the divine
absoluteness . . . It is the contention of this study that to forfeit the doctrine of
divine simplicity is to jettison the requisite ontological framework for divine
absoluteness. The classical doctrine of simplicity, as espoused by both traditional
Thomists and Reformed Scholastics, famously holds the maxim that there is
nothing in God that is not God. If there were, that is, if God were not ontolog-
ically identical with all that is in him, then something other than God himself
would be needed to account for his existence, essence, and attributes. But nothing
that is not God can sufficiently account for God. He exists in all his perfection
entirely in and through himself.²¹

This is an extremely interesting observation because it makes clear the basic

structure of the vision in play. It isolates one property of God, “absoluteness,”
derived from the Westminster Confession of Faith, and then seeks by way of a
transcendental argument to establish a host of other properties. The argument
involves a quest for an ultimate explanation that will provide a ground for the
central claims about God that are advanced. The term “God,” in fact, is con-
structed by way of stipulation as essentially that which will be the “absolute,”
namely that beyond which there cannot be any other explanation. It is surely fair
to say that fundamental strategy at this stage has become philosophical to the core.
The project is driven in part by a vision of divine perfection worked out according
to a version of contemplative theology that eschews the work of biblical theology;
but it depends crucially on a vision of perfection worked out philosophically.
Dolezal is so sure of his ground at this point that he claims that “[t]heistic

²¹ Ibid., xvii.
36     

mutualism, when consistently developed, will burn through a whole host of divine
attributes traditionally confessed of God.”²²
I prefer a much more relaxed approach to any metaphysical proposal that is
developed to provide illumination for puzzles evoked by the deep faith of the
church. I am committed to a version of metaphysical pluralism at this level. As
already indicated, what I am calling agentism is such a metaphysical option. It
represents an alternative research agenda to that found in classical theism. We
begin first with the Gospel, then initiation into the Kingdom of God and the church,
and then proceed to a deflationary vision of systematic theology. In the course
of this work we inevitably make various philosophical assumptions, including
metaphysical assumptions. These need to be taken up and explored with care.
However, they are down the line from the work of theology proper and need to
be considered adiaphora rather than central elements in the Christian faith.
That said there are plenty of issues that need attention in the agenda I am
seeking to identify and advance.
First, there is need for significant work on thinking though the range of biblical
texts which speak of divine action, especially those that clearly challenge any
vision of divine action that takes scripture seriously. The obvious example is the
remarkable material which shows up in Exodus 32–4, which speaks of God
changing his mind after the remonstrations of Moses. It is much too easy to
dismiss this material as a mere accommodation to our limited human perspective.
More generally there are those texts which speak of divine repentance and which
attribute universal scope to the action of God, notably, Romans 11:36. Think of
what is involved in this translation: “Source, Guide, and Goal of all that is—to him
be glory for ever!” Such work does not depend on ignoring the complicated results
of historical investigation; on the contrary, it needs to take such work seriously
rather than looking for proof texts which are taken as obvious premises for
arguments, as one finds in the medieval tradition and in some contemporary
evangelical circles.²³
Second, we need to pursue current efforts by philosophers to engage the biblical
material with a view to reflecting on them with an eye on their epistemological,
metaphysical, and political features. This is at present very underdeveloped; but
there are happy signs on the horizon. Jon Levison’s fine review of the work of
Kenneth Seeskin²⁴ is an outstanding example of the kind of collaboration that

²² Ibid., 35. Theistic mutualism covers a family of positions committed to the rejection of divine
simplicity and to securing what we might call a more illuminating account of the divine-creation-
human relation than that favored by Dolezal. I make no claim to embracing any of the versions of
theistic mutualism often insightfully criticized by Dolezal in this fine polemical study.
²³ The work of Terence Fretheim is especially significant. See his Exodus: Interpretation: A Bible
Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).
²⁴ Kenneth Seeskin, Thinking about the Torah: A Philosopher Reads the Bible (Lincoln, NE: The
University of Nebraska Press, 2016).
  ,  ,    37

could prove fruitful.²⁵ The work in this instance can begin from the side of
philosophy rather than strict exegetical and historical work.
Third, it is clear that while there is much in common between the Eastern and
Western branches of Christendom, we have not sufficiently wrestled with the
potential differences between the East and West. The obvious contrast between
Aquinas and Palamas on divine agency makes this abundantly clear. David
Bradshaw has done exceptionally important pioneering work in this domain.²⁶
So, there is much work to be done on the historical front. I suspect that we are not
bound by the standard position that has dominated the airwaves for centuries. The
alternatives to this option are not restricted to current expositions of Process
theology and Open theism.
Fourth, there is fresh theological work on how to deal with the doctrine of
appropriations as it has been applied to the doctrine of the Trinity. One way to put
the central question is as follows: How do we secure the unity of divine action once
we acknowledge, say, that the divine action of incarnation is predicated of the Son
but not of the Father and the Spirit? For an extremely important contribution see
the work of Adonis Vidu.²⁷
Fifth, and finally, much still needs to be done to think through the articulation
and defense of the concept of agent causation, its contours, and its implications,
say, for debates about freedom and determinism. In this there are important
historical and normative claims that require attention. Timothy O’Connor has
done sterling work recently in this domain.²⁸ Looking outside the analytic tradi-
tion, the work of Maurice Blondel is exceptionally insightful.²⁹
So, I return to my opening comment. The use of agent causation to spell out the
metaphysics of divine agency is both an exciting and precarious enterprise. It
naturally swells into a significant research agenda that is not for the faint of heart.
I shall now take up a more material theological element within it by tackling the
long-standing problem of grace and freedom in the doctrine of salvation. In the
chapter beyond that I shall attempt to provide a rich if startling account of
particular providence.

²⁵ Jon D. Levison, “Is the Torah a Work of Philosophy?” Mosaic (January 3, 2017). While faulting
Seeskin in various ways, Levinson calls not for less philosophical engagement with scripture but for
better philosophical engagement. I could not agree more.
²⁶ It would be fascinating to look at Gregory of Palamas’s distinction between essence and energies
in the Godhead and its reception across the centuries. On the last issue there is a fine point of entry in
David Bradshaw, Aristotle East and West: Metaphysics and the Division of Christendom (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2004), chapter 9.
²⁷ Adonis Vidu, The Same God Who Works All Things: An Exposition and Defense of the Doctrine of
Inseparable Operations (Eerdmans, MI: Eerdmans, 2021).
²⁸ See, for example, his Persons and Causes: The Metaphysics of Free Will (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2020). Earlier volumes of note are the following: R. G. Collingwood, An Essay in Metaphysics
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1940); D. Gasking, “Causation and Recipes,” Mind (1955): 479–87;
J. L. Austin, “A Plea for Excuses,” in Philosophical Papers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970);
G. H. von Wright, Causality and Determinism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1975).
²⁹ Maurice Blondel, Action (1893): Essay on a Critique of Life and a Science of Practice (Notre Dame,
IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1984).
 3
Divine Action, Grace, and Human Agency

Alan Donagan, following the lead of J. L. Austin, was one of the most astute
exponents of agent causation in the twentieth century.¹ Late in his career he wrote
a provocative paper asking why some folks come to accept the truths of the Nicene
Creed. Part of his answer addresses the historical reliability of the New Testament;
in pursuing this he argues against the standard skeptical reasoning he had himself
once embraced. He then adds this interesting comment.

When they [converts from pre-Christian and post-Christian cultures] learn what
Christianity teaches, they judge it, if true, to be a remedy for their condition. In
comparing it with the alternatives, their verdict is, like Peter’s when Jesus asked
him, “Will you also go away?” “Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words
of eternal life” (John 6:67–68). Still a fiction may be unrivaled and still a fiction.
The rest of the answer is that they judge, and reasonably judge, that, from the
Pentecost after they allegedly occurred, the Apostles taught the sacrificial death
and resurrection of Jesus. Unless they were insanely deluded, the Apostles were
in a position to know the facts, and either reported them truthfully or lied. What
they reported is from a contemporary naturalist point of view incredible. Yet
from a contemporary naturalist point of view much that we all reasonably believe
about ourselves is unexplained, and the misery of the condition in which serious
inquirers take themselves to be would be no remedy. In this situation, faith may
seem to inquirers possible, and not irrational. And then, by some means they do
not understand but which the church teaches is the operation of grace, it may
become actual.²

Donagan’s final comment on grace is entirely salutary. The whole quotation serves
as an apt bridge into the current chapter in that anyone committed to a robust role
for human agency runs head on into the long-standing problem of grace and
freedom in theology. If we allow any room for human action, then we seem to be
committed to justification by works. We can then claim credit and merit before

¹ See Alan Donagan, Choice: The Essential Element in Human Action (Abingdon: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1987). For the relevant source in J. L. Austin, see Austin, “A Plea for Excuses,” in
Philosophical Papers, 3rd ed., eds. J. O. Urmson and G. J. Warnock (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1979), 175–204.
² Alan Donagan, “Can Anyone in a Post-Christian Culture Rationally Believe the Nicene Creed?” in
Reflections on Philosophy and Religion (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 32. Emphasis mine.

Divine Agency and Divine Action Volume IV: A Theological and Philosophical Agenda. William J. Abraham,
Oxford University Press (2021). © William J. Abraham. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198786535.003.0004
  , ,    39

God. If salvation is all of grace and does not allow for a serious role for human
action, then it seems we are committed to a doctrine of divine determinism. In this
chapter, I plan to throw light on this problem by deploying some elementary
considerations about causation as it relates to human and divine action.³
The debate about the tension between grace and freedom did not really take off
until the late fourth century. It was dominated initially by the dispute between
Pelagius and Augustine even though it was joined by a network of other theolo-
gians who over time shaped the official teaching of the church that later became
normative. Like most other debates, the discussion became entangled in neigh-
boring disputes related to sin, ascetism, infant baptism, the authority of the bishop
of Rome, predestination, and cultural differences between East and West. In the
end the various synods and councils which took up the issue settled for a relatively
modest set of conclusions compared to those that had been more fully worked out
by Augustine. It is the Second Council of Orange (529) that provides the relevant
affirmations. It is very clear that the Council seeks to hold together a firm
commitment to the need for divine assistance from beginning to end in salvation
and a resolute vision of human freedom.
Canons 6 and 7 give us a felicitous rendering of what is at stake.

Canon 6. If anyone says that mercy is divinely conferred upon us when, without
God’s grace, we believe, will, strive, labor, pray, keep watch, endeavor, request,
seek, knock, but does not confess that it is through the infusion and inspiration of
the Holy Spirit that we believe, will, or are able to do those things that are
required; or if anyone subordinates the help of grace to humility or human
obedience and does not admit that it is the very gift of grace that makes us
obedient and humble, one contradicts the apostle, who says: “What have you that
you did not receive?” [1 Cor 4:7]; and also: “By the grace of God I am what I am”
[1 Cor 15:10].
Canon 7. If anyone asserts that to be able by one’s own natural strength to think
as is required or choose anything towards one’s eternal salvation or to assent to
the saving message of the Gospel without the illumination and inspiration of the
Holy Spirit, who gives to all ease and joy in assenting to the truth and believing,
one is deceived by the heretical spirit and does not understand the word said by
God in the Gospel: “Apart from me you can do nothing” (Jn 15:5) or the [word]
of the apostle: “Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to claim anything as
coming from us; our sufficiency is in God” (2 Cor 3:5).⁴

³ In doing so I shall be drawing extensively on the work of John R. Lucas, who made the crucial
breakthrough needed to get us beyond the impasse that has bedeviled the debate for centuries.
⁴ Heinrich Denzinger, Compendium of Creeds, Definitions, and Declarations on Matters of Faith and
Morals (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2012), 136.
40     

I noted that these affirmations are relatively modest. For that very reason they
have at times been pressed into service to defend much more robust claims about
divine grace that leave the reader skeptical about the reality of genuine human
action in response to grace. Indeed, it is relatively easy to become entangled in a
host of distinctions about grace that make the head spin. So, we hear of uncreated
and created grace, of prevenient grace, of justifying grace, of sanctifying grace, of
persevering grace, of habitual grace, of actual grace, of special graces, of efficacious
grace, of sufficient grace, and so on. As a result, little or no attention is given to
the actual human actions in terms of the human agents involved. It is pleasing to
see the canons begin to identify these actions with some care. Thus, they speak
of believing, willing, striving, laboring, praying, keeping watch, endeavoring,
requesting, seeking, knocking, thinking, choosing, and assenting. As to divine
action we hear of infusion and inspiration, both of which are attributed to the
Holy Spirit.
We could also say that these affirmations are minimalist. Even read along with
the rest of the canons of the Council of Orange, they leave a host of questions
unanswered. Hence, there is plenty of room for elaboration, and once that process
begins we quickly land ourselves back in the thicket of doctrines, say, of sin,
baptism, and predestination that were in the neighborhood in the original discus-
sions that first gave rise to this decision. Moreover, it is not at all clear what to
make of such notions as infusion and inspiration, the crucial verbs that mark out
the divine role in salvation here. As a result, the debate very quickly returns to the
issues marked out by Augustine, picked up by Aquinas, and continued on into the
present.
It is clear that virtually all protagonists want to preserve important affirmations
about both divine action and human action as these relate to salvation. Thus, we
want to say that we are saved by grace alone; and we want to say that in some sense
salvation does not take place without human consent. Beyond this, protagonists
want to preserve that salvation is a gift, that it is by grace alone that God desires
the salvation of all, and that human agents can in no way take credit for any role
that they play by way of response. If need be, we should give up on the role of
human action in order to preserve a robust doctrine of grace. This is a rare
development in the tradition, one that is associated with Luther, who dismissed
the will as hopelessly enslaved and in bondage. It has been much more common to
allow for a place for human action but then work out a sophisticated vision of
determinism which is compatible with human freedom. One other dimension
which has not received the attention it deserves is the worry that the deliberate
withholding of divine grace casts serious doubt on the goodness of God.
On my account it will come as no surprise that I aim to look upon God and
human agents in terms of agent causation. Thus, I am construing God as an agent
who has certain powers and capacities that may or may not be exercised in the
process of salvation. God makes genuine decisions, say, to save by way of grace
  , ,    41

and faith rather than works; these decisions represent the love, mercy, and
generosity of God towards sinners. The actions that God performs reflect these
capacities and dispositions. They involve a whole network of specific actions
including revelation, incarnation, atonement, and the working of the Holy Spirit
in our hearts and minds. They also involve those mediating actions that concern
the work of God through his servants in the writing of scripture, in the procla-
mation of the Gospel, in the invitation to respond, in the human actions that are
needed to administer the sacraments, and so on. God can and does perform all
these actions because God is an enduring substance with the relevant powers to
perform them. To speak of the grace of God, then, is a way of capturing the beauty
and bounty of these divine actions; they display the generosity and power of God
to save sinners and are therefore identified as a matter of the grace of God. The
grace of God is shorthand for speaking of the generosity and power of God at work
in salvation.
Given such a vision of grace we can make sense of the language of “infusion”
and “inspiration.” “Infusion” is represented by those divine actions that God
performs in our hearts and minds, drawing us, speaking to us in our hearts,
convicting us of sin, bearing witness inwardly to his love displayed in Christ,
helping us think through the issues, fostering proper understanding of ourselves
and the Gospel, and the like.⁵ “Inspiration” is a polymorphous act wherein one
agent inspires another in, with, and through other specific acts that he or she
performs. Likewise, God inspires us to do things way beyond our normal capa-
cities by performing a host of other specific actions. These acts can be the external
acts performed by God in history, by the saints, in the preaching of the Gospel, in
the invitation to repent, and the like; or they can be the inward acts of the kind
I identified under the banner of “infusion.”
I am also construing human agents in terms of agent causation. Thus, I am
thinking of human agents in terms of enduring substances who have certain
capacities and powers. Thus, human agents when it comes to salvation make
genuine decisions and they engage in a network of genuine actions. In standard
cases of conversion, I take the following actions to be especially significant.
First, the convert has to hear and pay attention to the message of the Gospel.
This involves serious effort to understand what it is being proclaimed and its
significance for his or her life. This in turn may also involve dealing with various
objections, as is clear from the paper by Donagan who works his way through the
standard objections against Christianity that he had picked up in his education
across the years. It may also involve dealing with environmental factors like
opposition from family, cultural hostility to Christianity, and the negative effects

⁵ “Infusion” in Aquinas takes its cue from Romans 5:5: “Such a hope is no mockery, because God’s
love has flooded our inmost heart through the Holy Spirit he has given us” (NEB). I am grateful to Jared
Brandt for bringing this to my attention.
42     

of experience at the hands of the church. The details here are person-relative; the
crucial point is that faith comes by hearing, and hearing involves paying serious
attention to what is proclaimed either in oral or written form. Second, the convert
has to connect the message intellectually with a sense of need that is not met
elsewhere and come to understand that this need is truly met in coming to Christ.
This sense of need and its resolution can be identified in a variety of ways. How
this is played in real life is once again person-relative. However, working through
to a minimal understanding involves coming to see that in broad terms the
problem of sin and alienation from God is solved by coming to faith in Christ.
Third, it is no accident that we find in the neighborhood that the convert has to
repent and confess Jesus as Lord and Savior. If there is opportunity, unlike the
thief on the cross, then the convert will show up for baptism, take on board the
requirements of discipleship, become a member of the church, and begin a life of
participation in the sacraments and practices of the church. Fourth, the convert
will commit to taking up the cross and living a life of self-denial. This will involve
struggling with sin, bearing the public cost of following Christ, and whatever else
fits the description of self-denial.
Why should we bother with this kind of catalogue of actions? For at least two
reasons. First, it is wholly absurd to reduce these actions to mere passivity or
consent on the part of the human agent. These are robust actions; one can readily
imagine a person not just hesitating to perform these actions, or even actively
resisting them, but out and out refusing to do them. Some people clearly do and
are not afraid to say so. These actions involve real decisions all down the line.
These are not events which happen and then can be merely passively accepted
or even intentionally received by way of positive consent; they are non-trivial,
indeed highly momentous, actions involving the exercise of human powers and
capacities.
Second, it makes no sense to say that these are actions that are performed by
God. It is not God who brings about the hearing of the Gospel, or who thinks
through how the message matches an identified need, or who repents and con-
fesses that Jesus is Savior and Lord, or who commits to live a life of self-denial. It is
the human agent who performs these actions. Nor does it make sense to say that
God performs part of these varied actions and the human agents the other part,
like two men carrying a table across a room together. The actions are brought
about by the human agent; it is the human agent who is the author and none
other.
Nor does it make sense to say by means of some sort of theory of non-
competitive double agency that the action is wholly an act of the human agent
and wholly an act of God. To take but one example, God does not perform here an
act of repentance. In fact, it is absurd to even think of this. It is hard to see how this
observation can be blocked. The only act under review is that of repentance;
according to this double-agency theory, it is this act that must be wholly an act of
  , ,    43

God; so the act of repentance must be wholly an act of God; there are no other
actions in play at this point; but this is simply absurd. Moreover, whatever act we
choose we will find that, given the double causality involved, the specified act is
overdetermined. We might get around this by claiming that some kind of special
causality is involved here, say, a unique kind of causality that applies only to God.
But, if this is the case, we have gone off into causal la-la land and we should refuse
to climb into that metaphysical bus.
Equally, it is absurd to think of the situation where we can invoke a distinction
between primary and secondary causation. It is not like the situation where
Murphy takes, say, a stick and moves a stone. In cases of primary and secondary
causation, we can say both that Murphy moves the stone and that the stick moves
the stone. Human agents are not to be confused at this point with material objects
like sticks; unlike sticks and stones, they are causal agents with capacities and
powers that they may or may not exercise. So, the primary/secondary causation
schema offers no help whatsoever. Of course, we can try to adjust the primary/
secondary distinction and claim that in the case of human actions the agency of
God is carried out in a way that somehow respects the genuine agency of the
human agent. Divine causation is so transcendent that it can bring it about that
human agents perform actions freely. Once again, I propose we should refuse to
climb on the metaphysical bus.
It now looks as if I have boarded a theological bus that is quickly going to stall
once it starts out on its journey afresh. In enumerating the relevant human actions
involved in salvation I have given a highly significant role to the human agent in
salvation. So, it will be said, I have abandoned any serious doctrine of sin, have
caved in to a doctrine of justification by works, and have now opened the door for
the human agent to take credit for salvation. Perhaps worse still, I have to set aside
all those wonderful biblical texts that attribute salvation exclusively to God. “What
have you that you did not receive?” asks Paul. We know the answer: we have
nothing that we did not receive. And John hammers home the message: “Apart
from me you can do nothing.”
Let’s keep our nerve at this point. It is true that I have not adopted a textual
Augustinian doctrine of sin. There is no commitment to a literal Adam; no
doctrine which says that our first parents were not able to do good in their natural
state and thus needed a supernatural gift of grace in order to do any good act; no
doctrine of immediate physical as opposed to spiritual death when they fell into
sin; no doctrine of original guilt because we were all somehow present in Adam as
their federal head, participating in his original sin; no doctrine of the transmission
of sin by means of the concupiscence involved in the sexual act of procreation; and
no doctrine of the transmission of original guilt passed on from one generation to
another. However, there is also no commitment to the hopelessly thin doctrine of
sin and the doctrine of divine assistance by instruction that we rightly associate
with Pelagius, who was roundly defeated by Augustine and his merry band of
44     

followers across the ages. To be sure, if we stipulate that the Augustinian doctrine
of original sin is taken in the broad sense now common in theological circles, there
is no problem, even though, if we are limited to slogans, I much prefer the more
deflationary notion of ancestral sin. As I argued in an earlier volume, I am
committed to a deep, multifaceted vision of sin and its effects. Within this
I stand with Augustine and the tradition in deploying a dense reading of the
early narratives in Genesis as one very effective way to articulating what is at stake.
Indeed, I hold that Augustine and the tradition do not go deep enough in
sounding the depths of sin, for the bottom of that murky pool is represented by
demon possession, a topic I shall take up in a separate chapter.
Now it looks as if my theological bus has crashed ignominiously once it turned
round the corner for home, in that I have committed to a very robust doctrine of
sin which is the presupposition for the doctrine of grace and the challenge it poses
to any robust account of human action in salvation. Moreover, I have given no
account of how to handle those startling comments of Paul and John noted now
twice in this chapter.
It is precisely at this point that we need to take a second look at the language of
causation and how it should be understood when we attribute salvation to grace
rather than works. There are many sources I could turn to at this point but this
comment by David Daube can get us started in the right direction.

“Whodunit” is the question asked when a crime has been committed and the
identity of the criminal is unknown. But the question may arise where the
identity is known and all other facts are clear. Suppose all the archives pertaining
to the First and Second World Wars are open and we ask: who caused the wars?
Or, I am run over and killed by a skidding car. Is it the driver who causes my
death, or the manufacture of the tires that were defective, or the person who
asked me to lunch, but for whom I should not have been there? If my aunt on
hearing the news gets a temperature, is wrongly treated, and dies, who or what
has caused her death? We confront the problem of causation.⁶

There are, of course, many problems related to causation, but Daube has high-
lighted a crucial feature that has long been recognized but which he is happy to leave
for others to sort out. John Stuart Mill was fully aware of the issue. Thus
H. L. A. Hart and A. M. Honoré in their classical study of causation in the law,
note that one element in Mill’s account of causality can be summarized in this way.

Mill distinguished a ‘philosophical’ or ‘scientific’ notion of cause from ‘the

common notion’. According to the former only the whole set of conditions

⁶ David Daube, The Deed and the Doer in the Bible, vol. 1 (West Conshohocken, PA: Templeton
Foundation Press, 2008), 3.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 "We are a people of peaceful traders—shopkeepers, our rivals
of the Continent affirm—and are consequently at war on only
eight points of the globe, with forces which in the aggregate
only just exceed sixty thousand men. There are thirty-five
thousand on the Indian Frontier fighting the clansmen of the
Northern Himalayas, who, according to the Afridi sub-officers
interrogated by Sir Henry Havelock-Allan, are all eager to
enter our service; twenty-five thousand about to defeat the
Khalifa at Omdurman; a thousand doing sentry duty in Crete;
four hundred putting down an outbreak in Mekran; three hundred
crushing a mutiny in Uganda; and some hundreds more restoring
order in Lagos, Borneo, and Basutoland. All these troops,
though of different nationalities—Englishmen, Sikhs, Ghoorkas,
Rajpoots, Malays, Egyptians, Soudanese, Haussas, and Wagandas—
are under British officers, are paid from funds under British
control, and are engaged in the self-same work, that of
solidifying the 'Pax Britannica,' so that a commercial
civilisation may have a fair chance to grow."

The Spectator (London), February 5, 1898.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1898 (February).

Resentment shown to China for rejection of a loan,
through Russian influence.
Chinese agreement not to alienate the Yang-tsze region
and to open internal waters to steam navigation.

See (in this volume)

CHINA: A. D. 1898 (FEBRUARY).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1898 (February-May).

Native revolt in the Sierra Leone Protectorate.

See (in this volume)

SIERRA LEONE PROTECTORATE.
ENGLAND: A. D. 1898 (March-April).
Unsuccessful opposition to Russian lease of Port Arthur
and Talienwan from China.
Compensatory British lease of Wei-hai Wei.

See (in this volume)

CHINA: A. D. 1898 (MARCH-JULY).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1898 (April-August).

Further exactions from China.
Lease of territory opposite Hong Kong, etc.

See (in this volume)

CHINA: A. D. 1898 (APRIL-AUGUST).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1898 (May).

Death of Mr. Gladstone.

After a long and painful illness, the great statesman and

leader of the Liberal party in England, William Ewart
Gladstone, died on the 19th of May. His death drew tributes in
Parliament from his political opponents which exalted him quite
to the height of great distinction that those who followed him
would claim. It was said by Lord Salisbury that "the most
distinguished political name of the century had been withdrawn
from the roll of Englishmen." Mr. Balfour described him as
"the greatest member of the greatest deliberative assembly
that the world had yet seen": and expressed the belief that
"they would never again have in that assembly any man who
could reproduce what Mr. Gladstone was to his contemporaries."

Lord Rosebery paid an eloquent tribute to the dead statesman.

"This country." he said, "this nation, loves brave men. Mr.
Gladstone was the bravest of the brave. There was no cause so
hopeless that he was afraid to undertake it; there was no
amount of opposition that would cowe him when once he had
undertaken it. My lords, Mr. Gladstone always expressed a hope
 that there might be an interval left to him between the end of
his political and of his natural life. That period was given
to him, for it is more than four years since he quitted the
sphere of politics. Those four years have been with him a
special preparation for his death, but have they not also been
a preparation for his death with the nation at large?
{210}
Had he died in the plenitude of his power as Prime Minister,
would it have been possible for a vigorous and convinced
Opposition to allow to pass to him, without a word of dissent,
the honours which are now universally conceded? Hushed for the
moment are the voices of criticism, hushed are the controversies
in which he took part; hushed for the moment is the very sound
of party faction. I venture to think that this is a notable
fact in our history. It was not so with the elder Pitt. It was
not so with the younger Pitt. It was not so with the elder
Pitt, in spite of his tragic end, of his unrivalled services,
and of his enfeebled old age. It was not so with the younger
Pitt, in spite of his long control of the country and his
absolute and absorbed devotion to the State. I think that we
should remember this as creditable not merely to the man, but
to the nation." With the consent of Mrs. Gladstone and family,
a public funeral was voted by Parliament, and the remains of the
great leader were laid, with simple but impressive ceremonies,
in Westminster Abbey, on the 28th of May.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1898 (June).

The Sugar Conference at Brussels.

See (in this volume)

SUGAR BOUNTIES.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1898 (July).

The Local Government Act for Ireland.

See (in this volume)

IRELAND: A. D. 1898 (JULY).
ENGLAND: A. D. 1898 (July-December).
In the Chinese "Battle of Concessions."

See (in this volume)

CHINA: A. D. 1898 (FEBRUARY-DECEMBER).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1898 (September-November).-

The Nile question with France.
Marchand's expedition at Fashoda.

See (in this volume)

EGYPT: A. D. 1898 (SEPTEMBER-NOVEMBER).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1898 (December).

Imperial Penny Postage.

On Christmas Day, 1898, the Imperial penny postage came into

operation,—i. e., it became possible to send for a penny a
letter not above half an ounce in weight to all places in the
British Empire, except the Australasian Colonies and the Cape.
"Thousands of small orders and business transactions and
millions of questions and answers will fly round the world at
a penny which were too heavily weighted at two-pence
halfpenny. The political effect of the fact that it will not
now be necessary to think whether an address is outside the
United Kingdom, but only whether it is inside the British
Empire, will be by no means insignificant. If people will only
let the Empire alone we shall ultimately weave out of many
varied strands—some thick, some thin—a rope to join the
Motherland and the Daughter States which none will be able to
break. Not an unimportant thread in the hawser will
be,—letters for a penny wherever the Union Jack is flown."

The Spectator (London),

December 31, 1898.
ENGLAND: A. D. 1898-1899.
Joint High Commission for settlement of pending questions
between the United States and Canada.

See (in this volume)

CANADA: A. D. 1898-1899.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1898-1899 (June-June).

Convention with France defining West African and
Sudan possessions.

See (in this volume)

NIGERIA: A. D. 1882-1899.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899.
Dealings with anti-missionary demonstrations in China.

See (in this volume)

CHINA: A. D. 1899.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (January).

Agreement with Egypt, establishing the Anglo-Egyptian
Condominium in the Sudan.

See (in this volume)

EGYPT: A. D. 1899 (JANUARY).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (March-April).

Agreement with Russia concerning railway interests in China.

See (in this volume)

CHINA: A. D. 1899 (MARCH-APRIL).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (May-June).

The Bloemfontein Conference with President Kruger.

See (in this volume)

 SOUTH AFRICA (THE TRANSVAAL): A. D. 1899 (MAY-JUNE).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (May-July).

Representation in the Peace Conference at The Hague.

See (in this volume)

PEACE CONFERENCE.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (June-October).

Arbitration and settlement of the Venezuela boundary question.

See (in this volume)

VENEZUELA: A. D. 1896-1899.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (July).

Passage of the London Government Act.

See (in this volume)

LONDON: A. D. 1899.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (July-September).

Discussion of proposed amendments to the Franchise Law
of the South African Republic.

See (in this volume)

SOUTH AFRICA (THE TRANSVAAL):
A. D. 1899 (JULY-SEPTEMBER).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (August).

The Board of Education Act.

An Act of Parliament which became law on the 9th of August,

1899, and operative on the 1st of April, 1900, created a
national Board of Education, "charged with the superintendence
of matters relating to education in England and Wales," and
taking the place of the Committee of the Privy Council on
Education, by which that function had previously been
 performed. The Act provided that the Board "shall consist of a
President, and of the Lord President of the Council (unless he
is appointed President of the Board), Her Majesty's Principal
Secretaries of State, the First Commissioner of Her Majesty's
Treasury, and the Chancellor of Her Majesty's Exchequer. … The
President of the Board shall be appointed by Her Majesty, and
shall hold office during Her Majesty's pleasure." The Act
provided further for the creation by Her Majesty in Council of
"a Consultative Committee consisting, as to not less than
two-thirds, of persons qualified to represent the views of
Universities and other bodies interested in education, for the
purpose of—(a) framing, with the approval of the Board of
Education, regulations for a register of teachers, … with an
entry in respect to each teacher showing the date of his
registration, and giving a brief record of his qualifications
and experience; and (b) advising the Board of Education on any
matter referred to the committee by the Board."

62 & 63 Victoria, chapter 33.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (August).

Instructions to the Governor of Jamaica.

See (in this volume) JAMAICA: A. D. 1899.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (September-October).

Preparations for war in South Africa.
The Boer Ultimatum.

See (in this volume)

SOUTH AFRICA (THE TRANSVAAL AND ORANGE FREE STATE):
A. D. 1899 (SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (October-November).

Opening circumstances of the war in South Africa.
Want of preparation.
 See (in this volume)
SOUTH AFRICA (THE FIELD OF WAR):
A. D. 1899 (OCTOBER-NOVEMBER).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (November).

Adhesion to the arrangement of an "open door" commercial
policy in China.

See (in this volume)

CHINA: A. D. 1899-1900 (SEPTEMBER-FEBRUARY).

{211}

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899 (November).

Withdrawal from the Samoan Islands, with compensations in the
Tonga and Solomon Islands and in Africa.

See (in this volume)

SAMOAN ISLANDS.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899-1900.
Renewed investigation of the Old-Age Pension question.

On the initiative of the government, a fresh investigation of

the question of old-age pensions was opened in 1899 by a
select committee of the House of Commons, under the
chairmanship of Mr. Chaplin. The report of the Committee, made
in the following year, suggested the following plan: Any
person, aged 65, whether man or woman, who satisfied the
pension authority that he or she"

(1) Is a British subject;

(2) Is 65 years of age;

(3) Has not within the last 20 years been convicted of an

offence and sentenced to penal servitude or imprisonment
without the option of a fine;

(4) Has not received poor relief, other than medical relief,
unless under circumstances of a wholly exceptional character,
during twenty years prior to the application for a pension;

(5) Is resident within the district of the pension authority;

(6) Has not an income from any source of more than 10s. a
week; and

(7) Has endeavoured to the best of his ability, by his

industry or by the exercise of reasonable providence, to make
provision for himself and those immediately dependent on
him—"should receive a certificate to that effect and be
entitled to a pension. The amount of pension to be from 5s. to
7s. a week.

As a means of ascertaining approximately the number of persons

in the United Kingdom who would be pensionable under this
scheme, a test census was taken in certain districts made as
representative as possible by the inclusion of various kinds
of population. In each of the selected areas in Great Britain
a house-to-house visitation was made with a view of
ascertaining how many of the aged would satisfy the conditions
of the scheme. In Ireland a similar census had to be abandoned
as impracticable because "the officials, although they
proceeded courteously, were received with abuse"; but the Poor
Law inspectors framed some rough estimates after consultation
with local authorities. Altogether the inquiry in Great
Britain extended to a population of rather over half a million
persons. From facts thus obtained the following estimate of
the cost of the proposed pensioning project was deduced:

Estimated number of persons

over 65 years of age in 1901
2,016,000
Deduct:
1. For those whose incomes exceed 10s. a week
741,000
2. For paupers
515,000
3. For aliens, criminals, and lunatics
32,000
4. For inability to comply with thrift test
72,700

Total deductions
1,360,700

Estimated number of pensionable persons

655,000

Estimated cost (the average pension being

taken at 6s. a week)
£9,976,000
Add administrative expenses (3 per cent.)
£299,000

Total estimated cost.

£10,275,000

In round figures.
£10,300,000

The Committee estimated, still further, that the cost would

rise to £15,650,000 by 1921. No legislative action was taken
on the report.
ENGLAND: A. D. 1899-1900 (October-January).
Troops from Canada for the South African War.

See (in this volume)

CANADA: A. D. 1899-1900.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1899-1901.
The Newfoundland French Shore question.

See (in this volume)

NEWFOUNDLAND: A. D. 1899-1901.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900.
Industrial combinations.

See (in this volume)

TRUSTS: IN ENGLAND.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900.
Naval strength.

See (in this volume)

NAVIES OF THE SEA POWERS.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (January-March).

The outbreak of the "Boxers" in northern China.

See (in this volume)

CHINA: A. D. 1900 (JANUARY-MARCH).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (February).

Compulsory education.

A bill introduced in Parliament by a private member,

unsupported by the government, providing that the earliest
date at which a child should be permitted to leave school
 should be raised from 11 to 12 years, was passed, only one
member of the Cabinet voting for it.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (February).

Negotiation of a convention with the United States relative
to the projected Interoceanic Canal.

See (in this volume)

CANAL, INTEROCEANIC: A. D. 1900 (DECEMBER).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (March).

Overtures of peace from the Boer Presidents.
Reply of Lord Salisbury.

See (in this volume)

SOUTH AFRICA (THE FIELD OF WAR):
A. D. 1900 (MARCH).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (May).

Annexation of Orange Free State by right of conquest.

See (in this volume)

SOUTH AFRICA (ORANGE FREE STATE): A. D. 1900 (MAY).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (June-December).

Co-operation with the Powers in China.

See (in this volume)

CHINA.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (July).

Passage of the "Commonwealth of Australia Constitution Act,"
federating the Australian Colonies.

See (in this volume)

AUSTRALIA: A. D. 1900;
and CONSTITUTION OF AUSTRALIA.
ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (September).
Proclamation of the Commonwealth of Australia.

See (in this volume)

AUSTRALIA: A. D. 1900 (SEPTEMBER-DECEMBER).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (September-October).

Dissolution of Parliament.
Election of a new Parliament.
Victory for the Conservatives and Liberal Unionists.

By royal proclamation, September 17, the existing Parliament

was dissolved and order given for the issue of writs calling a
new Parliament, the elections for which were held in October,
concluding on the 24th of that month. The state of parties in
the House of Commons resulting from the election was as
follows: Conservatives, 334, Liberal Unionists, 68; total
supporters of the Unionist Ministry, 402. Liberals and Labor
members, 186, Nationalists (Irish), 82; total opposition, 268.
Unionist majority, 134, against 128 in the preceding
Parliament. The issues in the election were those growing out
of the South African War. Although most of the Liberals upheld
the war, and the annexation of the South African republics,
they sharply criticised the prior dealings of the Colonial
Secretary, Mr. Chamberlain, with the Transvaal Boers, and the
general conduct of the war. A number of the leading Liberals
were uncompromising in condemnation of the war, of the policy
which caused it, and of the proposed extinction of Boer
independence. The sentiment of the country was shown by the
election to be strongly against all questioning of the
righteousness of the war or of the use to be made of victory
in it.

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ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (October).

 Anglo-German agreement concerning policy in China.

See (in this volume)

CHINA: A. D. 1900 (AUGUST-DECEMBER).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (October).

Annexation of the Transvaal.

See (in this volume)

SOUTH AFRICA (THE TRANSVAAL):
A. D. 1900 (OCTOBER).

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (November-December).

The Fourth Ministry of Lord Salisbury.
Brief session of Parliament.

For the fourth time, Lord Salisbury was called to the lead in
government, and formed his Ministry anew, making considerable
changes. He relieved himself of the conduct of Foreign Affairs
(which was transferred to the Marquis of Lansdowne), and took,
with the office of Prime Minister, that of Lord Privy Seal. Mr.
Brodrick, who had been an Under Secretary, succeeded Lord
Lansdowne as Secretary of State for War. Mr. Balfour continued
to be First Lord of the Treasury, and Leader of the House; Mr.
Chamberlain remained in the Colonial Office. Mr. Goschen
retired.

Parliament met on the 6th of December, for the purpose set

forth in a remarkably brief "Queen's Speech," as follows: "My
Lords, and Gentlemen, It has become necessary to make further
provision for the expenses incurred by the operations of my
armies in South Africa and China. I have summoned you to hold
a Special Session in order that you may give your sanction to
the enactments required for this purpose. I will not enter
upon other public matters requiring your attention until the
ordinary meeting of Parliament in the spring." The estimates
of the War Office called for £16,000,000, and it was voted
 after a few days of debate, in which the causes and conduct of
the war were criticised and defended by the two parties, and,
on the 15th, Parliament was prorogued to the 14th of February,
1901, by the Queen's command.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (December).

Fall of stones at Stonehenge.

See (in this volume)

STONEHENGE.

ENGLAND: A. D. 1900 (December).

Parliamentary statements of the number of men employed in the
South African War, and the number dead and disabled.

In the House of Commons, December 11, Mr. Brodrick, Secretary

of State for War, moved a vote of £16,000,000, required for
the current year, to meet additional expenditure in South
Africa and China. In the course of his remarks, explanatory of
the need for this supplementary supply, he made the following
statement: "When the war broke out we had in South Africa in
round figures 10,000 men, all Regular troops. We have in the
14 months' which have since elapsed sent from this country and
landed in South Africa 175,000 Regular soldiers, a number which
exceeds by far any number which any Minister from this bench
or any gentleman sitting behind these benches or in front of
them ever suggested that this country ought to be in a
position to ship to any part of the world, and a number far in
excess of that which during any period that I have sat in the
house any member of the House, except an official, would have
been willing to believe that the War Office could find to
dispose of. But they are not the only troops. We have called
on them, I will not say to the extreme limit of our power,
but, at all events, with an unsparing hand. But you have in
addition, as this return will show, some 40,000 Volunteers of
various descriptions from the United Kingdom—40,000 including
the Imperial Yeomanry, whose service is spoken of by every
officer under whom they have served with such satisfaction; 30
Militia regiments, who are also Volunteers, since their term
of service was only for the United Kingdom and who have gone
abroad at great personal sacrifice to themselves; and the
volunteer companies who have joined the Regular battalions.
You have also got 40,000 colonial troops, to a large extent,
no doubt, men raised in the colonies affected, and as
everybody knows to a still larger extent consisting of men who
have gone for a year from Australia, Canada, and other
places."

Sir William Harcourt replied to Mr. Brodrick, not in

opposition to the motion, but in criticism of the conduct of
the war. Referring to a return submitted by the War Office, he
analyzed its showing of facts, thus: "Now just let us look at
this table. By some accident it only gives the rank and file
and non-commissioned officers. It is a very terrible return,
and I think it is worthy of the attention of the men who
delight in war, of whom, I am afraid, there are unhappily not
a few. I have made a short analysis of the paper. It shows
that the garrison at the Cape before the war was 9,600.
Reinforcements of 6,300 men were sent out in October last year
and from India 5,600, which with the former garrison made up
21,000 in all when the war broke out. Up to August, that is,
after the last estimate for 1900, according to this table
267,000 men had been in arms in South Africa—that is without
the officers. Therefore I will call it 270,000 men in round
numbers. I think the right honourable gentleman made a mistake
when he said that the colonial troops were more numerous from
beyond the seas than they were in the Cape. This return shows
that the men raised in South Africa were 30,000, and, apart
from them, the colonials from beyond the seas were 11,000.
According to the last return there were 210,000 men in South
Africa. You will observe there is a balance of some 60,000 or
70,000 men. What has become of those men? You would find from
this return, one would suppose, that a good many of these have
returned safe and sound to England. No, Sir; the men who have
 returned to England according to this paper, not invalids, are
7,500 and to the colonies 3,000 more. That makes 10,000 men,
or with the officers about 11,000 men. But since July you have
sent out 13,000 men to South Africa, more, in fact, than you
have been bringing home, and yet you have only 210,000 men
there. Now, Sir, how is this accounted for? First of all you
have the heading, 'killed or died of wounds,' 11,000 men. You
have 'wounded,' 13,000, you have 'in hospital in South
Africa,' 12,000, and you have 'returned to England, sick,
wounded, or died on passage,' 36,000 men. That is the balance.
Seventy thousand men have been killed, wounded, or disabled,
or have died in this war. And now what is the prospect that is
held before us with this force, once 270,000 men, and now
210,000, in South Africa? Lord Roberts has declared that the
war is over, yet you hold out to us no prospect of diminishing
the force you have in South Africa of 210,000 men."

{213}

ENGLAND: A. D. 1901 (January).

Death of Queen Victoria.

The following notice, which appeared in the "Court Circular,"

on the 18th of January, dated from the winter residence of the
Queen at Osborne House, in the Isle of Wight, seems to have
been the first intimation to the country of its sovereign's
failing health: "The Queen has not lately been in her usual
health and is unable for the present to take her customary
drives. The Queen during the past year has had a great strain
upon her powers, which has rather told upon her Majesty's
nervous system. It has, therefore, been thought advisable by
her Majesty's physicians that the Queen should be kept
perfectly quiet in the house and should abstain for the
present from transacting business." It was subsequently found,
as stated in an "authoritative account" by the "British
Medical Journal," and the "Lancet," that "the Queen's health
for the past 12 months had been failing, with symptoms mainly
of a dyspeptic kind, accompanied by impaired general
nutrition, periods of insomnia, and later by occasional slight
and transitory attacks of aphasia, the latter suggesting that
the cerebral vessels had become damaged, although her
Majesty's general arterial system showed remarkably few signs
of age. … The dyspepsia which tended to lower her Majesty's
original robust constitution was especially marked during her
last visit to Balmoral. It was there that the Queen first
manifested distinct symptoms of brain fatigue and lost notably
in weight. These symptoms continued at Windsor, where in November
and December, 1900, slight aphasic symptoms were first
observed, always of an ephemeral kind, and unattended by any
motor paralysis. … A few days before the final illness
transient but recurring symptoms of apathy and somnolence,
with aphasic indications and increasing feebleness, gave great
uneasiness to her physician." Before the publication of the
cautious announcement quoted above, the symptoms had become
too grave to leave any doubt as to the near approach of death.
It came on Tuesday, the 22d of January, at half past six
o'clock in the evening, the dying Queen being then surrounded
by a large number of her many children, grandchildren and
great grandchildren, whom she recognized, it is said, within a
few moments of the end. The eldest of the Queen's children,
the Empress Frederick, was kept from her mother's side a this
last hour by serious illness of her own; but the Emperor
William, of Germany (son of the Empress Frederick and eldest
grandson of Queen Victoria) had hastened to the scene and
showed a filial affection which touched English hearts.

On Friday, the first day of February, the remains of the Queen

were borne from the island where she died to Portsmouth, between
long lines of battle-ships and cruisers—British, German,
French, Italian, Japanese, Belgian and Portuguese. The scene
of the funeral voyage was impressively described by a
correspondent of the New York "Sun," as follows: "Nature was
never kindlier. The smiling waters of the Solent were as calm
as on a summer's morning. It was 'Queen's weather' to the very
last. The cavalcade which wended slowly through the narrow
lane, green even in midwinter, down through the streets of the
little town of Cowes to the Trinity pier was a funeral
procession such as the world had never seen before. Kings and
princes, a Queen and princesses, walked humbly between black
lines of mourning islanders, escorting the coffin of the dead
sovereign. Then followed a sight far more notable and more
impressive, indeed, than the great tribute the great capital
of the empire will pay to-morrow. It was the transit of the
funeral yacht across the waters between lines of steel which
are England's bulwarks against the world. Battleship after
battleship thundered its grief, band after band wailed its
dirge and crew after crew bowed low their heads as the pigmy
yacht swept past, bearing no passengers save an admiral on the
bridge and four red-coated guards at the corners of the
simple, glowing white bier resting amidships. It was a picture
neither a painter's brush nor an orator's eloquence could
reproduce. … The boat slowly glided on in the mellow light of
the afternoon sun, herself almost golden in hue, sharply
contrasting with the black warships. The ears also were
assailed in strange contrast, the sad strains of Beethoven's
funeral march floating over the water being punctuated by the
roar of minute guns from each ship. Somehow it was not
incongruous and one felt that it was all a great and majestic
tribute to a reign which was an era and to a sovereign to whom
the world pays its highest honors."

On the following day the remains were conveyed by railway from

Portsmouth to London, carried in solemn procession through the
streets of the capital, and thence by railway to Windsor,
where the last rites were performed on Monday, the 4th. The
Queen was then laid to rest, by the side of her husband, in
the mausoleum which she had built at Frogmore.

Of the sincerity with which Queen Victoria had been loved by

her own people and respected and admired by the world at
large, and of the genuineness of sorrow that was manifested
 everywhere at her death, there can be no doubt. To the
impressiveness of the ending of an unexampled period of
history there was added a true sense of loss, from the
disappearance of a greatly important personage, whose high
example had been pure and whose large influence had been good.

Among all the tributes to the Queen that were called out by
her death none seem so significant and so fully drawn from
knowledge of what she was in her regal character, as the words
that were spoken by Lord Salisbury in the House of Lords, at
the meeting of Parliament on the Friday following her death.
"My lords." he said, "the late Queen had so many titles to our
admiration that it would occupy an enormous time to glance at
them even perfunctorily; but that on which I think your
lordships should most reflect, and which will chiefly attach
to her character in history, is that, being a constitutional
monarch with restricted powers, she reigned by sheer force of
character, by the lovableness of her disposition, over the
hearts of her subjects, and exercised an influence in moulding
their character and destiny which she could not have done more
if she had bad the most despotic power. She has been a great
instance of government by example, by esteem, by love; and it
will never be forgotten how much she has done for the
elevation of her people, not by the exercise of any
prerogative, not by the giving of any commands, but by the
simple recognition and contemplation of the brilliant
qualities which she has exhibited in her exalted position. My
lords, it may be, perhaps, proper that those who, like noble
lords opposite and myself, have had the opportunity of seeing
the close workings of her character in the discharge of her
duties as Sovereign, should take this opportunity of
testifying to the great admiration she inspired and the great
force which her distinguishing characteristics exercised over
all who came near her.
{214}
The position of a Constitutional Sovereign is not an easy one.
Duties have to be reconciled which sometimes seem far apart.