In an essay by Norris Clarke called A New Look at the Immutability of God, he writes that in the traditional view mutability “necessarily involves imperfection.” However, “what if change is a perfection? In other words, what if it can be construed in such a way that there is something analogous to perfect change in God?”
Recall that the analogy of being means that our similarities to God are always dwarfed by the dissimilarities, since he is infinite and we’re not. So we can say that everything and anything is a more or less distant reflection of the Creator, but we cannot turn this around and say that God is limited by these analogies, for this would merely be a projection of our own finite categories.
As per Axiom 12 of cosmotheandrism, the deeper point is that since the Theos is not only a person but a relationship of persons — and therefore dynamically interpersonal — this cannot imply “the unqualified immutability in all domains which seems to have been the ideal of the classical Greek mind” — as if God is analogous to a static object. Rather,
the immutability which must be affirmed of God is the unchanging, indefectible steadfastness of an infinite plenitude of goodness and loving benevolence, but a benevolence which also expresses itself in a process, a progressive unfolding of mutual interpersonal relationships, spread out in real temporal succession at our receiving end... in terms of which he is truly related to us....
Similarly, in The Philosophical Approach to God Clarke writes that our Theos Principle is at once “surpassed by no other,” and “yet constantly surpassing Himself, as He both gives and receives” -- both to and from the world. This divine receptivity “is not at all an imperfection, but precisely a dimension of the perfection of personal being” — not from the imperfect to perfect, but rather, from perfection to perfection, and why not?
The Wild Godhead & Prime Matter
Below us is a quantum field of pure potency — the sheer, formless capacity to receive form. It is the absolute bottom, or last stop, of manifestation, or rather, where the bottom shades off into nothingness, or being to nonbeing. Beyond this lower limit of the Cosmos “we are unable to probe, for there we are at the very edge of being where it is bounded by non-being or nothing” (Torrance). This is the liminal boundary at which the Ray of Creation goes dark, but, looked at in the other direction, where it must be “coordinated with the level or levels ‘above’ it, for it needs to be completed beyond itself.” In other words, this is the junction between Being, Non-Being, and Beyond-Being.
Night time in the switching yard.
Correct: where The midnight train runs both ways (Warren Zevon). Which is also why Everybody loves the sound of a train in the distance (Paul Simon), because who knows where it’s headed? All I know is that if they freed me from this prison of finitude — if that railroad track were mine — I reckon I’d ride it all the way up to Celestial Central and let it blow my blues away.
Now, this uncanny lower horizon is the way it is because it is a distant echo of the uncannier way God is, not vice versa.
Above us, at the transcendent pole, is the Wild Godhead, which too is susceptible to receiving form, for example, in the metaphysics of Vedanta, wherein there is Nirguna Brahman (God beyond form) and Saguna Brahman (with form). However, in our cosmotheandric framework, the beyond-being pole of the Godhead is the very principle of eternal creativity — i.e., Infinitude. This latter is the source and ground of all formal manifestation: it never stops creating, but can never be contained by any of its formal manifestations. One might say that the northern switching yard is where Beyond Being becomes Being, whereas at the southern end it switches from Being to Non-Being.
As we know, in the beginning is the formless chaos and darkness over which the Spirit of God hovers. That right there — “Spirit of God” — tells us that there must be more to God than an absolute monadic oneness, to say nothing of the fact that there’s a lot of speaking going on in Genesis 1, and speaking is always from and to.
Later we are told that In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and that this same word is with & even withinus, implying that the tracks of this relational With go all the way up and down. This being the case, we should find traces of relationality everywhere and in every thing — and this is indeed exactly what we do find.
Now, some will say that this is no longer natural theology at all, since it has become contaminated by supernatural revelation. To which we would reiterate that nature is already supernatural, unless you’re just not paying attention: natural and supernatural always and everywhere constitute a benign complementarity, not a vicious dualism.
Again, hints are everywhere, and revelation provides the reason why the hints are here to begin with. Through purely natural theology we are indeed able to reason our way up to the Absolute, but revelation, among other things, tells us why the ascent is even possible.
The most merely natural form of ascent is described by Plotinus (or Buddha or Shankara in the East), who ascends to the point of total absorption into, and union with, the One. Thus Plotinus can ascend to O, but in so doing must leave Plotinus behind and below: “To approach the origin, we must abandon discursive thought, which means that philosophy comes to an end just at the moment it attains its end” (Leithart).
D’oh!
It seems that once Plotinus ascended to the One, he no longer had skin in the existential game. And as it so happens, Plotinus detested his own skin, and quite literally. His crony Porphyry said that he appeared “ashamed to have a body,” and “So deeply rooted was this feeling that he could never be induced to tell of his ancestry, his parentage, or his birthplace.” Nor did he even want “to sit for a painter or a sculptor, and when Amelius persisted in urging him to allow of a portrait being made he asked him, ‘Is it not enough to carry about this image in which nature has enclosed us?’”
Probably the most unlikely and even repellant concept Plotinus could imagine would be the idea of the One embarking on the midnight train in the opposite direction and willingly enclosing himself in an anthropoid matter balloon. How could God himself miss the whole point of existence, which is to escape it?
Above we alluded to the contamination of pure metaphysics by Christianity, but what if, somewhere along the line, pure Christianity has been contaminated by the metaphysics of Greece? Plotinus’ One is radically simple, meaning it can have no parts or distinctions whatsoever: it is timeless, immutable, immobile, unrelated, utterly self-sufficient, and certainly doesn’t give a fig about anything outside itself.
Canards off the table: of course God changes, except we again have to stop thinking of change as a privation, rather, as an eminent perfection. For cosmotheandrism this would be the whole point of the revelation of the Trinity, and once revealed to us, we must take it back to the metaphysics lab and rethink our existential situation from the ground up.
For in the words of Bishop Robert Barron: “the perfect, unchanging God of whom Thomas speaks must be a gyroscope of energy and activity and at the same time a stable rock” — which is to say, a dynamic activity of interpersonal substance-in-relation (Axiom 11).
Which comes close but may not be quite radical enough for what we are proposing. Leithart writes that “To say there are processions is to say that there is something analogous to ‘movement’ within the Godhead, a ‘whither’ and a ‘whence.’” Movement is movement, and besides, who decided that the ultimate Principle must be Big Noun instead of Big Verb? Why not both, or both/and? Maybe we’re a bit naïve, but in the Bible there is a whole lotta doing on the part of God, and one need hardly be a biblical literalist to see that any such actions cannot easily be reconciled with a simple, static, timeless, immutable, and unrelated God. Why assume all of these characteristics, especially after the revelation of the triune Godhead?
Note that such a trinitarian perspective reconciles what is otherwise an insoluble mystery, for God must be something like perfect change, while we are imperfect change. God is the “ever-actual event,” and this lively eventfulness is the foundation of “the possibility of all creaturely becoming.” Thus “There is a source in God’s own life for the created distinction between potency and actuality, between action and contemplation, between male and female…” (Leithart).
Eno… inawa… shyo.
Correct: roughly translated, this means that for cosmotheandrsim, This immutable God… This is not my kinda God.
But we have company on the train, because Balthasar, for example, “argues that the becoming which is intrinsic to temporality points to an analogous becoming intrinsic to eternity.” As alluded to above with respect to the endless cranking out of masterpieces, there is a divine movement “from act to act, from fullness to fullness.” So perhaps one may even “speak of a supra-time and space within God in a way which makes accessible the notion of an ‘ever-greater’ God who, within his immutability, can ‘become’ eternally” (O’Hanlon).
I don’t care what others say, and besides, they don’t listen anyway. But time has come today!
Yes — straight into the heart chambers of the Theos, for “the fullness of eternity is not that of an immobile full stop,” rather, “the ‘ever-now’ refers to the ‘ever-more’ or ‘ever-greater’ within the divine eternity,” recalling what we have already said about Being as Beyond Being and God’s capacity for surprise, which is simply “the lively, ever-new, eventful aspect of eternity.” This is far from a privation, rather, it means that if God is missing out on these ever new surprises, then, well, let’s just say He’s missing out on a damn good thing.









