The Wholeness of the Holy Trinity

     After our discussion on Tuesday, I found myself thinking a lot about our conversation’s tendency to expose (or at least, propel discussion towards) questions relating to the origins and explanations of the holy trinity. The phrase “father, son, and holy spirit” is said again and again during sermons and within religious texts, but when we started talking about the representations in medieval art and more concrete explanations of the differences between each figure I found myself a bit mystified. I had never really considered much about the trinity beyond its simple existence and accepted it, particularly with the idea of the holy spirit.

One of the texts that I found to be helpful in reconsidering and tracing back this idea was from Three-in-one. Prof. Brown speaks of the twelfth-century movement towards “Christ in his humanity with its corresponding focus, liturgically, on the body and blood of the Mass, and, meditatively, on the compassionate imitation of the sufferings of Mary and Her Son” (470). Of course, the focus here is on the “son” part of the Trinity. But, I almost feel as though if you asked any church-goer who or what they worship in church and they would say God, not necessarily the Son, not necessarily Jesus. It has been a while since I have gone to church so pardon if this is untrue, but it is at least what my answer would be. There seems to be a multi-century discussion around the distinctions between the figures in the trinity, this is even something we discussed in class but left without reaching a conclusion. In part, my guess is that this confusion and acceptance of the unknown is a big part of faith. “Arcane, if at times overheated, quarrels with the Greeks over the procession of the Holy Spirit; abstruse, if not necessarily heretical, efforts to distinguish grammatically the concrete individuality of God from the abstract quality of his divinity” etc etc. It is by nature that these questions arise with such a topic as the trinity. In class, we discussed an issue that arose in trying to get to the bottom of these questions – in dividing the trinity and searching for spiritual, grounded attributes in each of its three parts, how does it not lose its supremacy? The seems that the trinity can only work and be the strongest when it is still considered one unified grouping. If there is one creator, things still stand. If there are actually more than one creator, what does faith stand on?

I found that the pictures and illuminations we looked at in class only furthered this issue and made it more confusing. In one image, Jesus reigns in the darkness, on a throne, with rivers coming out of it. In another, there are creatures beyond the earthly realm – snakes, the sun, the moon, the stars. In yet another, a depiction of creation seemed to at one point contain two figures, but at another point one of the figures was removed and painted over with pink. None of this necessarily negates the existence of the trinity or completely conflates one thing with another, but the representations are increasingly puzzling. The Lord being depicted on a throne seems to denote supremacy, the creatures seem to reflect a structure of cosmic creation, and the removed figures point towards some kind of pre-existing duality in creation, rather than a singular creator. What do medieval Christians make of this? And how? I looked towards St. Anselm for an answer. “When I reflected that this consisted in a connected chain of many arguments, I began to ask myself if it would be possible to find one single argument, needing no other proof than itself, to prove that God really exists, that he is the highest good, needing nothing, that it is he whom all things need for their being and well-being, and to prove whatever else we believe about the nature of God” (238). A big question, if you ask me. As St. Anselm begins to discuss this problem, much of his focus turns towards seeing God. “Lord, you are my Lord and my God, / and I have never seen you” and “and still I do not know you. / I was created to see you, . and I have not yet accomplished that for which I was made” (239-240). Even literal saints from the twelfth century struggle with believing in the trinity and not having the ability to see God, but it seems as though the question has shifted to if seeing God alone is possible, or is God unable to be seen as separate from the trinity. If he is, does that mean there are three Gods, as Roscelin of Compiegne posited? (Brown, 474). Or does the trinity cease to exist when God is seen and separated from his son and the holy spirit?

So, where do we go from there? How can the trinity be thought of without losing all sense of what is established in the church? My discussion rests in the words of Sayers in The Mind of the Maker. To her, the trinity is much less concrete than past doctrines might suggest. Sayers and Anselm do seem to agree that God (and the trinity) is mysterious by nature or on purpose, and part of faith is continuing to ask questions while holding belief to still be true. She cites how a Trinitarian structure actually works quite well and almost solves the questions that some say it poses. The example she uses is from St. Augustine of Hippo – “There is a trinity of sight, for example: the form seen, the act of vision, and the mental attention with correlates the two. These three, though separable in theory, are inseparable present whenever you use your sight” (46). This poses a wonderful anecdote to the confusion and turmoil spoken of by previous scholars and religious figures, though it is not in any way a final answer. I have found that considering the question of the trinity and the methods of investigation provided in its discussion has resulted in a really fruitful way to wrapping my head around the unanswerable questions of theology.

- CRC