Overall, I believe that the book, like many other titles from Poythress, is deceptively simple. There’s much richness there for readers who slow down. But for those who don’t, the size of the book shouldn’t be intimidating. Accessibility has always been a hallmark of his theology (along with that of John Frame), and that’s the case here, even when scaling the walls of Aristotelian metaphysics or Thomas Aquinas’s systematic theology.
Some books are worth a slow and prayerful read. I’ve studied the work of Vern Poythress for years, and I’ve spent countless hours in his office, talking about Kenneth Pike and the Trinity. He’s become a friend whose footsteps I follow in for my own approach to theological issues. But I didn’t quite know how to respond when Sinclair Ferguson in the foreword of The Mystery of the Trinity refers to the book as Poythress’s magnum opus. Having read through it, though, I’m starting to agree. This book makes a unique contribution to the ongoing discussions about the nature of God and his relation to the world. Readers will find not only the trinitarian, perspectival approach that’s come to characterize Poythress’s work, but also a spirit of humility, circumspection, and respect for opposing views. These features combine to make the book both insightful and refreshingly Christ-like. It’s a book written in love for the truth, in service to the God who is truth (John 14:6).
The Mystery of the Trinity also brings out two central touchpoints for theology: (1) the doctrine of the Trinity (one God in three distinct persons) and (2) the resurrection of Christ. The former is at the heart of God’s identity; the latter lies at the center of redemptive history. Surely, these are two touchpoints worth our meditation.
Overall, I believe that the book, like many other titles from Poythress, is deceptively simple. There’s much richness there for readers who slow down. But for those who don’t, the size of the book shouldn’t be intimidating. Accessibility has always been a hallmark of his theology (along with that of John Frame), and that’s the case here, even when scaling the walls of Aristotelian metaphysics or Thomas Aquinas’s systematic theology.
As I usually do with book reviews, let me set out what I loved about the book, including my favorite quotes. Then I’ll add some notes about what readers might critique, and then end with my recommendation.
What I Loved
What I’ve found so helpful about multiperspectivalism is the user’s ability to see things from different angles, thus viewing more of the truth than otherwise might be possible. This was true in this book when it comes to tricky topics such as anthropomorphic descriptions of God (chaps. 14-15). But it’s also true when you encounter the material about the relationship between God and language (chaps. 13-18), which is, of course, my favorite area. I’ve done much reading and writing on the linguist that Vern Poythress studied under, the one who first suggested that language had a trinitarian structure: Kenneth Pike (I wrote a two-part article on Pike: Part 1 and Part 2, as well as a book linking his language theory to a Reformed doctrine of the Trinity). Since telling you everything I loved about the book would take up too much space, let me just focus on the language piece and how it can help us in discussions on the nature of God.
We don’t think about language too much in our typical daily activities, but there’s something pivotal about the nature of language that we can’t miss. Language reflects the Trinity, in several ways, but here’s one way that will immediately expand your perspective on what we’re even doing when we talk about God (or anything else, for that matter): contrast, variation, and distribution. I call this the CVD triad. It sounds complex, but it’s not. To keep things simple, I’ll focus on words.
All words have contrast, variation, and distribution. First, every word has a meaning that contrasts with other word meanings. The word “book” has a distinct meaning, something that separates it from other words. It is not the same as “page” or “letter” or “note.” Second, every word also has variation, different ways of showing up in the world. While the word “book” is the same in the following two verses, the meaning is different, isn’t it? “This is the book of the generations of Adam. When God created man, he made him in the likeness of God” (Gen. 5:1). “The one who conquers will be clothed thus in white garments, and I will never blot his name out of the book of life” (Rev. 3:5). The same word shows up in different ways in the world, and those different ways show the various shades of meaning that the word can take. Third, every word has distribution or context. In other words, it occurs in a setting that shapes it’s meaning, and all of the settings are related, though often in ways only God can see. God, for instance, knows exactly what is added to the meaning of the word “book” when it occurs in Rev. 3:5, long after Gen. 5:1 was written. Contrast, variation, and distribution are also analogically related to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit respectively. (see The Mystery of the Trinity, pp. 112-116).
Now, why does this matter? Why focus on the nature of language in a book about the nature of God? The short answer is that we express what we think of God through language. If we don’t know something about the nature of language, we don’t know much about what we’re really saying (or could be saying) when we utter words about God. Take the word “transcendent,” for example. When we say that God is transcendent, we usually mean that he is high above us, beyond the confines of our thought. But we seldom pause to think about the CVD elements of this word. Note how much mystery emerges when we do.
