The book tackles a specific, perhaps often-overlooked, part of what's traditionally known as the problem of evil. While philosophical theology often grapples with why a perfectly good, all-powerful God would allow suffering and evil at all – that's the standard 'problem of evil' – Stump focuses on what she calls the 'problem of mourning'. Imagine, if you will, that we could somehow explain why God permits suffering (a theodicy) and understand how atonement works to fix things. Even if all that is true, the problem of mourning asks: wouldn't the whole situation – the creation, the Fall into sin, and all the suffering that followed – still be something to lament? Wouldn't it be a regrettable deviation from God's original, supposedly perfect, plan? Surprisingly, the Christian tradition often takes a very different, bold stance on this. It suggests that the world _with_ the Fall and suffering, is actually _more glorious_ or a greater success for God than a world without the Fall would have been. This position is often referred to as the 'felix culpa' view, using an old term meaning 'happy fault'. It's a view that doesn't necessarily endorse the idea that suffering itself has intrinsic value or that people should seek it out, but rather that the post-Fall world and the lives within it (especially those in grace) are somehow better off _because_ of the suffering and evil introduced by the Fall. Now, isn't that a perplexing idea? It makes you wonder, how could something so awful lead to something better?. To understand this audacious felix culpa view, the book argues, we need to get a handle on a fundamental idea: the nature of the 'true self' of a human person. If, as the felix culpa view suggests, human beings can be made more glorious _through_ suffering, what exactly _is_ that 'self' that is being perfected or made glorious?. Think about what is said to survive death and be perfected in heaven on Christian doctrine. It's often described as a resurrected, embodied human being. Stump proposes that the 'true self' isn't some separate, disembodied soul or spirit, but rather an _emergent condition_ of a human person. This condition arises when a person is _thriving_ and when their deepest _heart's desires_ are being fulfilled _in convergence with_ that thriving. This idea of the true self has two parts: an objective part, which is the same for all people, and a subjective part, which varies from person to person. On Christian doctrine, that objective part – human thriving – is deeply _relational_, with a relationship with God being central to it. This resonates with the famous idea that humans are made for God and restless until they find rest in Him. The subjective part means that while thriving involves union with God, the specifics of a person's fulfilled desires will be unique to them. For instance, for someone with a disability, their disability might be woven into the fabric of their life and desires in such a way that it's part of their unique true self, unlike someone else for whom that wouldn't be the case. This brings up an interesting question: how do our experiences and characteristics, even challenging ones like disabilities, shape who we truly are?. The notion of the true self is closely linked to the theological claim that human beings are made in the 'image of God'. If we are images of a perfectly good God, what does it mean for that image to be "marred" by sin and "perfected"?. Since an image must resemble the original in some way, understanding the image of God in humans requires reflecting on the nature of God. Christian doctrine teaches that God is one deity but three persons (the Trinity). This offers multiple ways to think about how humans are in God's image. We might resemble God's singular divine _nature_. Or, we might resemble the three persons of the Trinity in their loving interaction. But there's a third powerful way, especially relevant to the felix culpa view: resembling the _incarnate Christ_, in whom God is manifest, particularly in his suffering and death. The New Testament highlights God's nature as love ("God is love"), and Christ's act of laying down his life is presented as the greatest love. If God's nature (love) is most evident in Christ's crucifixion, and if suffering can somehow connect human wounds to that love, then perhaps human suffering can intensify the image of God in a person. This suggests that someone with the "wounds" of their post-Fall existence might be _more_ in the image of God, and thus _more_ their true self, than they would have been without the Fall and suffering. What an idea! It challenges our usual assumptions about what perfection looks like. Exploring this perfection of the true self, particularly through the lens of Thomas Aquinas, reveals some interesting tensions. On one reading of Aquinas, human perfection in heaven seems to consist primarily in the solitary intellectual contemplation of God's essence. This interpretation raises problems because it seems individualistic, intellectual-focused, and potentially impersonal, perhaps resembling Aristotle's self-contemplating unmoved mover more than the relational God of Christian doctrine. However, another interpretation of Aquinas, also supported by his texts, emphasizes human perfection as a _personal, relational union_ with God, resembling human friendship and involving mutual indwelling. This view aligns better with the Trinitarian nature of God, where relationship is central to God's very being. The puzzle is how these two seemingly disparate views from Aquinas can coexist. The solution, the book suggests, lies in the doctrine of the Trinity itself. God is both the singular divine _essence_ (pure being, truth, goodness) and three _persons_ united in mutual love. So, the perfection of the image of God in humans, and thus the perfection of the true self, involves both seeing the divine essence _and_ being united in love with the divine persons. This union with the Trinity also unites human beings with each other, adding a social dimension to perfection, though the perfection itself doesn't depend on human society. This melded interpretation allows for a philosophically robust account of human nature created in God's image. It makes you think about the different facets of connection – both intellectual apprehension and loving relationship – and how they might both be part of ultimate fulfillment. Understanding human thriving, part of the true self, also involves looking at the nature of worship. Common characterizations of worship often include awe at God's greatness and a sense of God's distance. But if God is so great and distant, how can a human person be in a close, loving union with God?. This puzzle leads to a crucial distinction between _submission_ and _surrender_. Submission to God can stem from focusing on God's power and authority, leading to a sense of distance and perhaps even self-alienation. The character of Bulstrode in George Eliot's _Middlemarch_ serves as a vivid illustration of someone ruined by an attitude of submission to a seemingly distant, inscrutable God, whose will he tries to discern from worldly "providences" rather than moral reasoning. Such submission can lead to a loss of the true self. Surrender, by contrast, is motivated by a desire for the person one is surrendering to. When rooted in recognizing God's _goodness_ and _worthiness_, surrender leads not to being overwhelmed or alienated, but to the joy of union in love. This union means two become one without ceasing to be two. Surrendering to the true God, whose greatness lies in goodness, allows a person to flourish in their true self, having both thriving and fulfilled heart's desires in union with a worthy deity. This highlights the critical importance of _what_ or _who_ we orient ourselves towards – is it a power we must submit to, or a goodness we are drawn to surrender to in love?. Since the image of God is perfected by resembling God's love, and God's love is most powerfully shown in Christ's passion (his suffering, death, resurrection, and ascension), understanding this divine love is crucial for evaluating the felix culpa view. But how do we understand the love of a divine person? Not just through abstract concepts, but through _stories_. Stories, especially narratives about persons, can convey a kind of non-propositional knowledge, a deep insight into who someone is. Biblical narratives, understood as divine revelation, offer stories about God. The story of Christ's passion is identified as the narrative best manifesting God's love. This composite narrative, drawn from the Gospels, shows Christ's radical vulnerability in taking on human nature and enduring crucifixion, bearing human sin. On Christian tradition, Christ, as the suffering servant, was uniquely afflicted and disfigured psychically by bearing human evil. This leads to a paradox: in his passion, the image of God in Christ's human nature is both most _disfigured_ by bearing evil and most _fulfilled_ by manifesting God's love in the most intense way. This echoes the idea that losing one's life for Christ's sake is how one saves it, prioritizing the true self over worldly gain. The defense of the felix culpa view relies on showing how human beings can mirror this complex, suffering love of God, thereby magnifying the image of God in themselves. The post-Fall world, with its suffering, provides opportunities for this mirroring that wouldn't exist in a world without suffering. Suffering, in this context, can be seen as medicinal, helping a person surrender to God or deepen their union with God. The stories of individuals like Mary Magdalene and Peter, who suffered alongside Christ and responded with profound love, are used to illustrate how suffering can lead to a more glorious true self, mirroring Christ's love. Their deep love for Christ, intensified by their suffering and his response, makes their true selves more glorious than they would have been without these experiences. The plausibility of these stories supports the felix culpa view. Ultimately, the book constructs a defense for the felix culpa view by weaving together the understanding of the true self (as thriving in union with God and fulfilling the image of God) and the story of God's love revealed in Christ's suffering passion. It argues that in a possible world consistent with Christian doctrine, a post-Fall human person _can_ be more their true self, more glorious, _because_ the suffering allows them to mirror the specific, intense manifestation of God's love seen in Christ's suffering. The defense shows that even with suffering, persons can reach a state where they wouldn't wish things had been otherwise for them because of the profound love and union experienced. This whole discussion also offers a perspective on things like disability. From the perspective of the true self and the felix culpa view, a disability isn't intrinsically good or bad; its value depends on how it contributes to or detracts from a person being their true self. If someone integrates their disability into their life in such a way that, in the end, they wouldn't wish God had done otherwise, then that disability becomes part of what makes their life worthy of celebration. This challenges common societal views and encourages us to look at individual lives in their full, complex reality. So, Eleonore Stump's "The Image of God" is a detailed and thought-provoking exploration of why, on Christian doctrine, the story of creation might not be a disappointment despite the Fall and suffering. It does this by examining the nature of the human self, its perfection as the image of God, the relational core of human thriving, the crucial difference between submission and surrender in relation to God, and how suffering can uniquely enable human beings to mirror the intense love of God revealed in Christ's passion. It uses philosophical analysis alongside narrative to build its case, offering a compelling vision of glory found not in the absence of wounds, but in the love that can transform them. There are so many avenues for further thought here! You might ponder: - How does this concept of the "true self" compare to other philosophical or psychological understandings of identity? - Can the distinction between submission and surrender be applied usefully to other types of relationships besides the one with God? - What specific elements in the stories of individuals like Mary Magdalene and Peter illustrate the mirroring of Christ's suffering love, and how convincing are these examples? - How does the medieval understanding of divine revelation, prioritizing accessibility over historical-critical expertise, fit with contemporary views of biblical interpretation?. - If suffering can contribute to a "more glorious" true self, how should individuals and communities approach suffering – is there a danger of romanticizing or accepting suffering too readily?