From a friend of a friend I was recently introduced to the idea that Time might be conceived of as a delta. Our individual streams flow, sometimes slowly and sometimes quickly, winding. We cross with the streams of those around us, at times touching, mingling, exchanging; others we pass by, never to wander near again. We meet, and we depart. We experience, and remember. Even if we forget, that does not change the fact that it happened. If nothing else there is progress, that continuum of irreversible change.
That change and not substance is the chief observable data of the universe seems to lie at the core of such process philosophies. These I know little about, and process theology I have only interacted with briefly and on occasion. The latter seems objectionable on both epistemological and biblical grounds, but I can, of course, see the appeal. If God not only affects but also is affected by temporal processes, then God is dynamic and responsive. Not “is” but “becoming.” God does not rule with a rigid and coercive, deterministic fiat; being the “fellow sufferer who understands” he persuades with love. The creaturely will is respected, and evil is not an inexplicable failure in a God’s plan but the consequence of genuine freedom.
The objections are many. Such a God is metaphysically weak; too weak to exist in himself, to create properly or know exhaustively, to ground any normativity, or to provide eschatological hope. The God of Whitehead and other process philosophers seems to trade divine simplicity and glory for modern intelligibility. But specific objections aside, it seems to me that classical theism has all the resources to understand God as impassible and omnipotent and yet—or, indeed—dynamic and responsive. God’s eternal, living existence is the infinite act of triune love. In this God is unchanging in his infinite wisdom and compassion. He is never static and cold but always dynamic and overflowing with love, and all this is exhibited in his creation and providence. And God is responsive: he makes promises and binds himself to them; he remembers and forgets; he rejoices and regrets. These are not mere anthropomorphisms to be explained away with a nervous chuckle. But in his maximal simplicity and utter freedom he wills and takes on such change of his own accord. He does not undergo but enters into change; the source of all change is the Creator, not his creatures.
And these truths are exhibited most gloriously in Incarnation. Looking toward the joy set before him, Christ Jesus emptied himself of his own accord. For the Son freely took upon himself human nature, a mode of existence characterized by genuine temporality, real “becoming,” undergoing true occasions. In the world he created, God became man and experienced joy, surprise, and pain, worry, and grief as we do. And these he conquered for our sake. Then in this ultimate, free kenosis the divine stream pours out across the delta, bursting forth in the spotless lucidity, vibrant and full of life. It cuts its way through our own streams yet remains unpolluted by their foulness. But abundantly and eagerly it purifies and gives us new life.