Today I'm again revisiting my "theology of everything" series from last October.
You'll recall in that series how I described the human predicament as both ontological and hamartiological. (Hamartiology is the fancy word for our theology of sin.) Protestant soteriologies have tended to focus upon hamartiology (sin). Patristic theology has tended to focus upon ontology (death). Both, though, are critical, two sides of the same coin.
This contrast between hamartiology and ontology was brought to my attention again when I revisited Athanasius' On the Incarnation during Christmastide.
Again, as I described in my "theology of everything" series, when created being severed its ontological connection with God it began to slide into non-existence. I called this "the ontological drop," how created being suffers finitude and contingency. Separated from God we move toward non-being and begin to pass out of existence. Here is Athanasius describing this drift:
Man, who was created in God’s image and in his possession of reason reflected the very Word Himself, was disappearing, and the work of God was being undone. The law of death, which followed from the Transgression, prevailed upon us, and from it there was no escape. The thing that was happening was in truth both monstrous and unfitting. It would, of course, have been unthinkable that God should go back upon His word and that man, having transgressed, should not die; but it was equally monstrous that beings which once had shared the nature of the Word should perish and turn back again into non-existence through corruption.
Created being was "disappearing" and turning "back again into non-existence." Seeing our slide into non-being, God acts to rescue creation. And here, in describing God's response, Athanasius makes a contrast between hamartiology and ontology. Specifically, Athanasius makes the point that while human repentance might address our hamartiological predicament, in getting us to stop sinning, it would do nothing to address our suffering of non-being. Here is Athanasius making the point, that repentance cannot address our ontological crisis:
What, then, was God to do? Was He to demand repentance from men for their transgression? You might say that that was worthy of God, and argue further that, as through the Transgression they became subject to corruption, so through repentance they might return to incorruption again. But repentance would not guard the Divine consistency, for, if death did not hold dominion over men, God would still remain untrue. Nor does repentance recall men from what is according to their nature; all that it does is to make them cease from sinning. Had it been a case of a trespass only, and not of a subsequent corruption, repentance would have been well enough; but when once transgression had begun men came under the power of the corruption proper to their nature and were bereft of the grace which belonged to them as creatures in the Image of God. No, repentance could not meet the case.
Repentance would cause us to "cease sinning." And if our situation was wholly hamartiological this would "have been well enough." But since our predicament is also ontological, repentance "could not meet the case" of our slide into non-existence.
Given this situation, God must establish an ontological connection with created being. And God does this through the Incarnation. Notice here a point I underlined in my "theology of everything" series, how everything that exists has an ontological relation with the Word. Everything that exists is held in being by the Word. As Athanasius says, "no part of creation had ever been without him" because the Word "fills all things that are." What happens in the Incarnation is a connection that happens "in a new way," a way that connects corruptible, finite, and contingent being with God's vivifying power and life. I've described the Incarnation as "the ontological bridge," the path created being must cross if it is to be saved from the encroachment of non-being. Here is Athanasius on the ontological aspects of the Incarnation:
For this purpose, then, the incorporeal and incorruptible and immaterial Word of God entered our world. In one sense, indeed, He was not far from it before, for no part of creation had ever been without Him Who, while ever abiding in union with the Father, yet fills all things that are. But now He entered the world in a new way, stooping to our level in His love and Self-revealing to us...Thus, taking a body like our own, because all our bodies were liable to the corruption of death, He surrendered His body to death instead of all, and offered it to the Father. This He did out of sheer love for us, so that in His death all might die, and the law of death thereby be abolished because, having fulfilled in His body that for which it was appointed, it was thereafter voided of its power for men. This He did that He might turn again to incorruption men who had turned back to corruption, and make them alive through death by the appropriation of His body and by the grace of His resurrection. Thus He would make death to disappear from them as utterly as straw from fire.
Drawing attention back to the point I made in my "theology of everything" series. Our separation from God is both both ontological and hamartiological. And given the dual nature of our fall, repentance is not enough. Repentance can stop us from sinning, but repentance does nothing to address our vulnerability to death.
More simply stated: Salvation cannot be reduced to ethics.
"I've described the Incarnation as 'the ontological bridge,' the path created being must cross" to be saved.
It would be instructive to know whether Kierkegaard's position on the Incarnation fits or contradicts your understanding of the "bridge" metaphor. Kierkegaard would have insisted that human understanding cannot understand the metaphor, as the Incarnation is an absolute Paradox. And, "Everyone who understands the Paradox differently may keep the honor of having explained it, which honor he won by not being content to understand it."
What we can understand is our need for a bridge that precisely fits what the Cross offers. This blog and several of your books have done a wonderful job of detailing that fit. Kierkegaard's status as the first existentialist philosopher is a product of his theological project being to detail our existential predicament, and his metaphor for that project was a dance in which his "partner [was] the thought of Death."
Persons who have not read your blog for almost 18 years (or read Kierkegaard, or Becker, etc.) will not understand how rich that metaphor is on the one hand, or how precisely the Cross corresponds to our existential situation on the other.
What I want to ask is whether you are a Platonist in your approach to theology, which is to say, do you agree with Kierkegaard's view that our lives are occasions to learn that we are in "Error" relative to our existential predicament.
I do share the paradox of Kierkegaard's learned fideism as an approach to theology, and for a crucial reason. Our existential predicament defines the Cross as our salvation, but it cannot save us unless it transcends our predicament.
So, just wondering whether you think "Reason" can do more.
(Quotes from David F. Swenson's 1936 translation of Philosophical Fragments.)
Title: The Weight of Loss
Yvon Roustan ©
In the shadow of a fading light,
Where once was reason, now takes flight,
A whisper of the Word, once whole,
Hangs heavy with the weight of the soul.
The law of death, a shroud that binds,
With every breath, the darkness finds.
A fragile thread, creation’s cost,
In every heartbeat, something lost.
What hand will reach through time’s cruel tide,
To lift the veil where sorrow hides?
The echo of a promise fades,
As memories, like whispers, wade.
Shall God demand a change of heart,
To mend the world that's torn apart?
But can the clay restore its form,
When deep within, the shadows swarm?
For every sin, a thread unwound,
A tapestry of grief unbound.
Is there a way to break the chain,
To rise anew, to heal the pain?
The gift of grace, a light bestowed,
To guide the wanderer on the road.
But what of those who drift and sway,
Lost in the darkness, far away?
In every heart, the question stirs,
What price for love, what grace endures?
Was it enough to merely plead,
When hope lies buried in the seed?
Yet in the silence, faint and clear,
A truth emerges, drawing near.
For in the depths of deepest night,
There burns a flame that sparks the light.
The incorporeal Word descends,
A balm for wounds that never mend.
Through flesh and spirit, intertwined,
A whispered promise, love defined.
Then fear not, though shadows may loom,
For the dawn shall pierce the pall of gloom.
From ashes rise, let grief release,
In loss, we find our path to peace.
*************^*******************
Explanation:
The poem "The Weight of Loss" delves into the themes of creation, transgression, and redemption, exploring the intricate relationship between humanity and divine promise. Each stanza presents a philosophical reflection on the struggles of existence, the permanence of loss, and the hopeful thread of grace that weaves through even the darkest moments.
In the first stanza, the imagery of "fading light" speaks to the gradual loss of reason and understanding. The "whisper of the Word" hints at the divine presence felt in moments of despair, suggesting that the essence of creation is burdened yet still intertwined with the soul.
The second stanza introduces the "law of death" as an oppressive force, illustrating how mortality weighs upon humanity. The "fragile thread" metaphor evokes feelings of vulnerability, emphasizing the cost of creation and how loss resonates in every heartbeat.
The third stanza raises the question of who will restore what has been lost. "The echo of a promise fades" reflects the diminishing connection to the divine, while "whispers" signifies the subtle presence of forgotten hope amid despair.
In the fourth stanza, the conflict between divine authority and human free will is explored. The idea of God demanding a change of heart posits a complex relationship between repentance and divine expectations, highlighting the struggle to reclaim a sense of identity and purpose.
The fifth stanza speaks to the uncontrollable nature of sin and its consequences. The metaphor of an "unwound tapestry" represents the disarray caused by transgression, raising questions about redemption and the possibility of rebirth amidst chaos and suffering.
In the sixth stanza, the concept of grace as guidance is introduced. The “gift of grace” symbolizes the hope offered to those who feel lost. The stanza emphasizes the challenge faced by individuals who strive for connection yet struggle against internal and external darkness.
The seventh stanza deepens the earlier questions about the nature of love and grace. The struggle to find redemption amid despair highlights the tension between yearning for restoration and the realities of degradation and loss.
The eighth stanza shifts to a more uplifting note, affirming that deep within the night’s silence lies a flicker of hope. The "truth emerges" suggests that realization and understanding arise even in moments of profound darkness, nurturing the potential for transformation.
The ninth stanza points toward the incarnation of the Word, drawing on themes of healing and unity. Here, the "balm for wounds" imagery evokes the transformative power of divine love, suggesting that restoration can occur despite past transgressions.
In the final stanza, the overall message culminates in a reassuring proclamation. The affirmation that dawn will "pierce the pall of gloom" instills hope for new beginnings, revealing how loss can ultimately pave the way toward inner peace and renewal.
Overall, "The Weight of Loss" intertwines existential introspection with profound theological inquiries, weaving a narrative that illuminates the struggles of humanity while simultaneously pointing towards the redemptive potential embedded in faith and grace.