The Strangeness of Reading Athanasius

This is not exactly a review of Athanasius' On the Incarnation of the Word, but these thoughts are a direct reflection on the things I have found strange or troubling in reading it.

The Strangeness of the Ancients, or, What was with those people?

First, I have to admit at first it seemed a little strange to me. I realized later that Athanasius carried the same strangeness that many of the ancient fathers (and indeed the Biblical writers) carry. He makes bolder statements than I am normally comfortable with, both with respect to his opponents and with respect to his confidence in his conclusions. He often makes arguments via analogy that lack the quality of being systematic in a way that bothers me, and I think, most post-Enlightenment readers. The issues he is passionately concerned with can seem to my mind to be so fine and abstract that they make me wonder why anyone would care so much.

The Estrangement of Po-Mo folks, or, Do I know you?

And yet, as I have considered (with help) why he might have done these things, and also why they might bother me, I have come to find what I think is a step towards understanding. As I thought about why these ancient theologians might write so vehemently against their opponents, I thought about what theologians and preachers today do. Certainly there are people who talk as vehemently (and more) as Athanasius or any of the fathers, but we label them sectarian.

But while I pondered the fact that the "wise" men of our day do not gather together and have each other's tongues cut out, or call each other fancy words for stupid, I remembered that they do often enough ignore each other. They may even be friendly when they talk, but for the most part they act as if the people they disagree with do not matter much. Jesus spoke to the heart of this when he said "If anyone hates his brother he has already murdered him in his heart."

Even more relevant, to say to someone "Racca!", which is, to curse them outright, one is answerable to a human court. But to say to someone "You fool!", a more societally acceptable slight that carries a more deceptive malice, one is answerable to God. So I think it's fair to say that while society has changed, it has mainly been external. We have distanced ourselves from each other. We have drifted far enough away that we don't have to care. Jesus was right to point out that there is little difference.

The Strangeness of Ideas without a Context, or, I have no idea why anyone would ask that question

In On the Incarnation of the Word Athanasius seems primarily concerned with showing that it was necessary that the work of renewing God's creation in man must be done by the self-same Word through which God effected creation to begin with, and that it was this Word that became incarnate in the man Jesus Christ.

To the mind of a relatively orthodox Christian reader, this all sounds nice, but he seems to be belaboring points that have been long accepted. This is not to say that all his ideas are long-accepted, but certainly the central thesis has been. So it can seem as if he is arguing over fine points that don't make a whole lot of difference, and not only so, but he is doing it unsystematically.

But in Athanasius' day, it seemed that the very different theology of Arius would win out. Arius taught that Jesus did not exist eternally with God, but was created or begotten. So what Athanasius was fighting for, against the odds it seemed, was a higher view of Christ and what He accomplished. It was for this he earned the epithet "Athanasius contra mundum" which for those who don't know Latin or Spanish, means "Athanasius against the world".

In thinking about this, and reading Athanasius, I begin to see why he might argue so vehemently for this. One of the beautiful things Athanasius does is to use Christian behavior to justify certain conclusions. At one point he argues that it is obvious that death has been defeated because the ease with which Christian martyrs face it. For Athanasius, this demonstrates clearly that death does not hold the power it once had.

This is not an argument that would hold much sway with anyone today. People might point to suicides, Kamikaze pilots, and militant extremists of all persuasions, not to mention honorable and admirable martyrs of other persuasions before and after Christ, to debunk Athanasius' argument. C.S. Lewis even points out that Athanasius couldn't make such arguments as easily today because of the checkered history we now have.

The strange beauty of truth contextualized, or Put some meat on those bones!

But if the example is given a real human context, I think we can catch a glimpse of why Athanasius would have found this convincing. I once knew a man named Richard who was a close friend of my father. He was a Christian, he even served as a missionary, and was known to write and preach on occasion. He was full of joy, full of laughter, humble, and easy to talk to. He was all these things amidst a movement of people who were largely serious, intense, and driven personalities, many quite proud.

He faced illness his whole life. My cousin was there when he finally passed, with brothers around singing hymns at his request. I wasn't there, but just hearing about the peacefulness with which he left this world still moves me near tears even as I write. Not tears of sadness, exactly, but tears at the beauty of seeing a dear truth lived. That was one of the few events that has ever led me to express myself with music (admittedly a very small bit of music).

When I think of that death (though Richard was not a martyr) I think I begin to get a sense of why Athanasius would have found such arguments convincing. Seeing someone face death with such peace does convince me--does make me believe without being final and universal proof--that death has been overcome in Christ and therefore in my friend Richard.

Today we seek to make arguments that are systematic, that could be taken anywhere and still be true. But Athanasius did not seek such arguments. He sought to enlighten by pointing to real, visceral, lived truths. He was not making abstract arguments disconnected from reality. He argued so passionately in the face of much opposition because of his real experience with the living Christ he found in Scripture and he allowed as evidence his real experience of Truth embodied by the Church.

Strange wisdom from the ancients, or, That crazy old man was onto something!

The more I consider it, the more I grateful I am for the strangeness I find in Athanasius. I recognize that I would find the same strangeness in the Bible if the words were not already so familiar to me. Old Athanasius puts us in touch with some things that are so strange to our ears, yet even in their strangeness have the ring of truth.

I think we have a lot to learn from the ancients. I don't think we should start arguing more vehemently, or do away with arguing systematically. But I do think we need to find a place for recognizing truth contextualized, particularly in the Church. We need to accept truths we see embodied by the Church, Christ's body, as admissible evidence in theological arguments.

And I do think we should get close enough to each other so that we cannot ignore each other. Come to think of it, we should get close enough to our faith that we cannot ignore it, nor ignore its Author. A strange idea, but, I think, true and beautiful.