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The Logos-theology of St Athanasius of Alexandria

‘Grudging existence to none, therefore, [God] made all things out of nothing through His own Word, our Lord Jesus Christ; and of all these His earthly creatures He reserved especial mercy for the race of men.  Upon them, therefore, upon men who, as animals, were essentially impermanent, He bestowed a grace which other creatures lacked—namely, the impress of His own Image, a share in the reasonable being of the very Word Himself, so that, reflecting Him and themselves becoming reasonable and expressing the Mind of God even as he does, though in limited degree, they might continue for ever in the blessed and only true life of the saints in paradise’ (De Incarnatione, 3).

So came humanity into being in the universe, and so must begin our brief study of Athanasius of Alexandria’s Logos-theology.  For Athanasius, perhaps more than any other early Eastern Father, saw Christ’s incarnation and passion as stemming directly from the need created by human sin.  Whereas Irenaeus’ notion of Christ as Teacher leaves room for the possibility that the Word might have become incarnate even without a fall, as one among the ongoing methods of God’s instruction of humanity, Athanasius’ vision is wholly that of God prompted into action by humanity’s sinful condition:

h( h(mw~n ai)ti/a e)kei/nw| ge/gone pro/fasij th~j kaqo/dou, kai\ h( h(mw~n para/basij tou~ Lo/gou th\n filanqrwpi/an e)cekale/sato

‘It was our sinfulness that caused the Word to come down, and our transgression that called out His love for us’ (D.I., 4).

We find his motivation for such a comment in his vision of humanity at the original creation.  Man is the handiwork of God through the Logos, and was brought forth into existence e)c ou)k o)/ntwn (D.I., 4).  As such, Athanasius saw humanity as a ‘naturally mortal’ being, and here the Alexandrian closely echoes the lines of Middle Platonic thought:

e)/sti me\n ga\r kata\ fu/sin a)/nqrwpoj qnhto/j, a(/te dh\ e)c ou)k o)/ntwn gegonw/j

‘By nature, of course, man is mortal, since he was made from nothing’ (D.I., 4).

Yet it was God who had called man into being, and had granted him the unique gift mentioned above: the impress of His divine image.  Thus humanity, while essentially material and therefore mortal, was joined to the divine Word and through that likeness possessed an incorruptibility that allowed him a portion in the eternal existence of the divinity. [1]   This was God’s blessing to humanity as the supreme pinnacle of His creation; a gift of love that breathed true life into the bones of man.

Yet humanity was not long to cling to this life.  Athanasius sets forth the older notion (Cp. Irenaeus) that God, since He had given humanity the gift of free will, had also granted the possibility that man could then either choose between His gift of life, or the chains of death.  The gift of life was contingent only upon humanity’s choice to continue in the contemplation of the divinity they had been given—simply to remain within the grip of God as their source of life.

a)/nqrwpoi de\ katoligwrh/santej kai\ a)postrafe/ntej th\n pro\j to\n Qeo\n katano/hsen, logisa/menoi de\ kai\ e)pinoh/santej e(autoi=j th\n kaki/an, w(/sper e)n toi=j prw/toij e)le/xqh, e)/sxon th\n proapeilhqai=san tou~ qanatou~ kata/krisin

‘But men, having turned from the contemplation of God to evil of their own devising, had come inevitably under the law of death, instead of remaining in the state in which God had created them’ (D.I., 4).

This was the Fall, and it was humanity’s own doing.  Its resulting enslavement of men to the bondage of death was not, in Athanasius’ view, God’s divine punishment for the abrogation of His command; it was rather simply the inevitable result of a corruptible creature’s turning away from the only thing which made it incorruptible.  It was only God who granted life to man, and in turning from God, humanity in the same motion turned away from its very source of life.

a)ko/louqon h]n kenwqe/ntaj tou\j a)nqrw/pouj th~j peri\ Qeou~ e)nnoi/aj kai\ ei)j ta\ ou)k o)/nta a)postrafe/ntaj, ou)k o)/nta ga\r e)sti ta\ kaka\, o)/nta de\ ta\ kala\, e)peidh/per a)po\ tou~ o)/ntoj Qeou~ gego/nasi

‘Inevitably, therefore, when they lost the knowledge of God, they lost existence with it; for it is God alone who exists; evil is non-being, the negation and antithesis of good’ (D.I., b4).

So humanity had turned from life to death, and was thereby locked within its grip; for what created creature has the ability to restore itself to life, or conjoin itself to God? [2]   Within the natural order of the world that God had created, man had doomed himself.

Yet in this dismal picture, Athanasius sees the bright ray of light which was God’s salvation: o( qeo\j ga\r a)gaqo\j e)sti, he said; and with an emphasis on this foundational concept, he began to relate his Logos-theology proper: the story of God as Saviour.  For God so loved the world that He could not bear to see His creation slip into non-being and death.  Indeed, it would be ‘unbecoming’ (a)prepe/j) for God to let that which had once borne His likeness and shared in the indwelling of His Word, cease to exist as the result of any error. [3]   Yet it would be ‘absurd’ (a)/topon) for Him to abrogate the divine law which He Himself had created, and simply ‘overlook’ humanity’s transgression. [4]   This would make God false unto Himself, and that was an option that Athanasius, along with most early Christian writers, could not even think to accept.

What remained, then, was Athanasius’ firm belief that God’s goodness made His provision of salvation a necessity (though he is quite careful not to apply to philosophical concept of obligation to God).  He was now left to discuss the how.  ‘The Word became flesh, and dwelt among us’… but in what sense did this great act attain to the salvation of a fallen humanity?

Sacrifice: The Incarnate Logos as Offering.

Irenaeus, for as remarkable as was his theology, presented one notable weakness: an absence of emphasis upon the sacrificial nature of Christ’s death.  Much was said of Christ’s role as paedagogue and teacher, but little mentioned of the Cross.  In Athanasius we see a certain correction of that error, without swinging entirely into the opposite field and speaking only of Christ’s death, to the negation of importance of His life (as we might claim to be the case, for example, with Tertullian).  Athanasius represents a remarkable mixture of focus, taking into account both Christ’s full life and His sacrificial death—presenting the reader with one of the most ‘complete’ discussions of Logos-theology to this point in the history of the Church.  We will here follow Athanasius’ own example in De Incarnatione, and treat the subject of Christ’s sacrificial death before the that of His divine life. [5]

It is largely unnecessary to describe Athanasius’ views on the sacrificial nature of the Logos’ incarnated presence in any words other than his own, for one of the great treasures of his writing is the extreme clarity with which his views are presented.  We have discussed above the cosmological/anthropological reasons behind humanity’s need for salvation, and in Athanasius’ own discussion of the how, he makes two invaluable points: (1) salvation can only be wrought by God, for

Lo/goj ga\r w)\n tou~ Patro\j kai\ u(pe\r pa/ntaj w)/n, a)kolou/qwj kai\ a)nakti/sai ta\ o(/la mo/noj h]n dunato\j kai\ u(pe\r pa/ntwn paqei=n kai\ presbeu~sai peri\ pa/ntwn i(kano\j pro\j to\n Pate/ra.

‘He alone, being Word of the Father and above all, was in consequence both able to recreate all, and worthy to suffer on behalf of all and to be an ambassador for all with the Father’ (D.I., 7).

No salvation could come apart from God, no saviour could there be who was not God, for only God could claim the power to grant life and restore divine union.  Yet (2) the saviour of humanity must also be human, for:

h( genome/nh fqora\ ou)k e)/zwqen h]n tou~ sw/matoj, a)ll ’ au)tw|~ prosegego/nei, kai\ a)na/gkh h]n a)nti\ th~j fqora~j zwh\n au)tw|~ prosklakh~nai ...

‘(…) the corruption which had set in was not external to the body but established within it; the need, therefore, was that life should cleave to it in corruption’s place’ (D.I., 44).

Man’s corruption was internal, and had to be healed internally.  The same flesh which had given over to death must be that which reclaimed life, or salvation would be only philosophical.  Thus the need for the incarnation—for the meeting of the divine and the human in a single person, was understood as a ‘prerequisite’ for any sacrifice which the Saviour might make for humanity’s sake; it is the only means by which both crucial ‘requirements’ for a saviour could be met.  And this having been so in Christ, the incarnate Logos was able to offer just that sacrifice: to die for mankind.  For death could not be got rid of except by death, [6] yet Christ in His divinity was unable to be defeated by such a foe.  Again I will yield to Athanasius’ own description of the how of Christ’s sacrifice:

to\ duna/menon a)poqanei=n e(autw|~ lamba/nei sw~ma, i(/na tou~to tou~ e)pi\ pa/ntwn Lo/gou metalabo\n a)nti\ pa/ntwn i(kano\n ge/nhtai tw|~ qana/tw|, kai\ di/a to\n e)noikh/santa Lo/gon, a)/fqarton diamei/nh, kai\ loipo\n a)po\ pa/ntwn h( fqora\ pau/shtai th|~ th~j a)nasta/sewj xa/riti.

‘He assumed a body capable of death, in order that it, through belonging to the Word Who is above all, might become in dying a sufficient exchange for all, and, itself remaining incorruptible through His indwelling, might thereafter put an end to corruption for others as well, by the grace of the resurrection.’ (D.I., 9).

Here is Athanasius’ central doctrine of the Logos’ sacrifice for humanity: that He gave His life as a ‘sufficient exchange for all’; that through His offering of a human death, divine life might ultimately be restored to all humankind.  We might here pause long enough to consider this image in relationship to the multiple notions of sacrifice which have been and continue to be prevalent in certain strands of Christian thought.  Many schools and volumes—and most recently a lecture series at Oxford University [7] —have been devoted to finding in Christ’s sacrifice the character of Jewish and Greek sacrificial imagery; of discovering in the Logos’ offering a theme which carries over from the historical past of the ancient world.  Yet we might hesitate in too strongly applying such imagery to Athanasius’ understanding of Christ as sacrifice: there is no talk of propitiation in his schema, nor is there expressed the idea of divine aversion (indeed, this would go starkly against Athanasius’ views of God’s ultimate love).  There is little emphasis at all on the notion of Christ’s suffering.  Instead, Athanasius seems to use the term ‘sacrifice’ in its simplest and most direct sense: that of one man’s dying for another.  Yet here it is not only a man who dies, but a man who possesses also the fullness of the divinity, and thus One who can truly be efficacious in His offering for the world.

Before leaving the issue of sacrifice, we must briefly address an important issue of human recreation, which runs throughout Athanasius’ presentation of Christ’s work, and especially through his discussion of divine sacrifice.  Time constraints prevent this theme from being explored in detail in this paper, yet it is important to take into account that the incarnate Logos’ sacrifice upon the cross was not given simply to heal suffering humanity, but to renew (Gr. a)nakainou~n) and recreate (Gr. a)nakti/zein) it. [8]   This principle hearkens back to an important notion expressed in D.I. 1-5: namely, that any act which simply forgave humanity the extent of its sin in a single fiat would not produce lasting salvation—humanity might still again lapse into death. [9]   The results of this sin had to be healed, it is true, but truly efficacious salvation would require more: it must involve, as well, a change in the very nature of humanity.  The divine image and likeness, which had been present in the original creation, had been damaged to a deadly degree as the result of humanity’s sin; thus humanity’s true salvation must involve the restoration of that original creation.  We find the how of this concept once again in the essential notion of the incarnation: by lifting humanity to a renewed state of communion with God, Christ changed human nature.  He conquered death by death, and then made it impossible for death to ever again have the last word in man’s life. [10]

By way of metaphor, we might use the following to bring together Athanasius’ overall view of Christ’s sacrifice and restoration of humanity: he does not see the incarnate Logos simply as a bandage that was placed over the mortal wound of human sin, offering by death a ‘patch’ that would repair man’s injury.  Rather, Athanasius sees Christ as both bandage and vaccine: His sacrifice indeed provided the healing which was necessary to save humanity from the disease of death; yet He granted also the gift of sure life, that the wound once healed might never again possess the strength to bring about a final and lasting death.

Sanctification: The Incarnate Logos as Teacher.

Intimately tied in with Athanasius’ notion of sacrifice, is his understanding of the incarnate Logos as teacher and the giver of hope through His gift of new life and personal instruction for its living out.

Th|~ ga\r tou~ i)di/ou sw/matoj qusi/a| kai\ te/loj e)pe/qhke tw|~ kaq ’ h(ma~j no/mw|, kai\ a)rxh\n zwh~j h(mi=n e)kai/nisen, e)lpi/da th~j a)nasta/sewj dedwkw/j.

‘For by the sacrifice of His own body he did two things: He put an end to the law of death which barred our way; and He made a new beginning of life for us, by giving us the hope of resurrection’ (D.I., 10).

Not only was He the breaker of death’s dominion, He was also the instructor of humanity’s life.  The Word came not only to heal, but to be teacher and guide in the new life granted through His offering.

To Athanasius, knowledge of God is the true happiness of man. [11]   In it rests humanity’s unique gift above and beyond that which was granted to all other among God’s creations: the ability to know God in a real and active way.  This is only accomplished via humanity’s formation in the image and likeness of God, which grants to it the rational facilities necessary for the contemplation of its Creator.  Yet with the same abandonment of the likeness that enslaved humanity to the law of death, the proper ability to know God also slipped from man’s grip.  Thus Christ’s incarnation and death were more than a restoration to life; they were also a restoration to knowledge.  As a result of the incarnation,

ta\ pa/nta th~j peri\ Qeou~ gnw/sewj peplh/rwtai.

‘all things have been filled with the knowledge of God’ (D.I., 16).

How was this wrought?  To answer this, we must turn again to the very essence of the incarnation: the conjoining of the human nature with the divine nature of God.  Athanasius certainly saw the commixing of these two natures as reciprocal: it was not simply God who became ‘humanised’, but man, also, that became divinised.  Through death’s grip on the nature of man, there was being wrought an ongoing ‘dehumanising of mankind’, [12] which consisted primarily of its loss of the proper image in which it was created.  Yet in Christ’s assumption of a human nature in the incarnation, this dehumanising trend was thwarted, the likeness re-born, and the ‘divinity of man’—all that was originally offered through the fullness granted in Creation—was restored to that nature.  So humanity might once again come to know the Lord, and through such knowledge once again attain to the joy of life which was its original Gift from God.

The ultimate teacher in this renewed path of knowledge is Christ.  As the incarnate Word, who in the beginning had made all that is (Cp. Jn 1.1-4), who better could there be to teach humanity of the truth of God?  Who better to instruct the creation, than the Creator Himself?  Thus did Athanasius see Christ not only as sacrificial offering, but also as heavenly teacher.  He walked through life as all men walk through life, yet He did so in the manner which all ought to follow.  His was a human life in its perfection: without sin, without evil, without wrongdoing.  Where Adam had gone wrong, Christ went right—and the emphasis which Athanasius draws to this parallel between Adam and Christ is notable in its similarity to the thought of Irenaeus (cp. D.I., 10).  The latter’s notion of recapitulation does not stand at all at odds with Athanasius’ general view of Christ, and indeed might be said to be presented indirectly in his own writings.

Salvation: The Incarnate Logos as Humanity’s Life.

We have made a general examination of Athanasius’ Logos-theology as it is portrayed in his small but powerful work, De Incarnatione.  Driven by a view of an ultimately loving God presented with the dilemma of humanity’s loss of the sureness of life, it traces the Word’s actions both as teacher and sacrifice; offerer and offering.  The Logos became man that He might live—and living renew humanity’s knowledge of God; and that He might die—and dying release humanity from its bondage to death.  Yet we would be remiss if we did not make mention of the fluidity with which these two foci—Christ’s life of teaching and His death of sacrifice—are woven together in Athanasius’ soteriology.  While they are two distinct notions, they are never independent in his presentation.  Christ’s sacrifice was not limited solely to the moment of His death, nor was His teaching limited only to His life.  Even upon the cross, and in the tomb, the Word was instructing mankind.

Much more could here be said about Athanasius, but for the present discussion we hope to make do with the above.  A conclusion to this short paper might be drawn from Athanasius’ own pen:

di/a th~j e)nanqrwph/sewj tou~ qeou~ Lo/gou h( tou~ qana/tou kata/lusij ge/gone, kai\ h( th~j zwh~j a)na/stasij.

‘By the Word of God made man, death has been destroyed and life raised up anew.’

Such is the centre and the whole of the Logos-theology of this great thinker.

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Bibliography:

Commentary and Critique:

Lyman, J. Rebecca. Christology and Cosmology: Models of Divine Activity in Origen, Eusebius, and Athanasius.  Oxford: the Clarendon Press, 1993.  Especially the 4^th chapter, pp.124-159.

Meijering, E.P.  Orthodoxy and Platonism in Athanasius: Synthesis or Antithesis?  Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1968.

Pettersen, Alvyn.  Athanasius.  From the series: Outstanding Christian Thinkers, (Davies, Brian ed.).  London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1995.

Roldanus, J.  Le Christ et l’homme dans la théologie d’Athanase d’Aledandrie: étude de sa conception de l’homme avec sa Christologie.  Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1977.

Textual Sources:

Greek:

Camelot, Pierre Thomas (ed. & Fr. trans.).  Athanase d’Alexandrie: Contre les Païens: texte Grec, introduction, traduction, et notes.  Paris: Les Éditions du CERF, 1983.  {Text in Greek and French}

Cross, Frank Leslie (trans. & notes).  Athanasius: De Incarnatione: An Edition of the Greek Text.  London:  SPCK, 1957. 

Robertson, Archibald (trans. & ed.).  Athanasius: De Incarnatione – The Greek Text Edited for the Use of Students.  London: David Nutt Publishing, 1901.

English:

A Religious of C.S.M.V.:  St. Athanasius on the Incarnation: the Treatise, De Incarnatione Verbi Dei.  London: A.R. Mowbray & Co. Ltd., 1979.

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