El Pharmakon y los emblemas de la alquimia

1. SON OF GOD IN LOWLINESS

The decisive question for Christianity has always been ‘Who do you think Christ is? Who is he?’ Answers to this question are very varied, not only in later history but even in the New Testament. Jesus has many names in the New Testament. He is called Christ, Prophet, Son of man, Servant of God, High Priest, Saviour, Lord (Kyrios), Son of God. Evidently no single title is adequate to indicate who Jesus is. Jesus is the man who fi ts no formula.

In order to express this unique meaning one title, as distinct from all oth-ers, increasingly came to prevail in the New Testament; apparently it proved to be the most appropriate and most fruitful: Jesus, the Son of God.¹ Paul can sum up his whole message in the formula: ‘The gospel of God concern-ing his Son’ (Rom 1.3,9; cf 2 Cor 1.19; Gal 1.16). From then onwards the confession of Jesus’ divine sonship has been regarded as the distinguishing mark of Christianity. It is true that other religions also speak of sons of the gods and of incarnations. Christianity can take up the question of salva-tion which is involved here. But it links with its confession of Jesus’ divine sonship an eschatological claim that in Jesus of Nazareth God revealed and communicated himself once and for all, uniquely, unmistakably, defi ni-tively and unsurpassably. The confession of Jesus Christ as Son of God is therefore a brief formula which gives expression to what is essential and specifi c to Christian faith as a whole. Christian faith stands or falls with the confession of Jesus as Son of God.

Although the confession of Jesus Christ as Son of God represents the core of the Christian tradition, there are many Christians today who have diffi -culties with this statement. The most familiar and most fundamental objec-tion to this profession of faith is that it seems to present us with a remnant of an unenlightened mythological way of thinking. It was of course easier than it is for us today for mythological thinking and feeling to take the step from the human to the divine. The divine was – so to speak – the dimen-sion in depth of all reality, fi lling everything with a numinous radiance.

Everywhere, in any encounter and in any happening, it could suddenly make its presence felt. At that time therefore geniuses beyond the normal human scale (rulers of states, philosophers) were venerated as divine and as sons of God. Such a mingling of divine and human was absolutely alien to strict biblical monotheism. Even in the Old Testament, therefore, there could be no talk of a son or of sons of God without a far-reaching demythologization of that title. It may be easier to understand the title today if we fi rst briefl y trace the history of this new interpretation.

Although the Old Testament uses the title of Son for the people of Israel (cf., among other texts, Exod 4.22–3; Hos 11.1), for the king as representative of the people (cf., among other texts, Ps 2.7; 2 Sam 7.14) or – as in late Judaism – for any devout and righteous Israelite (cf., among other texts, Ecclus 4.10), this usage is not based either on the background of mythological-polytheistic thinking or on the pantheistic background of Stoic philosophy, according to which all men in virtue of their common nature have the one God as Father and are therefore called sons of God. The title Son or Son of God in the Old Testament must be understood against the background of election-faith and the theocratic ideas based on it. Consequently divine sonship is not founded on physical descent, but is the result of God’s free, gracious choice. The person so chosen as Son of God receives a special mission within salvation history, binding him to obedience and service. The title of Son of God therefore is understood, not as natural-substantial, but functionally and personally.

The New Testament must be understood fi rst of all in the light of the tradition of the Old Testament. Nevertheless it produces once more an important new interpretation of the title ‘Son’ or ‘Son of God’. As we have shown, Jesus him-self never explicitly adopted either the title of Messiah or that of Son of God.

He did however claim to speak and act in place of God and to be in a unique and untransferable communion with “his Father.” This claim represents some-thing unique in the history of religion which could not be adequately expressed by either the Jewish-theocratic or the hellenistic-essential understanding of Son of God. When therefore the community after Easter answered Jesus’ pre-Easter claim and its confi rmation by the Resurrection with the confession of Jesus as Son of God, it did not produce a sort of subsequent apotheosis or award him a dignity going beyond his own claim. On the contrary, these titles as understood at the time still fell short of Jesus’ claim. The early Church therefore had to fi nd once again a fresh interpretation of these titles. This it did, not in an abstract, speculative way, but in an historical, concrete way. The early Church did not interpret Jesus’ person and fate solely with the aid of the title of ‘Son’ or ‘Son of God’; it interpreted afresh the meaning of those predicates also on the basis of Jesus’ life, death and Resurrection. The concrete history and fate of Jesus thus became the explanation of the nature and action of God. Jesus’ history and fate were understood as the history of the event of God himself. John described this state of affairs in Jesus’ words: ‘He who has seen me has seen the Father’

(Jn 14.9). In this sense it is possible to speak of a Christology ‘from below’ in the New Testament.

The concrete, historical interpretation of the Son of God predicate means that Jesus’ divine sonship is understood, not as supra-historical essence, but as reality which becomes effective in and through the history and fate of Jesus.² It is this way of thinking which explains why in the oldest strata of the New Testament there is no mention of the fact that Jesus is Son of God from the very beginning, but that he is ‘designated Son of God in power by his resurrection from the dead’ (Rom 1.4). In the synoptic gospels we already reach a further stage of Christological refl ection: at his baptism in the Jordan Jesus is accepted (Mk 1.11) or proclaimed (Mt 3.17) as Son of God.

Accordingly, Mark can put at the head of his entire gospel the title: ‘The Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God’ (1.1). For Mark the marvellous works of Jesus in particular are the ‘secret epiphany’ of his divine sonship. At a third stage of development Luke sees Jesus’ divine sonship as substantiated by his miracu-lous begetting through the power of the Holy Spirit (1.35).

This gradual pushing back of the Son of God predicate even then was very diversely interpreted. Some early Judaeo-Christian communities, known as Ebionites, spoke of Jesus being adopted as Son of God in the fi rst place in virtue of his moral endurance. But this implies a failure to see that Jesus’ Resurrection and Exaltation do in fact confi rm his pre-Easter claim. It is impossible therefore to say that Jesus became Son of God only through the Resurrection. Nor do the baptism pericopes say anything about such a coming to be, since they are more interested in Jesus’ function and position as Son than in his being Son of God by nature. Second century Adoptionism therefore anachronistically imposed on the early tradition later formulations of the problems and alternatives which simply did not exist there.³

Despite these fundamental misunderstandings, a great deal in this approach is right. The scriptural eschatological-historical understanding of reality does not involve any supra-historical concept of essence; being is here understood, not as an essence, but as actuality, that is, as being active. The statement, ‘being is coming to to be’, is of course not the same as asserting that being consists in becoming. It is in history that what a ‘thing’ is, isproved and realized. In this sense Jesus’ Resurrection is the confi rmation, revelation, putting into force, realization and completion of what Jesus before Easter claimed to be and was.

His history and his fate are the history (not the coming to be) of his being, its ripening and self-interpretation.⁴ Thus it also becomes clear that the full mean-ing of Jesus’ pre-Easter claim and manifestation, his dignity as Son of God, dawned on the disciples only at the end and after the completion of his way:

that is, after Easter.

The new interpretation of the title of Son and Son of God emerging in stages in the New Testament is usually described as a transition from a more or less functional to a mainly essential and metaphysical Christology.

This is true, at least to the extent that the older strata of the New Testament do not yet show any interest in ontological statements in the later sense. In the older two-stage Christology it is a question of the appointment of Jesus as Son of God ‘in power’ (Rom 1.4). Here we have a theocratic-functional understanding. The statement, ‘Thou art my beloved Son’, at Jesus’ baptism (Mk 1.11) also belongs to this messianic-theocratic tradition: it is in fact a quotation made up from Ps 2.7 and Is 42.1. But the Transfi guration per-icope already speaks of a transformation of the fi gure of Jesus (metamor-phothe) (Mk 1.2), which implies an ontological understanding of the Son of God title. With the conception by the Holy Spirit it is wholly and entirely a question, not only of a function, but of the being of Jesus; nevertheless there is a mention of the throne of David and of ruling over the house of Jacob (Lk 1.32f.). Christology of being (‘ontic’ or ‘ontological Christology’) and

Christology of mission exist side by side. Even though their unity was not an object of refl ection in the earlier tradition, they cannot be played off against each other.

The intrinsic unity of ontological and mission theology becomes thematic, particularly in the fourth gospel. There is no doubt that this gospel speaks of a divine sonship of Jesus as ontologically understood. The unity of Father and Son is clearly stated (10.30); it is realized as a unity of both mutual knowledge (10.15) and common operation (5.17, 19, 20). But the messianic understanding of the Son of God title is also to be found here (1.34; 10.36;

11.27). The ontological statements are not understood in themselves and for their own sake, but are intended to bring out the soteriological interest. Jesus shares in the life of God in order to transmit this life to us (5.25f.). The onto-logical statements therefore provide an intrinsic substantiation of the soteri-ological statements. Conversely, Jesus’ obedience in carrying out his mission is the form of existence of his ontological divine sonship. Not only is the unity between Father and Son mentioned, but the subordination of the Son to the Father: ‘The Father is greater than I’ (14.28). Thus the Son submits himself completely in obedience to the will of the Father (8.29; 14.31). This obedience is the very nature of the Son: ‘My food is to do the will of him who sent me’ (4.34).

Hence, even in John’s gospel the unity of nature between Father and Son is not yet really conceived as metaphysical, but is understood as a unity of willing and knowing. The Son is the person who submits himself unreserv-edly in obedience to God. Thus he is wholly and entirely transparent for God;

his obedience is the form in which God is substantially present. Obedience effected and brought about by God himself is the historical mode of existence and manifestation of the divine Sonship. In his obedience Jesus is the setting forth of God’s nature.

What is known as functional Christology is essentially a Christology in its realization. It not only gives expression to an external function of Jesus, but sees his function (that is his all-consuming service and his obedience in regard to his mission) as the expression and realization of his being, or of God’s being in him and with him. This functional Christology is itself a form of ontic Christology. ‘Being’ however is understood here not as mere existence but as reality, not as substance but as personal relation. Jesus’ being is realized as proceeding from the Father to men. Thus it is precisely functional Christology which gives expression to God’s nature as self-giving love.

The concrete, historical interpretation of Jesus’ divine Sonship appears most clearly in Paul’s theology of the cross. The cross together with the Resurrection is symbol and ideograph of God’s action; it is God’s eschatological-defi nitive self-utterance. It is also in the light of the cross that the Son of God predicate acquires its decisive interpretation. Christology ‘from below’ is therefore pos-sible only as a theology of the cross.

This thesis can be proved exegetically in a variety of ways.⁵ For the fi rst Christians, coming to terms with the crucifi xion really amounted to a matter

of life and death. At a very early stage therefore they tried to proclaim the scan-dalous cross as God’s will and God’s deed, as the embodiment of God’s power and wisdom (1 Cor 1.24). At fi rst they did so by way of Scriptural proof. The confession in 1 Cor 15.3–5 already says that Christ was crucifi ed ‘in accord-ance with the scriptures’ (cf Mk 14.21,49). This is not a reference simply to an isolated saying in the Old Testament. For the saying in Mk 9.12f. and Lk 24.26f.

that the Messiah must suffer greatly is nowhere recorded. What is meant here is Scripture as a whole. Essentially it is a question of a postulate of the Easter faith. Only later do we fi nd explicit references to Is 53. Above all, the passion history is now recorded in the language of the Psalter (especially Ps 22) and an attempt is made to draw out an explicit scriptural proof (Mk 8.31; 9.12; 14.21).

What has to be said is that the cross is not an absurdity, but God’s decree and will. The cross is the recapitulation of God’s speech and action in the Old Testament.

If the cross is God’s will, then it is not an historical accident or chance but a necessity willed by God. The New Testament texts therefore speak of a

‘must’ dei, according to which everything happens (cf Mk 8.31). Obviously it is not a question either of an historical or of a natural necessity, but of a necessity fi xed by God which is beyond rational explanation. This ‘must’ is derived from an apocalyptic manner of speaking. The cross therefore is at the heart of God’s plans and at the centre of world history. It has been set up from the very beginning. John’s Revelation speaks of the lamb slaughtered from the beginning of the world (Rev 13.8; cf 1 Pet 1.20). On the cross it is fi nally revealed who God is and what the world is. It is the revelation of the eternal mystery of God.

There is another New Testament tradition which represents the same interest with the aid of formularies relating to Christ’s self-offering.⁶ Its great antiquity is evident from the fact that it is found already in the Last Supper tradition:

‘This is my body which is given for you’ (1 Cor 11.24; Lk 22.19). In the older New Testament tradition it is God himself who authorizes this self-offering.

It is he who gives up the Son of man into the hands of men (Mk 9.31 par; Mk 10.33 par; 14.21 par; Lk 24.7). Similar expressions are found in the Pauline writings. Romans 4.25 (itself a pre-Pauline text) sounds almost like a profes-sion of faith: ‘who was put to death for our trespasses and raised for our justi-fi cation’. The passive here is a periphrasis for the name of God. It is the same with Romans 8.32; ‘but he gave him up for us all’. The death of Jesus therefore is only superfi cially man’s work; at the deepest level it is God’s eschatological saving deed. For it is a question of the self-offering not of just any man, but of the Son of man (Mk 9.31). It is therefore an eschatological event. In it God acted decisively and defi nitively.

Both the ‘scripture proofs’ and the self-offering formularies are meant essentially to bring out only one thing: although superfi cially men are the agents and the guilty ones at the crucifi xion, although it is possible to see even the demons at work there (cf 1 Cor 2.8), in the last resort the cross is God’s work. This of course is a supremely paradoxical, even apparently

almost absurd statement, and it contradicts all our familiar ideas of God. It is generally supposed that God reveals himself in power, strength and glory. But here he is seen as the very opposite of what is regarded as great, noble, fi ne and reputable: in utter powerlessness, shame, unsightliness and futility. The cross then can be interpreted only as the self-emptying (kenosis) of God.

According to the Christ-hymn in Philippians he who was in the form of God empties himself and assumes the form of a servant; he who is free becomes voluntarily obedient (Phil 2.6–8). God evidently exercises such supreme power and freedom that he can as it were renounce everything without ‘losing face’. So it is precisely in powerlessness that God’s power is effective, in servitude his mastery, in death life. What the world considers strong and wise is reduced to absurdity. What is otherwise folly, weakness and scandal is here the embodiment of God’s power and wisdom. This logic of the cross does not involve a static paradoxicality: contradictories are not simply asserted simultaneously. What we find are dynamic ‘breakthrough formulations’⁷: ‘though rich, for your sake he become poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich’ (2 Cor 8.9; cf Gal 4.5; 2.19; 3.13f; 2 Cor 5.21; Rom 7.4; 8.3f). It is a question therefore, not merely of a new interpre-tation of God in the light of his action in Jesus Christ, but at the same time of a change in our reality. By taking on our misery, God breaks through the network of fate and makes us free. The revaluation, the crisis and the revolution of the image of God lead to the crisis, change and the redemption of the world.

If Scripture itself did not give clear hints of the direction our thought should take, it would presumably be impossible for theology to attempt from its own resources to grasp conceptually this revolutionary new way of looking at God

If Scripture itself did not give clear hints of the direction our thought should take, it would presumably be impossible for theology to attempt from its own resources to grasp conceptually this revolutionary new way of looking at God