Providence and The Incarnation

We like to exaggerate free will, and say, "Character is fate," but if that were true, then patriarchy would exist on account of the inferiority of women, and every form of slavery would be justifiable on its face. It is essentially a "might makes right" model, which, in rendering all credit to the victors, ignores the complex web of influences which surrounds and ultimately entangles individuals within their fates. Free will, carried too far, would make heroes or villains of us all, but nothing in between.

There is no respect for nuance and fragmentation; the brew of unconscious potentials and drives aligning or cancelling one another out. All of this goes on beneath the surface, and can be seen only by those who look; that is, by those who think and imagine dimensions of possibility. Thinking, by itself, tends to acquaint the mind with connections, relations, and associations between things. Because of this quality, a person who thinks is more and more likely to consider every particular choice or occurrence as intimately connected with all that surrounds it and, only somewhat less directly, with all that is.

No man rises or falls alone. It takes a village to raise a hero. Or a villain. Sometimes it takes an entire nation. Or even an age. Epochs are perhaps required to produce an individual of true genius. And it may very well require the lifespan of history, to bring about an individual of messianic potential, whose character and fate are so perfectly aligned as to set him upon a conspicuous height, and to make him a martyr for all the world.

There may be prophets born from age to age, but it would seem that a messiah can only be born once. What such a man does, no man may do a second time, whatever his character may be. He may follow the way, but he cannot divine it. He can only declare what has been declared, and show what has been shown. And though his imitation might be perfect, it is an imitation still. The world will never be as confounded by him as it was by the first man to speak and live a new truth.

We may never know if Francis would have realized alone the same truths which Christ proclaimed, but we may be certain that, if he had been the first to discover, preach, and live them, then we would be calling Francis, and not Jesus, the messiah. If not his character, clearly his fate was determined in large part by that of another. Francis called himself a Christian, but if Jesus, like Francis, had come only after divine love had been preached and performed in the world, then he, too, would have called himself the disciple of whatever person had first, and most conspicuously, said and done those things which he also felt to be true.

But he was the first, and he understood himself that way. He was not a prophet, for he was neither imparting nor elaborating upon inherited wisdom. Rather, he was delivering the highest revelation and enacting the most perfect sacrificial rite which had ever been, and which would never again be revealed to mankind with the same potency with which it first appeared.

This is why he was the Messiah. Whether or not he was utterly superior and unique, more godly than any other person, is a matter of faith, disputation, and conjecture. What is certain is that he was the right man at the right time. Cultural pressures had gathered to a storm of more than cultural proportions, and a man of a certain temperament was born into a family and culture well-suited to provide the influences which would support his historical mission. Some would help to shape him with their love and others, with their hatred, would give him something to oppose.

Was it character or fate, which compelled him to be born at such a time, to such a Mother, in such a place? Had he really gathered around him an entire universe of accidents, and penetrated time and space at the exact co-ordinance to produce the most cataclysmic transformation of human consciousness? Isn't this the most traditionally romantic vision we have of him; the divine man whose omniscience and omnipotence permits him to orchestrate all things so as to set himself upon the center stage of history, and in the perfect light? Nonetheless, I think there is a more romantic vision yet.

Consider that the mountain does not force the tectonic plates to collide, in order to engender it's towering presence, but is itself forced into existence by that same conflict, and destined to acquire prominence by no power of its own. In my view, Christ did not arise from the ranks of men, but with them; on their shoulders and their backs. Even as the masses scorned, tortured, and brought him low, there were spirits, not merely in the flesh with him, but all through history, supporting him upon their shoulders, and carrying him to his appointed place; an honor and position not decreed by him, but nevertheless reserved for him (and received by him), according to the agreement of the good wills of many, many souls.

How can we doubt this, when he himself inquires of his God whether the crucifixion is a positively necessary culmination of his mission; or if it might still be possible to deliver his message completely without having to perform that gruesome spectacle? He does not want his fate, but prays that the cup be taken from him. Still, he resolves to do what is in accordance with his highest nature; his God. Only subsequent to this submission of personal will, is he convinced that the crucifixion is necessary if he does not want to transgress the ideals he has espoused, and prove himself a hypocrite; a mortal, after all.

Although he gives explicit permission to his disciples to deny him, to fall short, to sin and return in the full expectation of forgiveness and redemption, he knows that his destiny and his character are so well aligned that here, now, in him, and on this day, there is a chance for truth to be declared for all the world to see; not as some abstract ideal, but in the flesh; by perfect, uncompromised example.

Like all of us, he understood himself within a tightly woven context of human experience. Truly, God had become his all, and come to dwell within him, so that he no longer claimed possession of his own will, but moved only in obedience to the will of God. Yet, it was not without the work of countless ancestors, spiritual and biological, -- not without the support, assistance, direction, and encouragement of many good souls, each sympathetic to his purpose and useful to furthering it in some way, -- that he had come to be born with such exceptional proclivities and, finally, to rely upon God for his only strength.

It is natural, and may be supernatural, for all people to share in the atonement; for it was never the accomplishment of one man alone, but of the entire species, which only came to a head in this man. He is the point, but we are all the spear, and though we have not yet penetrated the heart of the mystery (not most of us, anyway), there is still something in every one of us which seeks and surrenders itself to the realization of the truth. How would we be so moved by his words and deeds, unless something were in us which corresponded, by affinity, or spiritual kinship, to something which was in him? Why would we recognize him as a God among men, and feel honored, even blessed, to wear the name of Christian, if something within us did not kick, like John the Baptist in the womb of Elizabeth, at the approach of the Lady pregnant with Our Lord? John was cousin to Jesus, just as our souls are cousins to the soul in Christ. It is the soul within which leaps to hear his name, because it senses the kinship between them. It is the soul which perceives its right to share in his name, by calling itself Christian. Because, in some ultimate sense, we share one blood, one name, one character, and one fate. That which is holy in us has never been of two minds. It has only been stunted and stifled in its growth, and permitted to break the surface here and there, in the lives of good persons. But it has always been one life, coursing through us all, above or below the surface, progressing without pause unto the eternal ocean of God's love.