Christ Knew Their Hearts | Mark 2:6-12

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⁶ And some of the scribes were sitting there and reasoning in their hearts, ⁷ “Why does this Man speak blasphemies like this? Who can forgive sins but God alone?” ⁸ But immediately, when Jesus perceived in His spirit that they reasoned thus within themselves, He said to them, “Why do you reason about these things in your hearts? ⁹ Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven you,’ or to say, ‘Arise, take up your bed and walk’? ¹⁰ But that you may know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins”—He said to the paralytic, ¹¹ “I say to you, arise, take up your bed, and go to your house.” ¹² Immediately he arose, took up the bed, and went out in the presence of them all, so that all were amazed and glorified God, saying, “We never saw anything like this!” (Mark 2:6-12)

Mark 2:6-7

• At least two points are noteworthy about the inner dialogue of the Scribes. The first is the most obvious: Christ perceives, not spoken words, but the inner thoughts of their hearts. While the story is so familiar that the fact likely seems commonplace, we should not miss that such knowledge is divine in nature, the Logos of God penetrating to the inner thoughts and intentions of the heart (Heb 4:12)¹ — this knowledge being its own miracle and demonstration to the Scribes. The importance of this fact becomes apparent in Mark 2:8 (below).

• Second, the language used to describe the inner thoughts of the Scribes indicates that these were more than fleeting thoughts. Rather, the Scribes were “dialoging within their hearts,” an act of entertaining these thoughts, turning them over in their minds (διαλογιζόμενοι). The term is closely related to the word logismoi (λογισμοί), used by the Eastern fathers to describe demonic thoughts or suggestions. The fathers recognize that we often have odd notions “pop in our heads,” as it were, and they believe this phenomenon is sometimes prompted by demons, who wish to distract or tempt. For this reason, the fathers recommend “watchfulness” (νῆψις) over our thoughts, lest these suggestions take root and bear poisonous fruit.

• Here, we see the very doctrine in action: The problem is not that the Scribes experience a passing thought; the problem is that they accept and entertain these thoughts, allowing them to take root. The addition of the prefix dia (δια) — “through” or, in this case, “thoroughly” — indicates that they laid hold of these thoughts, thoroughly exploring them, dialoguing within themselves. And the statement that this dialogue took place “in their hearts” (ἐν ταῖς καρδίαις αὐτῶν) indicates they welcomed these thoughts into the inner chamber or seat of their souls.

• The likelihood that such thoughts are demonic in origin is evident in two features of the story. The first is the nature of these thoughts — that they cast suspicion on Christ, ironically blaspheming him in the accusation of blasphemy. Now, this may not suffice in itself to prove these thoughts are demonic. Certainly, the question, Who can forgive sins but God?, could be asked in good faith by one who does not yet recognize Christ to be the Son of God. But that something much darker is at work within the Scribes is evident as the story advances. For rather than being persuaded that Christ is the Son of Man, capable of not only healing the paralytic but also forgiving his sins, the Scribes will soon hypothesize that he is energized by the Devil (Mark 3:28-30), proving themselves to be so hard of heart that they can no longer discern the difference between light and darkness, good and evil, the Spirit of God and the Devil.

Mark 2:8

• Why specify that Christ knew in his spirit? As discussed in reference to Mark 1:25, the biblical text is precise in its language about soul and spirit. Here, spirit (πνεῦμα) refers to the rational part of the man. But, of course, the knowledge Christ displays is divine in nature. By specifying not simply that he knew but that he knew in his spirit, we see the falsehood of two ancient heresies, Apollinarianism and Nestorianism.

• Apollinaris, seeking to make sense of the Incarnation, hypothesized that Christ does not have a human spirit. His proposal was simple: Man is a tripartite being, consisting of body, soul, and spirit. God is spirit, as John tells us in his Gospel (Jn 4:24). So if the human spirit is replaced by the Logos, then he is still body, soul, and spirit, making him a complete human being; yet, the spirit of this man is the Second Person of the Trinity. The great difficulty, of course, is that the Eastern fathers understand the Incarnation to have as its goal the healing of man. Just as we have seen throughout the gospel of Mark, Christ touches the unclean and makes them clean or touches the infirmed and makes them whole. So in the Incarnation itself, Christ takes on our corrupt nature in order to heal and restore it. Hence, as Gregory of Nazianzus exclaims, Whatever is not appropriated is not healed. If Christ did not take on the human spirit or mind, then our mind or spirit remains unmended. This is why, of course, the Eastern fathers never strive to explain the union of Christ’s natures by replacing something of his humanity with something of his divinity. Rather, humanity and divinity are conjoined in his one person. And in this mention of his spirit, we see the falsehood of Apollinaris’ claim: Christ has not only a divine mind but also a human spirit.

• The second error we have already discussed at length in Mark 1:29-31. Recall that the Nestorians sought to insulate the divinity of Christ from his humanity, suggesting that each nature belongs to its own person, and these two persons are conjoined in the composite Christ. His divinity does not, then, commune with his humanity; rather, that which is supernatural belongs solely to his divine person and the purely natural to his human person. Cyril of Alexandria (with the other Eastern fathers after him) refuted the idea as erroneous, since to commune with humanity was the very purpose of the Incarnation: Christ takes on our nature in order to heal it by union with his divinity — a point noted above in refutation of Apollinaris. This is precisely why Cyril points out that Christ’s touch dispels uncleanness, sickness, and even death: His humanity, being energized by his divinity, is life-giving. (As John of Damascus will later explain, the point is critical to the Eucharist: Flesh and blood is not life giving; rather, Christ’s flesh and blood is life giving precisely because it bears the energies of God.)

• Here, in this subtle note by Mark/Peter that Christ knew in his spirit, we see the point once again. As mentioned above, the knowledge Christ displays about the Scribes is divine, knowing the thoughts of their hearts. But Mark makes clear to us that Christ’s human spirit knows these hidden thoughts. In other words, his humanity shares in the operative powers of his divinity, participating in this divine knowledge. Far from the two natures being insulated one from another, Christ’s divinity knowing their hearts while his humanity is ignorant, we see instead that the two natures are conjoined in his one person, the one energized by the other — his humanity emblazoned with God, like iron enflamed with fire. In a word, we see the theandric operations discussed previously (Mark 1:29-31), where the powers of Christ’s two natures operate harmoniously in his one person.

  • Worth noting is that we also see here that the divine attributes are communicable energies. Within the Latin West, the divine attributes came to be treated as essential properties of the divine nature — akin to the way four-sided is essential to a square. And because of the Latin doctrine of divine simplicity, where God is one simple thing, the divine attributes were seen as different aspects of the one divine nature, which is God himself.² Amongst the Eastern fathers, by contrast, the divine attributes were seen as energies or expressions or articulations of the divine nature. Whatever God is in himself, he expresses that in his acts of creation, and in his providence, and in his love, and in his justice. Hence, omniscience (all-knowing), for example, is not an essential property of the divine nature, the way four-sided is a property of square. Rather, omniscience is an energy or operative power: God freely and actively knows all things. And because the divine energies are communicable, as discussed in reference to Mark 1:29-31, such attributes can be communicated to a creature, like man, who bears the divine image. Here, in the person of Christ, we see this very point. Rather than his two natures mingling in a confused way — the way horse and human mingle in centaur, this being the error of the monophysites — Christ’s two natures are unconfused. And yet, his humanity partakes of his divinity by communing with its energies.

Mark 2:9-11

• Concerning Christ’s question — Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, “Your sins are forgiven you,” or to say, “Arise, take up your bed and walk”? — we might be tempted to answer that it is easier to say that your sins are forgiven. For no one can scrutinize with the eye whether what we have said is in fact true. However, as the Scribes reason, to in fact forgive sins is an act of God alone. And in this light, the declarations are on equal footing, both being an act of God — which is, of course, the very point. Now, Christ acknowledges that one cannot see the forgiveness of sins, and thus cannot see whether the absolution he has offered the paralytic is real. So, to prove the one that they cannot see, forgiveness, he accomplishes the equally divine act that they can see, healing the paralytic of his paralysis. Christ is explicit on the point, healing the paralytic that they might know his authority. The term “know” (εἴδητε) is from the verb, “I see” (εἴδω), but here being used in the perfect tense, it means to know. No doubt the chosen term is intentional, highlighting a knowledge that comes from what they will behold with their eyes.

Mark 2:10

• Notice Christ’s use of the title, Son of Man. The title can be used as a generic title for “man,” such as when the Lord addresses Ezekiel. Or the term can be used as a reference to the divine-human figure prophesied about in Daniel 7. Plainly, Christ is not using the title in the generic, since this would imply that God has given this authority to all men. The miracle to follow is clearly meant to demonstrate that he, Christ, has the authority to forgive sins. Hence, he is here declaring himself to be the Son of Man prophesied about by Daniel:

  • “I was watching in a vision of the night, and behold, with the clouds of heaven, one like a son of man was coming, and he reached the Ancient of Days, and was brought into his presence. And to him was given the dominion and the honor and the kingdom, and all the peoples, tribes, and languages shall serve him. His authority is an everlasting authority which shall not pass away, and his kingdom shall not be corrupted.” (Daniel 7:13-4 LXX)

• The passage is plainly messianic, prophesying one who is given dominion and honor, along with everlasting authority that shall never pass away and who will rule over all the peoples of the earth. Moreover, his coming is associated with the kingdom of God. For he is given, not a kingdom, but the kingdom (ἡ βασιλεία), one that is incorruptible — indicating it is divine in nature. So, here, we see the convergence of the testimony of John the Baptist, who spoke of the kingdom of God being at hand (1:15), with Christ revealing himself to be the prophesied Son of Man, who was prophesied to receive this incorruptible kingdom.

• Why specify that he has this authority “on the earth”? This, according to both Chrysostom and Athanasius, is an acknowledgment of his Incarnation. He does not merely forgive from Heaven, as it were, but has taken on flesh, his divine authority having come down from Heaven and tabernacled among us.

• Here, again, we see the pattern that pervades Mark’s gospel: Christ speaks as one with authority and then demonstrates that authority in an act of authority. And as noted in reference to Mark 1:21-3, the term for authority (ἐξουσία) indicates from Christ’s own substance. Just as his teachings usher forth wisdom from his very substance, him being the Wisdom of God, so his authority to forgive sins is from his very substance, him being by nature God, who can alone forgive sins. In this case, the appearance of authority is not about his new teachings but about his authority, or power, to absolve. Here, we see that Christ not only drives away the uncleanness of body, as in the case of the leper, but also the uncleanness of soul, which is sin. And the demonstration is not the casting out of unclean spirits but the healing of a paralytic — first cleansing his soul of sins and then restoring his body to life.

Mark 2:11-2

• Why does he specify that the paralytic should return to his house? In this, we see the very same thing noted in Mark 1:34 by Cyril of Alexandria with reference to the leper. Though Christ often bids the restored to tell no one, he does not wish for the miracle to be hidden. Rather, he wishes for the miracle itself to be the herald of his coming. By returning to his house, all who know him will know a miracle has been wrought, the healing itself testifying to Christ. And so it is in the present scene, where the paralytic departs in the presence of all.

• Once again, the completeness and the immediacy of the healing is noted here, as the paralytic immediately (εὐθύς) rises up, takes his bed, and departs.

• Why the command to take up your bed? Gregory the Great sees in this the call of repentance. The paralytic, he suggests, is a picture of Fallen man, incapable of rising up from his bondage to the flesh and the passions. In a word, he is bound by vice. But having been healed of such bondage by Christ and raised up, the restored man must now carry those things in which he previously wallowed, bearing up under the assaults of the fleshly passions. (Moralia in Iob, 23)

• Ambrose, too, sees the image of Fallen man in this story, but he sees it as a foreshadowing or anticipation of the resurrection — the healing of the whole man: “And though it is a great thing to forgive men their sins,... nevertheless, it is a much more divine work to give resurrection to their bodies, because the Lord is Himself the resurrection” (De Poenitentia, PL 16:1638). In these words, we see the patristic impulse to see man’s condition and the work of Christ as less about moral guilt and more about the healing and restoration of the human person, body and soul.

• The people’s declaration — We never saw anything like this! — clearly parallels Christ’s own words. And here, there is a direct tie between Christ’s words and what they behold. He says plainly that the miracle is so that they can see his authority or power. Just as in the first stories of Christ’s appearance, he speaks as one having authority, and here, he speaks as one with the authority to forgive sins. The question is whether this is a mere appearance or whether he does, in fact, have such power. So, to prove his authority in things not seen, like forgiveness, he displays his operative power in something they can see, like healing. And in response, the people admit that they see, the text employing the same language — “that you may know” (ἵνα δὲ εἰδῆτε) and “we have never known” (οὕτως οὐδέποτε εἴδομεν) anything like this.

• Beyond the obvious parallel — that you may know and we have never known — there is something more in this declaration that they have never known anything like this. The Old Testament Law was a shadow of something to come — shadows of purification, of forgiveness, of holiness, and restoration. But these shadows had no power to bring about such things, as St. Paul explains. Christ is the substance that cast these shadows, these anticipating him. So, the people speak quite rightly when they say they have never seen such a thing as they see in Christ.

1. I realize that some readers, specifically of a Protestant persuasion, may be accustomed to reading this passage from Hebrews as a statement about Scripture, but the term Logos of God is unlikely to here refer to sacred Scripture, given three considerations. First, Paul does in fact use the term “Scripture” (γραφή) when referring to biblical texts. Second, the descriptions ascribed to the Logos make less sense applied to the biblical text than applied to the Second Person of the Trinity, namely, that it is living and active, judging men. Third, and in keeping with the prior point, the passage plainly mirrors Old Testament Logos theology, specifically Wisdom 18:15-16: “Your all-powerful word leaped from heaven, from the royal throne, a stern warrior, bearing the sharp sword of your authentic decree, and filled every place with death, and touched heaven, while standing upon the earth.” See also Wisdom 7:22–8:1.

2. The notion goes back to Augustine of Hippo and is traceable to the impact of “certain books of the Platonists” upon his thought (Confessiones, vii.2). According to Augustine, God is above both the material world and the divine Ideas that established the world, transcending both. So, he reasons, we must be careful to avoid the idea that God has certain goods the way a creature does. Rather, God is The Good. So, unlike the creature that acquires and loses goods, God is immutably what he is (De Trinitate, v.11). As this insight develops in Augustine’s thinking, it leads to a brand of divine essentialism, such that God is an “absolutely simple essence” (summa simplex essentia) (De Trinitate, vii.1.2). So emphatic on the point is Augustine that he insists we not even distinguish God from his nature, lest we imply that his nature is a good that he has. Rather, God is what he has (De Trinitate, vii.10; civitas Dei, xi.10). Everything we say of God, then, is identical with God (De Trinitate, xv.8). This is what it means to say God is simple. Anselm of Canterbury carries this reasoning across the various divine attributes (see Proslogion, 5 [on asiety], 6 [on incorporeality], 7 [on omnipotence], 8 [on impassibility], and 9 [on justice]). Were we to posit a being with all classical divine attributes, argues Anselm, but suggest that this being has these attributes, then we could conceive of a greater being, namely, one who is these perfections. The case for simplicity is no different. According to Anselm, the most perfect being must have every true good. But, Anselm argues, any being that has parts is not fully the goods that it has. If, for example, there is an ontological good to my hand, then that particular good is restricted to that part of me; it does not apply to me as a whole. The greatest possible being, Anselm reasons, must be every true good and be these goods in total. To be wholly every true good, however, requires that God is without parts, incomposite, being one simple thing. And that simple thing is The Good from which all particular goods derive (Proslogion, 18).