Pain and the Fall of Man (1 of 2)

Theological Letters

The following letter is written an Orthodox inquirer, who had been reading about the doctrine of the Fall. The author’s comments on pain raised a number of questions for her. Specifically, the remarks in question sounded as though pain is an evil, but she questioned whether this is, in fact, true, given its role in alerting animals — man included — to something wrong within the body. In addition, she struggles to grasp what animal life without pain might look like, and yet, the author appeared to suggest that such a life is precisely what Adam and Eve experienced and what the believer hopes to attain. But what would this mean in practice for the exceedingly ordinary things that befall us day to day that involve pain?

In reply, I begin to walk her through the Eastern patristic understanding of the nature of man, his creation, and the effects of his Fall. Building on this foundation, then, I explore her questions about pain. The letter, being quite long, will be broken into two parts. Be watching for the second installment next week.

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Dear Margot,

Before discussing The Fall and your other questions, let’s begin with Orthodox anthropology. Unless we understand that, we’re not in a position to rightly navigate your questions. But once we grasp that firmly, many of your questions resolve themselves.

The Eastern fathers, like Aristotle, identify man as a rational animal. What this means, in these fathers, is that we are a composite entity. We bear an animal nature, bearing both beastly flesh and soul. — In case you’re unfamiliar, soul, according to the ancients, is simply the animating life-force of a body. Hence, any body that is animated has a soul. But not all animated bodies are rational, intelligence being a property of spirit, which not every animated body possesses. — Now, turning to what makes man unique, we discover that this particular animal possesses a rational spirit, or mind (nous), what John of Damascus calls the purest part of the human soul.

We might think of the matter by calling to mind the scene in The Magician’s Nephew, where Aslan sings the animals into being and then breathes on the dumb beasts, causing them to speak. Such is C. S. Lewis’ illustration of God creating man from the dust of the earth, as he did the beasts of the field, but breathing into him from heaven, making him a living spirit.

This rational spirit is where the Eastern fathers locate the icon of God. Put concisely, God is Mind or Nous (Νοῦς) and our species is a nous-endowed animal. Hence, we are a small image of our divine Archetype.

Now, this anthropology presumes there is an ontological hierarchy internal to our nature. Meaning, some aspects of our composition are superior to others. Most obviously and importantly, the rational spirit is superior to the irrational animal nature. The relevance of this inner hierarchy is that it tells us what a properly ordered person looks like, but before delving into this aspect of the microcosm of man, let’s look at the broader vision of hierarchies in the macrocosm that constitutes our world.

The basic rationale is that not every being in our cosmos is equal, ontologically speaking. Some beings possess properties that make them superior to other beings. For example, life is a good. Hence, a thing that has life is superior to one that lacks life. Plants are thus ontologically superior to rocks. This is not to denigrate rocks; they exist and are not God, which is very impressive! But to have existence and life is greater than to have existence alone. Similarly, to possess sentience and the capacity for movement or self-propulsion is good; thus, animals, having such powers, are superior to plants that lack them. And, of course, the powers of reason and free choice are goods, making humans superior to irrational beasts that lack these godlike traits. As for the angels, the Psalmist tells us that man is a little lower than angel; thus, they presumably have powers we lack.

This hierarchy is what is often called The Great Chain of Being. The rationale was considered straightforward; hence, we find the givenness of this hierarchy across a great many pagan, Jewish, and Christian philosophies. The Eastern fathers, too, presume this natural hierarchy, and this presumption informs the prime facie claim that humanity’s rational nature is superior to its irrational nature. And granting this superiority, the natural implication is that the higher ought to care for and order the lower, akin to a man guiding and caring for a horse.

I should offer an important nuance here. The claim that in the rightly ordered man the rational spirit ought to govern the animal nature presumes that the rational spirit is itself rightly ordered. What this means is that the rational spirit displays goodness, virtue, and wisdom. For nous is an icon of God, who is himself The Good, Virtue, and Wisdom. The importance of the point can be seen in my man-horse analogy. One might object to my matter-of-fact statement that a rider ought to direct the horse, not vice versa. For some men are cruel, so it is not obvious that every horse ought to be ruled by every man who might climb atop it. True. If the rider is corrupt — proving cruel, lacking goodness, virtue, and wisdom — then the horse may live a more full life without its cruel master. Yet, a good, virtuous, and wise man leads the horse to food, to shelter, to safety, and ultimately to the fulfillment of its proper end as a horse. In short, the good, virtuous, and wise man helps the horse live more fully than it would if left to itself. In like manner, when the Eastern fathers suggest that the rational spirit governs the animal nature in the rightly ordered man, they are not only presuming that the rational spirit is ontologically superior to the animal nature, but that the rightly ordered rational spirit, through its governance, helps order the lower animal nature in such a way that the lower nature lives more fully than it would if left to itself.

On a basic biological level, we can see the point in the ways nutritionists, for example, offer guidance to the general populous. Many individuals eat thoughtlessly, allowing a combination of hunger, taste, convenience, and pleasure dictate their habits. As a result, their animal nature takes the lead in their eating. When a person looks into nutritional science and begins to change his or her eating habits to reflect these (rational) findings, by contrast, the mind begins to subdue and tame the animal nature, redirecting it toward a healthier mode of existence. The body begins to live more fully. But, to be sure, the animal nature often resists this governance, assailing the rational mind with passions — in this case, cravings — that demand satisfaction. Like an animal being trained, the animal nature resists what the mind imposes, but if the mind stays the course, the animal nature adjusts and lives more fully as a result.

Now, the above example concerns the ways in which mind can reorder body toward a greater mode of biological life, what we might call bios (βίος). Yet, the Eastern fathers insist that the Christian faith is built on the belief that nous can also communicate zōē (ζωή) to the animal nature, by which is meant divine life — a life eternal and incorruptible — as opposed to mere biological life.

Key to the notion is that nous has a natural affinity for Nous. Or put another way, the image has a natural affinity for its Archetype. This comes through in our capacity to bear what I’ll call “lowercase replicas” of divine traits, to put it crudely. For example, we can display wisdom, which is an image of divine Wisdom; we can display mercy, which is an image of divine Mercy, and so on.

The point is that the human mind has a natural connection to the divine Mind that plants or dogs or trees simply do not have. And this connection between nous and Nous, say Eastern fathers, makes it possible for our mind to ascend to and participate in the divine Mind in a unique manner, namely, the mode of ascent and participation that is labeled deification. But to understand this more extraordinary form of participation in God, we must look at the Eastern patristic distinction between the essence of God and his energies.