Was Mary Sinless? An Eastern Perspective

Theological Letters

Greetings subscribers! The following is a cleaned up, expanded, and cited transcript of a podcast episode I did some months back on whether the Virgin Mary is in fact sinless, according to the Eastern Church fathers.¹ The answer may surprise you!

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Before jumping into today’s piece, a quick reminder. I’m producing The East-West Series, a comprehensive 26-lecture exploration of the theological differences between Eastern and Western Christianity. We’re crowdfunding in preparation for production (scheduled to begin August 22, with the initial releases in late October). Watch the trailer and learn more at theeastwestseries.com.

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The Virgin Mary is a surprisingly controversial figure within the world of theology. Anyone who’s ever asked a Protestant what he thinks about the Roman Catholic view of Mary can see why. Within Roman Catholicism, one discovers a host of doctrines about the Mother of God: She’s ever-virgin, meaning she and Joseph never consummated the relationship, but she remained a virgin all throughout her life. As a result, Jesus had no biological siblings. Mary was kept from original sin, this being the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception. In other words, unlike humanity at large, who have been universally corrupted by the Fall of Adam and Eve, Mary was unaffected. This doctrine carries the implication that she was also sinless. And this is to say nothing of talk of her as a co-redemptrix, of her assumption into Heaven, and the list goes on.

Why do such doctrines strike a Protestant as strange? The reason is simply that Protestants strive to derive their theology from the Bible alone. When they look at the New Testament, they just don’t see such doctrines. In general, they don’t see the emphasis on Mary that one might find in Roman Catholicism. But even more so, where Mary is mentioned, the talk of her does not appear to match these doctrines. In fact, much of the New Testament seems to contradict them. For example, the biblical text says explicitly that Jesus has brothers and sisters (e.g., Mt 13:55-6). It says that Mary and Joseph didn’t come together until after Jesus was born, which seems to indicate that they did come together. Such statements appear, prime facie, to contradict the Ever-Virgin Doctrine, for example. As for the Immaculate Conception, they see no evidence that Mary was kept from the effects of the Fall. Quite the contrary, when looking at the NT testimony about Mary, they see evidence that she is just like you and me—one who sins and makes mistakes. For example, in the Gospels, we see that Jesus’s mother and his brothers come out in order to restrain him because they think he’s lost his mind (Mk 3:21, 31-5). When told that his mother and brothers are outside, Jesus responds, “Who is my mother and my brother?” The answer? Those who do the will of God. Far from deferring to Mary because she’s his biological mother, Jesus seems to undercut this, suggesting that the only thing that matters is that one do the will of God. Thus, she does not possess pride of place solely by virtue of being his biological mother. For such reasons, the Protestant is left to conclude that such doctrines are derived, not from the Bible, but from some later Roman Catholic developments surrounding the veneration of Mary.

As a philosopher, historical theologian, and Eastern Orthodox Christian, my work frequently wades into issues by mining the often-overlooked resources in the Christian East. So, when tackling a question such as this, it will come as no surprise to readers that I prefer to ask what we find within the Eastern Church fathers. The reason is that what we find in the Eastern Church fathers is often rather surprising to those only familiar with debates framed by a Catholic-Protestant dichotomy. So, when it comes to Mary, what do we find in the Eastern Church fathers and in Eastern Orthodoxy more generally?

To tackle all the topics mentioned above would be too much. I tackle some of these in another letter, where I speak about her biography according to tradition and the Ever-Virgin doctrine, so readers curious about these topics in particular can give that letter a read.² But for our purposes here, I want to focus on the question, Was Mary sinless? Where do the Eastern Church fathers and the Eastern Orthodox more generally sit on the question of Mary’s sinlessness?

I. Original Sin and the Augustinian Frame

Let me begin with a doctrine that we most certainly do not find within the Eastern Church Fathers or in Eastern Orthodoxy, and that is the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception. So what is this doctrine?

The Immaculate Conception refers specifically to the concept that Mary was preserved from original sin. So in order to understand the Immaculate Conception, we must first understand the doctrine of original sin, and why it was believed by some within the Latin West that Mary was preserved from original sin.

The doctrine of original sin grows up largely out of the work of Augustine of Hippo (354–430 AD). The teaching has two components to it. One is the component that says you and I come into the world crippled, such that we can’t do anything in order to earn God’s favor. The second component is that somehow you and I are guilty for the sin of Adam, which means we come into the world damned and condemned already—humanity is a “damned mass” (massa damnata).³ So let’s look at these two sides of this one coin.

In terms of our inability to do anything that is pleasing to God, this goes to a specific doctrine that Augustine develops called the order of loves. According to Augustine, you and I are drawn by loves or affections for perceived goods. Whenever we engage in any sort of activity, we do so out of a certain priority of loves. For example, if you find yourself wanting to get up from the couch and workout, you may find that a conflict arises within you. Part of you will, no doubt, wish to continue indulging in relaxation. Another part of you, however, might advocate for exercise, recognizing its benefits as no less desirable. What emerges is a conflict of loves. What Augustine recognizes is that whenever you make a choice between these competing goods, the choice will inevitably reflect a certain priority of loves. Perhaps you decide to forego working out and stay on the couch. Such a choice elevates the good of ease over the good of exercise. To choose working out, by contrast, reflects the opposite priority of loves. In this light, Augustine recognizes that every choice reflects an internal hierarchy of loves, a hierarchy that prioritizes some goods over others. ⁴

The hierarchy or order of loves, Augustine argues, is the measure of whether or not someone is righteous or just. The reason is this Augustine believes that in reality there is a hierarchy of goods. Plants are inferior to animals, and animals are inferior to man, and man is inferior to angels. This is what’s called the Great Chain of Being, according to which reality consists of a hierarchy of ascending or descending goods. Considering what this hierarchy means for justice or righteousness, Augustine argues that the justice—which renders to each its due—means that the just man’s desires should mirror the Great Chain of Being.⁵ if exercise is, in fact, the superior good in our above scenario, then the just man would render it its proper place over ease. In short, the order of loves reflected in a person’s choice can be either just or unjust—either rendering to each good its appropriate due or failing to render it its due. Such becomes the basis on which Augustine understands the workings of merits and demerits. God rewards the righteous and he punishes the wicked. So, in order for a deed to have merit before God, it must be just, which means the order of loves from which it proceeds must reflect the hierarchy of goods in reality—which, of course, places love of God above all competing goods.⁶

Now, in the early Augustine, he thinks it’s within one’s power to reorder his loves, should he discover that his loves are disordered. In De Libero Arbitrio, a rather early treatise on free choice, when answering what one is to do if he looks within and finds there disordered loves, he answers plainly that he should choose to fix it.⁷ But as time moves on, there emerges a controversy, specifically surrounding Pelagius (ca. 354–ca. 418 AD).⁸ Within the Pelagian controversy, the question emerged: What is the relationship between our free efforts to cooperate in our salvation and God’s grace? Throughout this controversy, Augustine’s thinking on the matter developed considerably. He came to the conclusion that grace must always be prior to any (salvific) exercise of will.⁹ For if one is saved through his own efforts, then in what sense is salvation of God and by grace? To reward one for his good deeds done of his own power is to simply render to him his due. This is neither gift nor grace. Thus developed the position, which became normative within the Latin West, that everything one does that has merit before God is done with the help of divine grace, and any deed done from purely natural powers has no merit before God. To deny the point is to fall into Pelagianism.

Now, the claim might strike one as implausible. Surely, non-Christians who are outside of a state of grace do good deeds. Can one really dismiss every non-Christian deed as sin? For Augustine, the answer is yes. And the explanation relies on the order of loves.

According to Augustine (following the Pelagian dispute), the progeny of Adam come into the world with disordered loves, and unlike in the early Augustine, it is not within our power to correct this disorder. The point does not mean that all deeds are as bad as they could be, nor does it mean that anyone necessarily rapes, murders, or steals. Instead, it means that even when someone does a good deed—from his own natural power and without the help of grace—the deed proceeds from a disordered set of loves. And for this reason, the deed is sin and has no merit before God. Such is the necessity of sin: All deeds done by nature without grace are sin.¹⁰ What is needed is for God to offer prevenient grace that empowers one to do deeds that are pleasing to God because they proceed from properly ordered loves.¹¹

Such is the first component of original sin: You and I come into the world crippled, carrying within our breast disordered loves, incapable of doing anything that is pleasing to God.

The second component of the doctrine is that our condition goes beyond an inability to do good. Augustine, looking at the teachings of Saint Paul, comes to the conclusion that you and I are in some ways participants in the Fall of Adam. That may mean that we were passive participants, or it may mean we were in Adam as active participants, sinning with Adam—Augustine entertains both possibilities at different points.¹² But either way, you and I come into the world already guilty before God. So, from the moment of conception, we are already damned, and we are incapable of doing anything to remedy this condition. Such is the doctrine of original sin.

Now, what is the relevance of this doctrine to the Immaculate Conception? Amongst the medievals, there emerged a discussion about the ramifications of Mary being infected by original sin. If she were tainted, might this mean that Christ, too, would be tainted.

Thomas Aquinas (1225–74 AD) argues no. The reason was simply that he held that the nature of the human person comes from the father—the woman provides only the material.¹³ The reasoning here is based on hylomorphic metaphysics (ὑλόμορφος = hylomorphos), which is to say that any creature is a combination of form (i.e., the nature of the being) and matter (i.e., the substratum that receives this nature). According to Aquinas, the form is supplied through the father’s seed, while the mother supplies to the material that receives that seed.¹⁴ The implication, of course, is that the corruption of human nature is transmitted from father to son, not from the mother.¹⁵ Since Jesus’s Father is God, there is no transmission of original sin. Mary provides only the material.¹⁶

Other medievals, however, argued that there is still something suitable about God preserving Mary from original sin, arguing that it is fitting for God to prepare an immaculate vessel to receive his Son. The language of “fitting” is reflective of a common line of reasoning that emerged amongst Latin scholastics. Many argued that if it is fitting for God do something, then it is reasonable to conclude that he did—reasoning that appears in William of Ware and John Duns Scotus, for example. So it is with the immaculate conception. The claim is not that God couldn’t preserve the Son of God from original sin if Mary were infected by it—she, after all, was preserved from original sin in her own conception. Rather, because it is fitting that God prepare an immaculate vessel for his Son, it is reasonable to conclude that he did. So, the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception suggested that Mary was miraculously preserved from original sin, so that she would be a pure vessel to receive Christ.¹⁷

While this doctrine was not universally accepted within the Latin West during the medieval era, it would eventually become official Roman Catholic dogma.¹⁸

II. The Eastern Perspective on Original Sin and Sinlessness

The first question we might ask, then, is do we find the Immaculate Conception within the Christian East? The short answer is no. The reason is not because we find an immediately rush to the conclusion that Mary was a sinner, no different from you and me. The reason is because the doctrine of original sin, which sits at the heart of the Immaculate Conception, is alien to the Christian East.

On the one hand, there is a certain resonance with aspects of the Augustinian framework. The Eastern Church fathers acknowledge that we are pulled in a host of directions by competing goods. Such is the backdrop for their talk of spiritual simplicity, according to which one must come to see that God is The Good, and all lesser goods are refractions of him. Once recognized, all goods can be harmoniously embraced in their proper place and measure because they are all refractions of a common source.¹⁹ But the Eastern acknowledgment that we are drawn to various goods, or that these goods often run into conflict with one another if one lacks spiritual simplicity, or that our desires for certain goods can become disordered (or unnatural)²⁰ never unfolds into a system of diagnosing the difference between the just and the unjust. Nor does this unfold into a concept of merits and demerits. Amongst the Eastern Church Fathers, the human condition is marked primarily by corruption and death. The view of our condition and its remedy is less judicial—marked by the need to remedy guilt before a future judge—and more therapeutic—needing to heal a cancer that is killing us.²¹

A second major difference concerns the nature-grace divide. The topic is vast and can only be treated briefly here. But suffice it to say that the Augustinian vision that unfolds in response to Pelagius draws a stark line between nature and grace. The former is incapable of doing anything pleasing to God, and the latter is defined as divine assistance to bridge this gap. Such divine assistance, however, is really nothing more than an effect on the creature. Hence, grace is seen as “created,” God willing to grant the creature supernatural aid, and this choice producing a created effect.²²

The contrast with the Eastern fathers is stark and twofold. The first is that grace, according to the Eastern fathers, is the divine energies, which are uncreated because they are God himself. For those unfamiliar with the essence-energies divide, the short version is this. The Eastern fathers (drawing on developments from Aristotle to Philo of Alexandria and into Saint Paul) draw a distinction between what a thing is (its essence) and the outward expressions or articulations or processions of that nature (its energies).²³ Hence, there is a distinction between fire per se and the expression of its pyrotic nature by its operations of heating and lighting. Or there is a distinction between the mind per se and the expressions or articulations of mind via speech, reasoning, or creativity. So in the same way, there is a distinction between God in himself (his essence) and the operative powers or energies of God that come down to us, communicating to us something of that nature—in his creativity, his mercy, his justice, his awfulness, and so on.

Critical to this concept is that these energies are sometimes communicable from one substance to another. A favorite analogy of the Eastern fathers is that of fire and iron. The energies of fire—its heating and lighting powers—can be communicated to iron, the enflamed iron coming to glow and burn through participation in a foreign nature. So it is, argue the Eastern fathers, with man and God. Man, as an icon of God, is made to commune with God and partake of the divine nature, divine attributes taking up residence within man and transfiguring him—a transfiguration most clearly seen in the person of Christ.²⁴

The importance of the point here is twofold. First, what the Eastern fathers have in mind when speaking about grace is not a created effect on a creature. Instead, they have in mind the divine energies themselves, energies that the creature is transformed by when communing with God. The second stark contrast concerns the nature-grace divide. Within the Latin West, following Augustine, grace is something that depends entirely on divine choice. God might choose to offer grace or withhold grace, and because the creature has no natural power to please God, the creature can do nothing to earn God’s favor, such that he might give grace. Its giving is truly arbitrary—arbitrium, a divine choice for reasons beyond our scrutiny. Within the Eastern fathers, by contrast, while grace is certainly supernatural, our access to it and communion with it—which is to say with God—is perfectly natural. Man, being an icon of God, has an innate connection with God that cannot be broken, not even by the Fall. Yes, the Fall distorts our nature and hinders our ability to commune with God as we ought. But the twisted soul retains its innate connection to the divine. The work of Christ on behalf of man is thus an untwisting of the soul, so that it might do what it was made to do, namely, deify the person—as St. Antony puts it.²⁵

The Fall brings us to yet another further difference between the Eastern fathers and the Augustinian framework. Critical to the Augustinian view is that we enter the world guilty before God and condemned already. This fact is part of what secures the arbitrary nature of God—God having no obligation to any of us, since we all deserve damnation from the start. Such a notion, however, is contrary to what we find in the Eastern Church fathers.

While the Eastern fathers clearly teach that Adam and Eve transmit death and corruption to their progeny, there is no belief that we come into the world guilty. We can see a stark contrast, for example, between what we find in Augustine on this topic and what you find in Gregory of Nyssa (ca. 335–ca. 395 AD). Augustine, when answering whether unbaptized infants are damned, says rather colorfully that even if a couple is racing to get their dying child to a priest to have it baptized before it dies, and it dies on the way, it goes to Hell because God could have preserved it long enough in order to be baptized.²⁶ The claim highlights not only our damnation from birth, but also the arbitrary nature of the giving of grace and salvation. Gregory of Nyssa, by contrast, when considering the fate of unbaptized infants states rather plainly that they are clearly not damned, since they are not even morally formed agents who might be guilty of anything.²⁷ His entire question is instead whether it would be better to die as an infant and not be damned than to grow up, become wicked, and be damned by one’s own choosing. Such is the question that interests him.²⁸ Infant damnation, by contrast, isn’t even a possibility worth entertaining.

Cyril of Alexandria (ca. 376–444 AD) articulates rather plainly the Eastern position. And the position is that what is transmitted from Adam to his progeny is corruption and death, not guilt. He writes:

Yes, Adam indeed fell and, having ignored the divine commandment, was condemned to corruptibility and death. But how did many become sinners because of him? What are his missteps to us? How could all of us who were not yet born be condemned together with him, even though God said, ‘Neither the fathers shall be put to death because of their children nor the children because of their fathers, but the soul which sins shall be put to death? Surely, the soul that sins shall die. For we became sinners through Adam’s disobedience in such a manner as this. He was created for incorruption and life, and the manner of existence he had in the garden of delight was proper to holiness. His whole mind was continuously seeing God while his body was tranquil and calm, and all base pleasures were still…. But since he fell under sin and slipped into corruptibility, pleasures and filthiness assaulted the nature of the flesh, and in our members was unveiled a savage law. Our nature thus became diseased by sin through the disobedience of one, that is, of Adam. Thus, all were made sinners, not as co-transgressors with Adam, which they never were, but being of his nature, they fell under the law of sin…. In Adam, human nature fell ill and became subject to corruptibility through disobedience, and, therefore, the passions entered in.²⁹

In short, the main components of the doctrine of original sin on which the Immaculate Conception is based—namely, the order of loves, the doctrine of merits, inherited guilt, the necessity of sin, and created grace—are all alien to the Eastern Church fathers. For this reason, they cannot affirm the Immaculate Conception, since the doctrine rests on a foundation not found in their thought.

Now, what about the question of whether or not Mary was affected by the transmission of corruption and death that was passed down by Adam and Eve? What about the question of whether she ever committed any moral infractions, or sins?

Let’s split these two questions, beginning with the latter question about moral infractions. According to the Eastern Church fathers, did Mary ever sin? While many within the Christian East would answer no,³⁰ we do find instances in which certain Eastern fathers attribute sin to the Virgin Mary. John Chrysostom (ca. 347–407 AD), for example, identifies vainglory as her motivation when discussing the wedding at Cana.³¹ And Chrysostom is not the only one of the Eastern fathers to suggest such a thing—Basil of Caesarea being of this mind as well.³² Yet, despite this smattering of Eastern patristic testimony that Mary may have sinned, the majority position within Eastern Christianity appears to favor her sinlessness. And this majority opinion is reflected in her various titles and the hymnody of the Orthodox Church.³³

Now, what’s particularly interesting here, however, is that within this very same hymnody, we find something else that is rather intriguing, namely, that the hymnody refers to Mary as a warrior and as a struggler.³⁴ This language within the Eastern hymnody indicates someone who struggled against the passions. In other words, the hymnody acknowledges that Mary was tempted—that she felt the sway of the passions that set in as a result of the Fall, and she struggled against these.³⁵

An aside might be in order here, concerning the term “passions” (παθη = pathe). The Eastern fathers distinguish between the “blameless passions” (αδιαβλητα παθη = adiableta pathe)—such as hunger, thirst, weariness, grief—and the “blameworthy passions” (ψϵκτα παθη = psekta pathe)—such as pride, lust, anger. What’s particularly interesting about the praise of Mary as a warrior and a struggler is that these terms indicate that even amongst those who would say that Mary never sinned, there is still a recognition that she did battle with the passions, struggling against those inclinations that incline one toward sin. In a word, she was not protected against the effects of the Fall.

Now, alongside this testimony, we also find testimony that Mary received special grace. There are a host of traditions about her life that testify to this fact—including her arrival at the Temple and her life therein.³⁶ Such stories illustrate the unique way in which Mary was open to divine grace and was uniquely sanctified as a result. And there is no question that the overwhelming testimony of the Eastern Church fathers and of the Orthodox hymnody acknowledges this unique sanctity.

Hence, within the Christian East, we find two parallel commitments that are equally important to its understanding of Mary. The Virgin indeed inherited our common fallen condition—weakness, mortality, susceptibility to temptation—but with the help of divine grace and her free cooperation with such grace (συνϵργϵια = synergeia), she never allowed these inclinations to mature into sinful acts. And for this reason, she is praised as a struggler, who did battle with and won against the passions.³⁷

III. The Dormition and the Need for a Savior

Within the Protestant mind, which hears the possibility that Mary may have never sinned, an immediate objection arises: If she never sinned, then she didn’t need a Savior—which is to say, she had no need of Christ. The suggestion is unthinkable. After all, all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Rom 3:23).

So, is this true? If Mary committed no wrongs, would this mean she has no need of Christ?

The objection itself is telling and highlights a very notable contrast between the way the Christian East and the Christian West thinks. As noted above, Western Christianity tends to think in judicial terms, while the Christian East tends to think therapeutically—or perhaps, better, ontologically. This particular crossroads about Mary’s sinlessness highlights the difference well.

Within Eastern Christianity, the human condition is not primarily characterized by moral guilt that merits future condemnation before a divine Judge. Within the Latin West, by contrast, this is often how the problem is framed: God is a lawgiver; you and I are lawbreakers; we will one day give account for the wrongs we’ve committed; and we will be condemned. Such is our predicament, and such is what the work of Christ is meant to remedy.

The Christian East, by contrast, frames the human condition as one marked by corruption and death. Man is made for more than the life and death of beasts. We are made to partake of the divine nature, and from this divine communion comes divine Life, immortality, and incorruption. Yet, having cut ourselves off from the Author of Life, death has settled into our members, our nature being corrupted as a result. The human condition is thus framed as that of a dying species.³⁸ The Incarnation is seen as the Author of Life entering our species in order to reunite us with this divine Life and heal our nature. What is offered in the gospel is the medicine of immortality and the therapeutic process of restoration.

The reason this framing is so important in our present context is because of yet another doctrine concerning the Virgin Mary, namely, the Dormition of the Mother of God.³⁹ So what is the Dormition? The term refers to the death of Mary—an event commemorated in the liturgical life of the Church and one for which many a church and monastery is named. Recalling how Basil of Caesarea defines the term dogma—namely, that which is part of the lived faith of the Church⁴⁰—we can say that it is a dogma of the Orthodox Church that Mary died.⁴¹ Now, why is this so significant?