Stefanos Dimitriou
PART ONE
I believe that the Resurrection and forgiveness are the two concepts that constitute the core of John Zizioulas’ theological reflection, as captured with vividness in this edition of his sermons (100 Sermons, Artos Zois, Athens 2023, p. 743). Μy characterization of the Resurrection simply as a concept might sound problematic, but I think that this notion inherently better serves the purpose of clarity, and therefore the intended understanding, at least in what concerns this author. For the Metropolitan of Pergamum, the miracle of the Resurrection, this leap beyond the limits of the logically comprehensible, which establishes faith, is the core of the Gospel message itself. The importance of the Resurrection lies in the defeat of death, thus also in the liberation of man from the dynastic imposition of corresponding fear.
Since the mortality of human nature is identified with its separation from the creative cause of existence, the Resurrection will constitute the removal of this separation. The Resurrection is the foundational event of the common resurrection, of the liberation of all from death, which does not befit man, the pre-eminent divine creation. Therefore, the Resurrection establishes the expectation of another life. It is itself another life, an “other life,” as the Paschal Canon describes it: “We celebrate the death of death, the destruction of hell, the beginning of another life eternal. And leaping for joy, we celebrate the Cause, the only blessed and most glorious God of our fathers.” This event, therefore, leads man to the “new life.” The Canon itself emphasizes this, when it mentions that Christ “raised up with Yourself the whole race of Adam, when You did rise from the grave.”
I believe that the identity, which does not simply enumerate, but essentially synthesizes all the main features that make up the theological reflection of John Zizioulas, in these one hundred sermons of his, is this very phrase, “raised up with Yourself.” But why this? Because, as John Zizioulas wonders, when he refers to the tragedy of death, “Why is death so tragic? Why is it so intolerable that God Himself comes into the world to defeat it? Death is indeed intolerable because it dissolves man’s very existence. [...] Death is also intolerable, because it keeps man a slave, a prisoner” (p. 67). The captive’s hope is always his redemptive release. And I think that the Metropolitan of Pergamum has this in mind when he insists that “There is no expressway, there is no shortcut, to salvation, joy, life, resurrection, the Kingdom of God. The road goes through hell” (p. 591). Since, therefore, the Resurrection takes place through the descent into Hades, its symbolic meaning can be composed and reflected in the fact that the inner change of man, the change of those to whom His will is aimed, will be the work of His will itself. Therefore, it will be his internal transformation, in another time and in a new life, in “new life,” that is, in “another life.”
I think this constitutes the core of Zizioulas’ sermons, when he refers to death as the captivity of man, i.e. to the intolerability of death. According to the Metropolitan of Pergamum, just as Christ, through his Resurrection, manifests himself “in another form,” so the state of man's mortality is reversed, so man is transformed by being reborn in the present tense. However, this transformative liberation and the initiation of “another life” are fully connected with the freedom of man and his will. It is this same freedom that, as it liberates, it also enslaves. It enslaves evil because, as Zizioulas explains, “Evil came precisely from our freedom; there would be no evil if God did not make free beings” (p. 179). But this freedom presupposes faith. As Zizioulas explains, “Faith is to say that yes there is human logic, yes nature and natural laws exist, but there is also the possibility, the freedom to overcome them” (p. 291).
Faith, then, on which freedom is founded, is a condition of transcending limits. But the Resurrection is the transcendental event par excellence. We still have a little way to go, until we reach the other term in the pair which constitutes, in my opinion, the core of Zizioulas’ theological reflection, namely forgiveness, but, in order to do this, we must, as we examine the Resurrection and faith, in relation to freedom, to dwell, for a little while longer, on the latter. So, let’s look at another view of the relationship between freedom and faith, a view that is opposite to that of Zizioulas. This is the Lutheran understanding of freedom and faith. Zizioulas does not refer to it in his sermons, but I choose to make this contrapuntal view, examining the contribution of the two, in order to show how Martin Luther founds freedom and faith in man, understood as an individual, and how the Metropolitan founds it in man qua person.
According to Luther, faith is the foundation of the Christian’s freedom (see his On the freedom of a Christian.) It is faith that makes him sovereign over all things. The believer’s freedom is a theologically interpretable freedom. Faith is the foundation of this freedom. In essence, they are identical. Freedom and faith are the same. One cannot be defined independently of the other. This relationship allows the believer to communicate with Christ, without a relationship of mediation. After all, the Lutheran Reformation does not accept patristic tradition as an authority in relation to the interpretation of the Bible. On the contrary, it accepts that God, through the Holy Bible, addresses himself directly, without mediation, to the human soul, to the soul of the believing man. Therefore, the Holy Bible, for Luther, is not an end, but the way, for the believer to reach the knowledge of Christ. This is the center of the hermeneutical enterprise, which is an individual enterprise as far as the interpreting believer is concerned.
Subjectivity, therefore—individualization, that is—already enters when determining the relationship between the believer and the Holy Bible, since the interpretive mediation of the Church has been excluded, in which case the believer himself communicates directly with Christ through his faith only. So, we can say that his faith is enough for him to interpret himself, without a bearer of authority. Therefore, if this is true, then this direct interpretation is part of the Christian's freedom and its theological significance. Since the believer interprets grace in his faith, which establishes his freedom, this same faith will also guarantee his salvation. The believer is not saved by participation in the sacramental life of the Church. He is saved only thanks to his freedom, which, however, is founded on his faith—and is identified with it—so he is saved due to his faith in the word of God alone. It is this faith that justifies him as faithful and free.
However, the rejection of this mediation, i.e., the Church, was also the condition for the emergence of the concept of the individual, since the denial of the authority regarding the interpretation of the Holy Bible, led to personal, individual interpretation, and, subsequently, was a condition of the primary conception of individuality, and thus also of individual responsibility. Is this condition also a condition of individual self-consciousness, regarding the relationship of justice and injustice, since injustice is counted as sin? Is the free believer accountable, he himself, as a bearer of his individual responsibility, in terms of his actions, towards his creator? But what is this Christian, this free believer? Luther answers as follows: “In order to be able to know in depth what a Christian is and what is the nature of the freedom that Christ won for his sake and gave him, about which the apostle Paul writes frequently, I formulate these two theses: 1. A Christian is free master of all things and subject to none; 2. A Christian is a slave submissive to all things and subject to all” (p.9).
The Christian, for Luther, is a dual person, because he is both a spiritual and a physical person. The first states his relationship with God. The second indicates his symbiotic relationship with other people, and therefore what he does. Man’s spirituality is his interiority. Man’s physicality concerns his exteriority. But what can this mean for his faith, which, being identified with his freedom, is also the foundation of his justice? It means that his freedom, that is, his faith, is elevated through his servitude. The free man is subject to others. That is why the believer, the active subject of actions, is not only free, but also righteous because of his faith and not because of his actions—that is, his works. Herein lies the distinction between a spiritual-internal and a physical-external man: the interiority of the former is his faith. The externality of the latter is his works.
However, since man’s salvation does not result from his works, but is the work of God, then faith in him is sufficient for human justification. This distinction, however, between an inner-spiritual man, that is, the man of faith, and the outer man, who acts, also leads to something else. It leads to something pioneeringly modern: that is, to the concept of individualization and, at the same time, to the distinction between public and private spheres, corresponding to the inner and outer man. It may be that, for Luther, it is indifferent which state dominates each time and he is only interested in the legitimization of political power at any given time, just as it is also true that he does not consider the field of action of the external man, the field of works, as a place for the development of emancipatory works, which will bring justice to earthly, worldly life, but, nevertheless, the relationship between the inner and outer man clearly defines the field in which these two spheres are separated. This distinction, together with the possibility of the personal interpretation of the Bible—as a manifestation of individual judgment and responsibility for the consistent, therefore solid and justified and not arbitrarily reduced to some authority—interpretation is perhaps also a primary condition for how we interpret the texts today.
We owe to the Lutheran reformation the emergence of the free, autonomous, and equal subject and its interpretive consistency, in terms of non-arbitrariness, and responsibility. We said, however, not only free and autonomous, but also equal. Why? Since all, through the grace of Christ, are equal members of the community of believers, then there is no superior theological, priestly authority. All are lifted up, through faith, which makes them equally free believers, therefore equally seeking their justification through it. In this sense, we are all somewhat “Lutheran Reformed” when we interpret, thus when we face the responsibility of critical argumentation in order to justify our hermeneutical judgments.
However, there is also something interpretatively very difficult, at least for my own abilities: since the free believer himself has his own individual responsibility for his actions, communicating directly with his Creator, how can he bear, without being crushed, the weight of this direct accountability, without the comforting consolation of ecclesiastical mediation? The answer, however, to this question belongs to the people of the confession and not to me, so that I do not fall into the error of unintentionally misinterpreting the text. However, I cannot overlook the ecclesiological importance and criticality of this issue, so I return, for its investigation, to the theological reflection of John Zizioulas. For him, the freedom of the believer is identified with his conception not as an individual, but as a person. The Metropolitan of Pergamum believed that ancient Greek contemplation was not “personal.” The unity of the world, according to Pergamon, left no room for unpredictability and freedom. Necessity and Fate ruled the world and man. The harmony of the world was the only moral and logical need, which, however, according to Zizioulas, deprived man of the possibility of a face and limited him to a mere mask. The mask cannot—unlike the face, according to its specific theological interpretation—have an ontological hypostasis and content.
But how is it possible to distinguish the oneness of God from his three hypostases? This means that the Creator should be distinguished from the very act of creation and, of course, from his creations. God cannot be identified with creation. Therefore, the hypostasis itself should be identified with the person. Therefore, the person will not simply be an aggressive determination of being but would itself be transformed into a hypostasis. The world itself would be a creation of God’s freedom. Thus, however, the meaning of the world now, in contrast to ancient Greek cosmological thinking, would not have necessity at its core, but freedom. Father’s free existence, that is, Father as a person, defines the essence of the divine, as well as God being one, and how God exists as a person, that is, existing through these three personal modes of being.
These are the three hypostatic ways in which God exists as one God and as a person and which together constitute the Trinity. The one divine essence owes these three hypostatic modes of God’s existence to the persons of God. God exists as a person and this is the foundation of man’s very freedom. According to Zizioulas, however, this freedom does not simply consist in the ability to choose freely. The possibility of free choice belongs to the Western tradition, according to Zizioulas, which contradicts the fundamental assumption of the Metropolitan of Pergamon, namely that God, as a person, is himself a communion and that freedom is only expressed as love. So, if I am not misinterpreting Zizioulas’ theological reflection, then this love is not only an attribute of God, but is also innate way of his being. And its essence lies in its oneness and uniqueness—that is, in the fact that it is one God. Since, then, this is how God exists, then God’s love for man cannot but have this ontological freedom, which allows man to be considered and exist as a unique and unrepeatable entity. And God as a person, with man, considered as a person, have in common their freedom.
PART TWO
Now I think we have a path towards the relationship between freedom, person, and forgiveness. And this, because Zizioulas understands forgiveness as coexistence. And thus, in fact, he explains what hell is: “In the Kingdom of God, at the eschata, in our future, we will be called to coexist with our brother. And if we co-exist eternally with someone whom we have not accepted and forgiven, imagine, my dear brothers and sisters, what suffering! This is hell! Because hell is not something imposed by God who punishes; it is something we create for ourselves, the moment we create the condition to be tortured eternally, because next to us there is someone whom we never wanted to have in our life next to us” (p.412).
Forgiveness, then, is the coexistence of man in the same space with the other. It is coexistence with the uniqueness and otherness of the other. That is why, according to the Metropolitan of Pergamon, man, in order to be able to forgive, should be able to accommodate the other. However, in order to do this, he should expand and extend his existential, spatial dimension, thus extending beyond its individualism (I say “individualism” and not “individuality,” because I consider them to be opposite concepts, where the first concerns entrenchment in the “I” and possessiveness, while the second is personal autonomy, which can include otherness, because it is also defined in reference to it on the basis of the composition of freedom and equality), and to accommodate the other, and thus to forgive him, coexisting with him in the same space.
Yes, but in what space? In the common space of freedom, where he also exists as a person. Where he coexists with God as a person, coexisting with freedom, with a freedom that manifests itself as love. Otherwise, none of these will exist and people, instead of forgiving, will tear each other to pieces. But what does it mean that, instead of forgiving, they will tear each other apart? Zizioulas explains it with demonstrative simplicity: “Dogs, you know, bark and shout when they see another dog passing through their space, because they have the feeling that this space belongs only to them” (p. 413). Here, then, is why forgiveness is an expansion of the existential, spatial dimension of the person, so that it can accommodate the other and coexist with its otherness and uniqueness.
In this way, however, a self-transcendence takes place. And this self-transcendence leads to the supremely transcendent event of the Resurrection, both as a victory over the tragedy of death and as an existential renovation, thus also a new self-determination (in my own modern vocabulary)—that is, as conscious freedom, liberating from the fear of death and faith in the resurrected Christ (because if one does not believe that Christ is resurrected, then what is the reason to believe in him?), but also as an internalization of the mystery and miracle of the Resurrection, which allows free belief in it, without the need for external evidence.
Returning, however, to the core of Zizioulas' thought, namely the Resurrection and its relationship with forgiveness, through the relationship of freedom and faith, we cannot help but dwell again on the tragedy of death, since the Resurrection redeems us from it, as well as from the consequent fear. We should, therefore, dig again into the semantic ground of the tragic and ask ourselves: why is it tragic and in what respect? Let's think a little about the tragic in Ancient Tragedy, to clarify the differences. Let’s look at the two Oedipuses: “Oedipus the Tyrant” fluctuates between Fate and Necessity. He interprets divine messages through oracles and heads towards the known end. Let’s look at the freedom of the tragic hero, through a semantics of freedom as the possibility of free choice: Was it possible for Oedipus to be saved in Kithairon? Was it or was it not possible for him to leave Corinth? Could he have avoided killing Laius? Would it be possible not to solve the riddle of the Sphinx? Would it be possible for him not to marry Jocasti? Would it be possible not to turn to the Oracle? How much and what freedom is there in these disjunctive questions? What is and how is the field of freedom of the tragic hero delimited? Are they, in other words, random choices or actions determined by the relentless force and imposition of Necessity? Would it be possible to construct the concept of the tragic, which is embodied by the tragic hero, without this last question? What accounts for Oedipus's plight, which makes him a plighted hero? That he was forced to choose and that his necessarily predetermined choices would lead him to his equally tragic end. It is not Fortune that informs the choices and the tragic course of “Oedipus the Tyrant,” but Necessity, which determines what he will mean as a tragic hero. Without the unchallenged supremacy of Necessity, in the human action of the ancient world and its insurmountable tragic achievement, there is no semblance, so no hero–not even Oedipus–would be tragic. There is much we could say about the tragedy of Antigone and Creon, but it is not for this time.
“Oedipus at Colonus,” however, is. It is here, in order to dissect aspects of this understanding of the tragic, in order to see the difference in how Zizioulas contemplates—so I think, at least—the tragedy of death, as well as the freedom that the transcendent fact of death affords and guarantees. Resurrection. And in the second Oedipus, the oracles are the beginning of the vision and other-determination of the tragic figure. The divine will is revealed to Oedipus, through these oracles, and demands its decipherment. “Oedipus the Tyrant” mistakenly decodes the divine message as an expression of the will of the gods. However, this will itself is an expression of the cosmic order. This is at the core of the ancient Greek, tragic cosmological view. The message illustrates the unity of the world through the rhythmic harmonizing of its inherent contradictions. The two Oedipuses are tragic figures who embody precisely these contradictions. The significance of tragic figures lies precisely in the disruption and restoration of this cosmic unity and harmony. Misunderstanding the message of the oracles puts you outside of this harmonious universe. With “Oedipus at Colonus,” however, things change, because primarily he himself has changed. He is no longer a carrier of rigid self-confidence, but also of abusive self-sufficiency, which leads to ostentation, which is insulting to the divine and challenging to the harmony of the world. The second Oedipus approaches Colonus with the pride of one who has suffered and now knows the importance of the oracles. He has now won the recognition of the gods. Making a somewhat crude anachronism—since the Roman—derived concept of dignity, as dignitas hominis, was unknown in the ancient Greek world—we would say that he himself is “dignified,” with this “dignity” earned by passion and knowledge. Oedipus, when he reaches Colonus, is himself a reflective feat. His arrogance has superseded the previous ode, the one due to the solution of the riddle of the Sphinx, that is, the ode that disturbed the cosmic order and unity. Again, however, the tragedy of human fate, and therefore human freedom, is sealed by Fate and Necessity. The death of the tragic hero, and therefore the tragedy of death itself, is determined by them. After all, this is what the “Ascension” of “Oedipus at Colonus” shows.
Let us now turn to the perspective presented in one of Zizioulas’ sermons on the tragedy of death, and therefore on freedom as the human person’s liberation from death and, what’s more, from fear of death: “We must traverse the path of death, putting to death ourselves and above all our self-love and passions, in order to love and no longer fear death. Otherwise, death wins by cultivating fear of death” (p. 70). However, there is no human freedom in the state of worsening fear, according to the Metropolitan of Pergamum. That is why he mentioned, as I said before, that “death is intolerable.”
So what do we do with something we find intolerable? The answer is inevitably trite: we don't tolerate it. This is what Zizioulas also preaches, connecting the tragedy of death with the supremely transcendent event of the Resurrection and with the ontology of the person, of man as a person and of his freedom, as well as this freedom with faith and a forgiving coexistence with the otherness of the other: “Death isn’t something that we should accept as correct or even natural, as biologists tell us. For yes, life continues when one man dies. Nevertheless, the unique person is lost or, rather, is in danger of annihilation.” (p. 71).
I believe that this passage from the Metropolitan of Pergamon’s sermon encapsulates the whole of his faith. It is the core of his teaching. And, like any core, this passage is simple and unbreakably cohesive. But what does this tell us? Definitely different things to each person. I am not a person of faith, but I have great respect for the Christian faith and teaching, which has no coherence without the transcendent event of the Resurrection. In my opinion, this passage accustoms us in terms of contemplative familiarity with the inevitability of death, without leading us to conciliatory, enduring repulsion.
And not only that, but it can also contribute to the continual demand to constantly stand up, internally renovated and re-oriented, overcoming the most dynastic impositions of heteronomy in order to seek personal autonomy, not only as an individual right, but also as an awareness of the equal commitments we undertake towards others, so that we strive for a precious and harmonious coexistence with them. In this world, I would call this achievement “political democracy with social justice,” which, in my opinion, is also the definition of the rather vague term “democratic socialism.”
For the “other,” one ought to read the hundred sermons of the Metropolitan of Pergamon, which will bring him in front of a mirror in which he can look at how he will relativize his unrecognizable inability to think in light of all this, in a way other than the one he is familiar with. It's a creative twist with this familiar opening. A reversal that leaves us mentally and emotionally exhausted. This was also my dialogue with the monologic sermonic teaching of the Metropolitan of Pergamon. After all, the church sermon is by definition monologic, but the speech of the Metropolitan of Pergamon, John Zizioulas, is essentially dialogical.
Stefanos Dimitriou is Professor of Political Philosophy at the Department of Political Science and History of Panteion University
Translated from Greek: Fr. Gregory Edwards
