Rethinking the Incarnation
The doctrine of the Incarnation has long been shaped by categories set in place by the early ecumenical councils, particularly Chalcedon (451 AD), which attempted to define Christ’s two natures—fully divine and fully human—in a way that avoided both Nestorian division and Eutychian collapse. However, this framework presupposes a Greek metaphysical structure that treats divine and human natures as fundamentally distinct entities that must somehow be joined. This begs the question: Is this the best way to understand the Incarnation, or does it obscure a deeper metaphysical reality—one that aligns more with the biblical and Jewish theological worldview?
The doctrine of the Incarnation has long been shaped by categories set in place by the early ecumenical councils, particularly Chalcedon (451 AD), which attempted to define Christ’s two natures—fully divine and fully human—in a way that avoided both Nestorian division and Eutychian collapse. However, this framework presupposes a Greek metaphysical structure that treats divine and human natures as fundamentally distinct entities that must somehow be joined. This begs the question: Is this the best way to understand the Incarnation, or does it obscure a deeper metaphysical reality—one that aligns more with the biblical and Jewish theological worldview?
This essay proposes an alternative approach—one that understands Christ’s flesh not as something assumed from fallen materiality, but as a heavenly flesh, grounded in a higher, divine reality rather than in earthly biology. This approach challenges the standard diophysite reading of the Incarnation by suggesting that Christ’s humanity was not derived from below, but revealed from above. Such a reading finds strong biblical support in 1 Corinthians 2, where Paul emphasizes that the true wisdom of God is not of this age, and that spiritual realities must be discerned beyond natural categories.
By re-examining the nature of Christ’s flesh, we are not merely engaging in speculative theology, but recovering a more biblical and theologically coherent vision of the Incarnation—one that aligns more with Paul’s Second Adam theology, Jewish theological frameworks (such as Adam Kadmon), and the miaphysite tradition, which resisted the Chalcedonian division of natures.
1. The Biblical Framework: Christ’s Flesh from Above
One of the central issues with the traditional diophysite (two-natures) model is that it presumes a human nature derived from fallen materiality. This is problematic because Scripture consistently portrays Christ not as assuming a broken nature, but as revealing the true human nature that was always intended.
Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 2 provide a critical foundation for this:
“We impart a secret and hidden wisdom of God, which God decreed before the ages for our glory.” (1 Cor. 2:7)
“The natural person does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned.” (1 Cor. 2:14)
Paul makes a stark distinction between earthly wisdom and spiritual wisdom, between the natural and the divine reality that is hidden but now revealed in Christ. If this principle applies to Christ’s mission and message, why wouldn’t it also apply to his very being—his flesh itself?
This aligns with Paul’s larger Adam typology:
“The first man was from the earth, a man of dust; the second man is from heaven.” (1 Cor. 15:47)
Here, Paul does not say that Christ “redeems” the dust by assuming it. Rather, he states that Christ’s humanity is from heaven. This raises the crucial question: What does it mean for Christ’s humanity to be “heavenly” rather than “dustly”? If we take this text seriously, we must consider the possibility that the Incarnation was not the assumption of fallen material, but the unveiling of a heavenly humanity already present in God’s eternal plan.
Adam Kadmon: The Primordial Humanity
This concept resonates strongly with Jewish theological frameworks, particularly the idea of Adam Kadmon in Kabbalistic thought. In this tradition, Adam Kadmon is not the historical first man (Adam HaRishon) but a heavenly, archetypal human who exists as the divine blueprint for creation.
While later Kabbalistic interpretations expand on this idea in more esoteric directions, the basic concept aligns with Paul’s argument that Christ is not simply the Second Adam, but the true Adam—the primordial human in whom all humanity is grounded. This means that his flesh is not derived from below, but from above.
If Christ’s humanity is not a product of fallen biology, but rather a manifestation of the true, divine-human reality that has always existed in God, then the diophysite division collapses. There is no need to balance two natures—only to recognize that humanity itself was always meant to be divine in its participation in God.
This brings us back to Meister Eckhart, who resisted the Dionysian mysticism of negation and instead affirmed that the divine ground (grunt) is the very being in which all things exist. Eckhart’s theology suggests that humanity is not foreign to divinity, but is grounded in it—which fits far better with the biblical portrayal of Christ as the true human from heaven.
Theotokos: What Did Christ Take from Mary?
This perspective also forces us to rethink the nature of Mary’s role in the Incarnation. Traditionally, Theotokos (God-bearer) has been interpreted in a biological sense, meaning that Mary contributed the material from which Christ’s human nature was formed. But if Christ’s humanity was from above, then Mary’s role was not to contribute fallen biological material, but to serve as the entry point through which the divine humanity was made manifest in the world.
This interpretation preserves the significance of Mary while avoiding the Western problem of biological inheritance, which leads to further theological complications (like debates over whether Jesus inherited original sin, how his body was formed, etc.). If Christ’s humanity is not derived from below but revealed from above, then Mary’s role is not to provide substance, but to serve as the gate through which the divine enters creation.
The Political and Theological Implications
The Chalcedonian definition of two natures—one divine, one human—was not just a theological construct; it was also a political tool. It created a framework in which the imperial church could functionally control theology, defining who was inside or outside orthodoxy. The Miaphysite churches, who rejected the diophysite division, were marginalized and persecuted, despite the fact that their Christology was arguably closer to Paul’s vision.
The Chalcedonian definition of two natures—one divine, one human—was not just a theological construct; it was also a political tool. It created a framework in which the imperial church could functionally control theology, defining who was inside or outside orthodoxy. The Miaphysite churches, who rejected the diophysite division, were marginalized and persecuted, despite the fact that their Christology was arguably closer to Paul’s vision.
Furthermore, the diophysite model leaves open the dangerous implication that a purely human nature, distinct from the divine, could be sanctified apart from participation in God. This is the same logic that leads to the theological justification of God-Kings—rulers who claim divine authority while remaining in a purely human state. This is why the Roman Empire—and later, the medieval European monarchies—found the Chalcedonian model useful for political consolidation.
By contrast, a theology of heavenly flesh undermines the very foundation of imperial theology. It asserts that humanity’s true nature is not found in earthly power, but in participation with the divine.
Conclusion: Returning to the Biblical Vision
The doctrine of heavenly flesh provides a more biblically coherent and theologically robust vision of the Incarnation than the Greek-influenced Chalcedonian framework. It aligns with Paul’s vision of Christ as the heavenly Adam, it preserves the significance of Mary without forcing a biological assumption, and it undermines imperial and coercive political theology.
Rather than attempting to balance two natures, we should recognize that Christ’s humanity is the true humanity—the divine-human reality that was always intended. This is the metaphysics of the heavenly flesh.
