From the Ashes: The Tragicomedy of Justice and Mercy in a Providential History, Part 3

The Fall

The fall of man has given much trouble to evangelicals on apologetical grounds, and the inclusion of it as part of God's story may be seen as problematic both to Christians and non-Christians. It is one of those “chaotic” moments when God's purpose seems to have been thwarted and the characters to have revolted and upset the intended plot of the drama. How could a loving God subject His creation to frustration and provide for the damnation of millions by ordaining the fall of one? But perhaps the mainstream response is inappropriate.

The Westminster Confession affirms that the providence of God “extends itself even to the first fall, and all other sins of angels and men; and that not by a bare permission, but such as has joined with it a most wise and powerful bounding, and otherwise ordering, and governing of them, in a manifold dispensation, to His own holy ends.” (V.4) This is corroborated by Romans 8:20: “For the creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by reason of him who hath subjected the same in hope.” Neither Adam nor Eve nor Satan subjected the creation in hope; by process of elimination we may conclude that God's providence and ordination did indeed extend to the Fall and the subjection of Creation to frustration and vanity, in order to bring about greater glory to Himself as He manifested His redemption of creation.

The Drama of the Fall

Thus far we have seen that the idea is not so theologically repugnant as it is made out to be. And on apologetical grounds, it can be defended by the argument that, God's glory being the highest good, anything He does to His glory is good. At this point it may be objected that the fall was not to His glory. The force of the argument is strong, however, there is biblical reason to reject it—Romans 8:20-21, for example. This is for the Christian, of course, the primary reason to accept or reject an argument. However, a literary argument can also be made that it was indeed to God's glory for the Fall to occur.

In contrast to the anthropocentric argument saying that God chiefly desires relationship with His creation is the theocentric vision of God revealing Himself and His glory to His creation by means of a story. As this is not a primarily theological paper, I will rely on the earlier discussion to support this assertion on theological grounds and shall attempt to defend it strictly on literary. Bentley says, “Without violence, there would be nothing in the world but goodness, and literature is not mainly about goodness; it is mainly about badness.” He is both right and wrong here: he is right in that literature is not only about goodness, and has badness as a prerequisite. Tension is necessary to a story. A tale without tension may be a recounting of facts, but is not a story, for there is no plot. It is merely a day to day living without any end to strive for. There is no beginning, no middle, no end; neither improvement nor decay. It is hard to see how this is even a coherent possible world with volitional beings. But in any case, a procession of events with no end, in either the temporal or logical sense, would certainly lack the ability to display the complex array of God's attributes—e.g., His justice, mercy, might, and love—is no story, and would seem a very boring way to live.

The Fall then introduced tension into the creation, and the the creation was left in the tension of waiting to see if good or evil would win, and men actively chose sides in the contest (all opting for the wrong side because of the natural corruption of their will). Thus was set the stage for the great tragicomedy of God's plan—the fatal flaw in each minor actor being original sin, the lex talionis being God's righteous judgment on them, and the happy ending—for those chosen by grace alone—being by God's forgiveness. Thus there is tension in this world, and good literature reflects that. Each event has its place in history, in its proper context. We should beware of saying that all things are good, because there is certainly and truly evil in the world. Sin alone is not glorious. However, the judgment of sin, or, alternatively, the redemption of sin, is glorious. But those require sin to set the tension and begin the cycle.

Modern liberalism, and to an increasing extent, “evangelicalism,” has weakened and cheapened the great tragicomedy of the history of the world by attempting to take the out the badness and reduce life to goodness—moralistic platitudes on what we ought to do, or simplistic, cringing platitudes on the nature of God. But Bentley was right in his assessment that badness is necessary to story, and thus to life. We must, however, disagree with Bentley's last clause—life is not chiefly about badness. Though we live in a world of pain and sorrow, underlying it all is the unifying thread of the goodness of God's glory, for which He ordains all things. And He will redeem the world, punishing evil and showing His grace to His people. So, while there is badness, and perhaps this world is mostly badness in some sense, it is a warp of badness against an immovable and eternal weft of goodness.

Tragicomedy's Tension

What then is tragicomedy, and how does history exemplify it? How is it most true to life and most effective as a dramatic genre? Tragicomedy can be defined in a number of ways. The modern tragedies, as discussed before, are generally a mixture of tragedy and comedy. They are fundamentally tragic, with comedy for embellishment. They comprise a laughing in the face of death; as such, they would be farcical in their absurdity were it not for the earnest straight face with which they are written and performed.

The other form is that of “a tragedy averted.” (Bentley, 316) There is all the tension of a traditional tragedy, and all the usual forms—tragic flaws, tragic heroes, destiny, etc. But despite all these things, which traditionally lead to a tragic ending, the final downfall and destruction of the hero is avoided, and a happy ending is achieved.

There is a special tension in tragicomedy, though, between the motivations that would traditionally result in tragedy and the extenuating circumstances that result in its aversion. And it is this tension and its resolution that is perhaps most intriguing about the genre. Bentley deals at length with the lex talionis: the idea that the punishment should fit the crime. This is what traditionally drives the
tragedy and makes it such a powerful vehicle for truth—men instinctively believe that justice ought to be done when moral laws are broken. But in tragicomedy, the punishment of the hero either does not materialize or is so considerably lessened by the time it is applied as to be dubiously fitting. This necessitates a discussion of Justice and Mercy and their interrelation.

To be continued.