Why Is Jesus Called the "Son of Man"?

Theology
87

Brother @Johann, if we look at church history through the lens of a Christian historian, we can see how the distinctions you mentioned arose over time.

After the first four ecumenical councils—Nicaea (325), Constantinople (381), Ephesus (431), and Chalcedon (451)—the Church wrestled intensely with how to articulate Christ’s nature. The Council of Chalcedon declared that Christ exists ‘in two natures, divine and human, without confusion, change, division, or separation.’ While this formula became foundational for both the Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic Churches, it was rejected by many in Egypt, Syria, Armenia, and Ethiopia, who later became the Oriental Orthodox Churches. They did not deny Christ’s humanity or divinity; rather, they preferred the formula of one united incarnate nature of the Word (Miaphysitism), emphasising the full union without division, to safeguard against any suggestion of a split or dual subject in Christ.

Over the centuries, this theological disagreement became intertwined with political and cultural factors. The Oriental Orthodox were often outside the Byzantine imperial sphere and felt marginalized by Chalcedonian decisions imposed by Constantinople. Conversely, the Eastern Orthodox Church remained closely tied to the Byzantine state, developing its own theological traditions and liturgical practices.

Meanwhile, the Roman Catholic Church in the West, under the papacy, developed a theological framework that emphasized doctrinal precision and papal authority, producing rich scholastic commentaries that sometimes appear distant from the simplicity of Scripture, as you noted. The regional conflicts and linguistic differences (Greek, Latin, Syriac, Coptic) further deepened these divides.

Despite these separations, all these traditions share the core tenets of the Christian faith: the Trinity, the incarnation, the resurrection, and salvation through Christ. The differences often lie in terminology, emphasis, and pastoral expression, rather than in the essence of faith itself. Historical tensions aside, it is remarkable that the same gospel—Jesus Christ, fully God and fully man, crucified and risen—remains central across all these churches.

And let us not forget the prayer of our Lord in John 17:21, “That they all may be one, just as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You; that they also may be in Us.” This prayer reminds us that, beyond theological nuance and historical divisions, the Spirit calls the faithful to unity in Christ. It is a hope that transcends councils, controversies, and centuries, pointing us back to the heart of the gospel: love, communion, and shared faith in the incarnate Son.

1 Like
88

And so the Great Schism endures to this day. Right Sam?

J.

89

Oh yeah, true brother Johann. In 1054, mutual excommunications were pronounced between Pope Leo IX’s legates and Patriarch Michael I Cerularius of Constantinople, solidifying the rupture. Attempts at reconciliation, including the Councils of Lyon and Florence but you know what happened right…

1 Like
90

The Great Schism, also called the East–West Schism, was the formal division between the Eastern Orthodox Church and the Roman Catholic Church in 1054 AD, though the separation was a culmination of centuries of theological, liturgical, cultural, and political tensions.

The key issues included:

  1. Papal Authority – The West claimed the pope in Rome held universal jurisdiction over the entire Church, while the East maintained that the patriarchs of Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem shared authority collegially, and that Rome did not have unilateral authority.

  2. Filioque Controversy – The Western Church added the phrase filioque (“and the Son”) to the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed (qui ex Patre Filioque procedit), asserting the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son. The East rejected this insertion, arguing it was unauthorized and altered the theology of the Trinity.

  3. Liturgical and Cultural Differences – Differences in language (Latin vs. Greek), leavened vs. unleavened bread in the Eucharist, fasting practices, and other rites intensified divisions.

  4. Political and Historical Tensions – The decline of the Western Roman Empire and the rise of the Byzantine Empire created political rivalry. Disputes over jurisdiction of southern Italy, Sicily, and other territories compounded ecclesiastical disagreements.

The formal split is usually marked by mutual excommunications in 1054 between Cardinal Humbert (representing Pope Leo IX) and Patriarch Michael Cerularius of Constantinople. While attempts at reconciliation occurred later, including the Council of Florence (1439), the separation remained, creating two distinct communions: Roman Catholicism in the West and Eastern Orthodoxy in the East.

In short, the Great Schism was the breaking point of a long-standing accumulation of theological, liturgical, cultural, and political conflicts, crystallizing in separate paths for the Christian East and West.

Very short, condensed version.

J.

2 Likes
91

Yes, yes, I remember, we discussed about this, especially the Filioque part 2 months ago. :grinning_face:

92

This is another topic, another discussion, for now, why is Jesus called the Son of man?

Johann.

93

Yeah coming back to the topic

94

@SincereSeeker

The Greek linguistic matrix of kenosis clarifies veiling as its essence, eschewing withholding’s implications. Central is kenoō (κενόω) [to empty or make void], from Philippians 2:7, which in koine usage connotes voluntary evacuation of status or privilege, not substance, akin to a king donning beggar’s rags without abdicating the throne. This reflexive verb heauton ekenōsen [he emptied himself] underscores personal agency, veiling divine glory via assumption of the form of a servant, where form or outward expression denotes manifested essence, not altered ontology.

Distinguishing veiling is krypsis [hiding or concealment], a patristic term (e.g St. Cyril of Alexandria) for the obscured radiance of deity as in John 17:5, where Christ prays “Glorify me…with the glory I had with you before the world existed” implying preexistent glory temporarily veiled, not withheld. Withholding evokes restraint or abstention, a term absent in Christological loci but preiliously close to Arian subordinationism, suggesting suspended attributes. To guard against compromise, we invoke homoousios from the Nicene Creed, affirming consubstantiality unbroken by kenosis. The divestiture ditch lurks in misreading kenoō as apothesis (ἀπόθεσις) [laying aside].
Orthodoxy says enhypostatization [the human nature’s existence in the divine Person] ensured veiled power remian potential for redemptive purpose as in Transfiguration.
Theologically, kenosis as veiling resides in the state of humiliation, a Lutheran rubic denoting Christ’s earthly self-limitation from Incarnation to ascension, where divine attributes are not withheld ( a volitional non-exercise risking Nestorian division) but veiled through the anhypostatic [lacking independent subsistence] human nature’s union with the divine hypostasis. This veiling is redemptively purposive: it facilitates sin-bearing obedience, as per Anselm’s satisfaction theory [atonement as fulfilling divine honour], where Christ’s veiled omnipotence ensures voluntary submission amplifying merit without coercion. Withholding, conversely, inclines toward functional kenoticism (like P.T. Forsyth’s moderated divestiture), implying a truncated divine operation which compromises the mutual indwelling of Trinitarian Persons by suggesting the Son’s economic role eclipses immanent equality.

Guarding against compromise, demands vigilant adherence to divine simplicity [God’s undivided essence, where attributes are identical to being] and impassibility [inability to suffer change or passion in essence]. Compromise whispers of a passible Logos [Suffering God] echo patripassionism [Father, suffering in Son, a modalist error] but veiling upholds personal action of the one Christ where human weakness [infirmity] receives divine strength via actual communication of properties in operation. To sidestep the divestiture ditch, that 19th-century speculation like McLeod Campbell’s vicarious repentance, implying limited omniscience, but see Thomistic analogy [Aquinas’s framework of divine-human correspondence without univocity]: Christ’s veiled attributes are analogically exercised as in Phil 2:13 (“God who works in you”) where divine agency permeates human willing without annihilation.
I would like to move to extra Calvinisticum, posting that the Logos’s omnipresence persists extra [outside] the human nature, veiling it incarnationally but not confining it, thus no withholding mars the ubiquity of deity. Against Eutychian mixture [monophysite blending of natures], this ensures unconfused union, where veiling is economic, for salvation’s plan not essential to God’s being. Ecclesially, we guard via creedal subscription: the Athanasian Creed’s “not by conversion of the godhead into flesh, but by taking of the manhood into God” repudiates divestiture, framing kenosis as assumption of flesh, a veiling that exalts humanity without compromising divinity. In eschatological vista, the state of exaltation unveils all, as Rev 5:12 acclaims the Lamb’s worthiness, consummating redemptive veiling in eternal doxology.

95

Remember when He did this for Moses, “hid himself”, as it were …

Exodus 33:17-23

So the LORD said to Moses, “I will also do this thing that you have spoken; for you have found grace in My sight, and I know you by name.”
And he said, “Please, show me Your glory.”

Then He said, “I will make all My goodness pass before you, and I will proclaim the name of the LORD before you. I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.” But He said, “You cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me, and live.” And the LORD said, “Here is a place by Me, and you shall stand on the rock. So it shall be, while My glory passes by, that I will put you in the cleft of the rock, and will cover you with My hand while I pass by. Then I will take away My hand, and you shall see My back; but My face shall not be seen.”

And yet, having previously told the Jews"

John 6:46

Not that anyone has seen the Father, except He who is from God; He has seen the Father.

Jesus, veiled as He was in the flesh of humanity, still said to Thomas:

John 14:9

Jesus said to him, "Have I been with you so long, and yet you have not known Me, Philip? He who has seen Me has seen the Father; so how can you say, ‘Show us the Father’?

I’m thinking about all this.
KP

1 Like
96

@KPuff @Samuel_23
@KPuff
Samuel is showing that when Scripture talks about Christ “emptying Himself” (kenosis, Philippians 2:7), it’s not that He gave up His divine power or became less God. Instead, He veiled His glory and divine attributes. Think of it like a king wearing humble clothing to walk among common people: the majesty is still there, but hidden for a purpose. Christ did this voluntarily, in perfect obedience and love, to fully participate in human life and carry out redemption.

This veiling is careful and precise. It allows Him to experience temptation, suffering, and death as truly human while remaining fully God. It also protects the integrity of the Incarnation—He’s not a diluted God or a glorified man; He is both fully divine and fully human, united in one person. Samuel stresses that the Church safeguards this truth through creeds like the Athanasian Creed, which remind us that divinity isn’t converted into flesh but that humanity is assumed by God.

Here’s what I want to add as I read it: I love how this shows God’s humility and wisdom at the same time. The veiling wasn’t because God lacked anything—He’s omnipotent, omniscient, eternal—but because He chose a redemptive strategy. I think there’s something beautiful here for our own lives: God’s power is not always obvious, and sometimes He works in ways that are hidden from us, shaping and refining us gently rather than overwhelming us. Samuel’s use of the Transfiguration and extra-Calvinisticum ideas shows that Christ’s divine presence is never absent from the human reality, even when it seems veiled. I also want to reflect personally: Samuel’s writing is tough, almost like reading a dense theological map, but I love it. It’s rich, and enjoyable. It makes me pause and marvel at the depth of Christ’s love—how God can be fully powerful and fully self-emptying at the same time. It also makes me grateful that we can participate in His life, not by force, but through grace, and experience something of that hidden glory in our hearts.In short, Samuel is showing that kenosis is about love and purpose, not compromise. God doesn’t hold back; He veils Himself to lift us up. And I think that’s the heart of the Gospel: Christ’s humility, His hidden strength, and His invitation for us to participate in that divine life.

1 Like
97

Brother @ILOVECHRIST amazing
Peace
Sam.

98

This is a precise and well-structured account of kenosis grounded in Greek linguistics, patristic theology, and creedal orthodoxy. You are correct to insist that veiling, not withholding, is the faithful reading of kenoō in Philippians 2:7.

The verb kenoō means “to empty” but contextually does not suggest subtraction of divine nature. Instead, it refers to the voluntary lowering of status or visible glory. Like a king putting on the garments of a servant, Christ took on human form without ceasing to be what He eternally is. The reflexive heauton ekenōsen emphasizes His deliberate act of self-humbling, not a loss of divine essence.

Patristic theology, particularly from St. Cyril of Alexandria, uses the term krypsis to describe this dynamic. The divine glory is hidden, not erased. In John 17:5, Christ asks to be glorified with the glory He had before the world existed, affirming that glory was never lost but momentarily concealed. This is consistent with Trinitarian theology and avoids any hint of functional subordination or ontological mutation.

The distinction is essential. Withholding suggests the divine Son restrained or suspended certain attributes, which leans toward Arian or Nestorian categories. That is a theological cliff we must avoid. Instead, the Church affirms homoousios, the consubstantiality of the Son with the Father. Christ remains fully God throughout the Incarnation. His divine attributes are present, not dormant. They are veiled to serve the economy of salvation.

The doctrine of enhypostasis affirms that Christ’s human nature subsists in the divine person. His divine power remains intact and operative, even when not manifest. This explains the Transfiguration, where divine glory briefly shines through the veil of His humanity. The veiling is redemptively functional and theologically necessary. It enables Christ to obey, to suffer, and to die as true man while remaining true God.

The status exinanitionis, or state of humiliation, from Incarnation to Ascension, describes this voluntary self-limitation in visible glory and functional display, not in essence. It is critical to reject any reading of kenoō as if it were apothesis, the laying aside of deity. That is the so-called divestiture theory, which orthodoxy rightly condemned.

The extra Calvinisticum further protects divine immutability by affirming that the Logos is not limited to the humanity of Jesus. He remains fully present and active outside His human nature. This guards against Eutychian fusion and preserves the unconfused union of natures. Veiling is a matter of redemptive purpose, not ontological constraint.

The Athanasian Creed is our doctrinal anchor here. It states that the Godhead was not converted into flesh, but that the manhood was taken into God. This affirms that kenosis is an act of assumption, not abandonment. It protects the integrity of divine simplicity and impassibility.

At the eschatological climax, Revelation 5 shows the Lamb receiving glory and honor. What was veiled is now fully revealed. The veiling served its purpose. The divinity was never diminished. It was hidden for our sake and unveiled in victory.

Kenosis, properly understood, is not compromise. It is divine condescension for the sake of redemption. It is not the loss of power, but the veiling of it in the humility of obedience and suffering. This is the glory of the Incarnation: the infinite clothed in finitude without ceasing to be infinite.

1 Like
99

Luke 3:38 “Which was the son of Enos, which was the son of Seth, which was the son of Adam, which was the son of God.”

100

Why didn’t Jesus just say Son of God - was he just being coy? Would his listeners really have made the connection suggested in the article - i.e., that he was emphasizing both his humanity and his role as the heavenly figure of Daniel 7? Why is the phrase Son of Man so prevalent in the Gospels but nowhere in Paul’s epistles? Indeed, it appears nowhere else in the entire NT except Acts 7:26 (Stephen’s vision as he’s being stoned) and Hebrews 2:6 (speaking not of Jesus but of humans in general).

You have to look at common usage in First Century Judea for the answer. Son of Man was well understood to be a Divine figure (Per Daniel 7) while Son of God was considered a mere human. Note Adam being the “son of God” in Luke 3:38

For more insight I suggest you listen to the Rosh HaShanah message by CL (retired) Scott Brown: His explanation starts at about 45 minutes in.

101

I completely agree with your exposition, SincereSeeker; your analysis captures with remarkable precision how kenosis is properly understood as the veiling, not the forfeiture, of divine glory. This reading safeguards against any notion of apothesis or diminution of the Logos, highlighting that the Incarnation is an act of redemptive love, not ontological compromise.

1 Like
102

Lets deepen the discussion @SincereSeeker
You reference to Philippians 2:6-8 as the linchpin of kenosis is apt, as the Carmen Christi encapsulates the paradox is divine self-emptying:
*though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God, a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men". The verb kenoo contextually denotes a self-imposed limitation of glory, not a cessation of divine essence. This is clarified by the subsequent clause, “taking the form of a servant” which indicates an additive act, assumption of humanity, rather than a subtractive one.
See, John 17:5
“glorify me with the GLORY I HAD WITH YOU before the world existed”
it confirms that Christ’s preexistent glory was veiled, not lost, during the status humiliationis. The request for restored glory presupposes its enduring presence, obscured for redemptive ends.
in John 1:14, “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory”, now the verb eskēnōsen means dwelt, or literally tabernacled, evokes the Skekinah of the OT, suggesting that Christ’s humanity is a tabernacle veiling divine radiance, as seen in the Transfiguration, where the veil momentarily lifts to reveal doxa. Similarly, Col 2:9 (“in him the fulness of deity dwells bodily”) underscores the fullness of divinity presisting in the incarnate state, negating any withholding. Rev 5:12 points to the unveiling of what was veiled, the Lamb’s exaltation, status exaltationis, manifests the glory latent in His humiliation. These texts collectively affirm that kenosis is a veiling for economy of salvation, enabling Christ’s sin-bearing obedience without compromising His homoousious nature.
Let’s further probe:

  1. Mechanics of Veiling in the Hypostatic Union
    The hypostatic union is the linchpin of kenosis. As you note, enhypostasis ensures that Christ’s human nature has no independent hypostasis but subsists in the divine Logos. This allows divine attributes to remain fully operative though veiled in status humiliationis. The communicatio idiomatum enables theandric acts:
    Christ’s human ignorance (Mark 13:32), suffering in Luke 22:44, reflects human nature’s limitation, while miracles unveil divine operation. Veiling is not a suppression but a strategic concealment as Cyril’s krypsis suggests, allowing the Logos to experience human frailty without compromising divine impassibility. Withholding risks implies a suspension of attributes, fragmenting actus purus, leading to Nestorian Dualism.
  2. Redemptive Teleology of Veiling
    Kenosis’s purpose is soteriological, as you assert. The veiling of glory enables Christ’s vicarious satisfaction, per Anselm, where His obedient suffering as true man fulfills divine justice. Without veiling, the divine doxa would overwhelm the human nature, precluding genuine obedience or atonement. The transfiguration illustrates this teleology:
    The momentary unveiling of glory prefigures resurrection, confirming that veiling serves the economy of salvation.
    Let’s go to Rev 5, as the eschatological unveiling is perfect, as it completes the arc from tapeinōsis to doxa, where the Lamb’s redeptive work glorifies the Triune God. Veiling thus magnifies divine confescension, as the infinte assumes finitude for humanity’s theosis.
  3. Guarding against Compromise:
    Labelling kenosis as a compromise risks imputing mutability to divine essence, contradicting divine simplicity. Using the Athanasian Creed, “not by conversion of the Godhead into flesh but by taking of the manhood into God”, is a good barrier to this error. Compromise suggests a negotiation or dilution of deity, similar to patripassionism or kenoticism’s functional subordination. To counter, we need to affirm homoousios and perichoresis, ensuring the Son’s equality with the immanent Trinity persists in the economic act of kenosis. The extra Calvinisticum further protects the divine immutability by positing the Logos’s unbound presence beyond the flesh, negating any confinement or witholding, for example, Christ’s omnipresence sustains the cosmos, Col 1:17, even as He sleeps in a boat (Mark 4:38),
  4. Avoiding the Divestiture Ditch
    The divestiture theory, as you note, posits a real loss of divine attributes (Thomasius’s kenotic Christology, where omniscence is abandoned). This undermines divine simplicity and leads to Arianism. To avoid this, we need to lean on anhypostasis (human nature’s lack of independent personhood) and enhypostasis, ensuring the human nature is vivified by the divine hypostasis, without absorbing or dimishing it. The communicatio idiomatum in concreto allows divine attributes to inform human acts without overwhelming them as seen in Christ’s knowledge of hearts (John 2:25) amid human limitations. Patristic voices like Athanasius, in Contra Arianos, and Gregory of Nazianzus, with his maxim “what is not assumed is not healed,” reinforce that kenosis is assumptio carnis, not apothesis. Scholastic distinctions, such as Aquinas’s analogia entis, further clarify that divine attributes are exercised analogically in the Incarnation, veiled but not voided.
  5. Eschatological and Trinitarian Horizons
    Rev 5 underscores kenosis’s temporary veiling, culminating in the Lamb’s glorification. This aligns with the theology of the cross, where God’s glory is paradoxically revealed in humiliation. Trinitarianly, kenosis reflects perichoretic unity:
    *the Son’s self-emptying is a cooperative act with the Father and Spirit as John 16:14, “the Spirit will glorify me”, suggests. This Spirit’s role in sustaining the Incarnation (Luke 1:35) ensures that veiling is a Triune act, not a unilateral diminution, preserving single divine rule.
    St. Leo the Great, encapsulates it beautifully:
    non conversione Deitatis in carnem, sed assumptione humanitatis in Deum
103

I forgot to say @SincereSeeker brother,
The term morphē (form or outward expression) in Philippians 2:6-7 is critical, morphē Theou (form of God) signifies the Son’s coequal divinity, while morphē doulou (form of a servant) denotes the authentic humanity assumed, not a replacement of deity.
Your use of kyrpsis is similar to Cyril of Alexandria’s use, as it captures the patristic consensus that Christ divine attributes like omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence remain operative but hidden.
Consider tapeinōsis (humiliation or lowliness), used in Philippians 2:8 (“he humbled himself”). This term complements kenoō, emphasizing a voluntary lowering of status, not essence. Contrastingly, terms like apothesis (laying aside) , though not scriptural, lurk in heterodox kenoticism (e.g., Gottfried Thomasius), implying a divestiture of attributes.
The absence of terms like apoche (restraint) in Christological contexts further distances kenosis from withholding, reinforcing your veiling thesis. In Hebrew, the Suffering Servant’s 'ānāy (עָנָה) [to humble or afflict] in Isaiah 53:4 parallels tapeinōsis, portraying a Messiah who veils divine majesty in redemptive suffering without ontological compromise.