©Wang and Pan et al
The Word "Bathos"
The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) provides three primary meanings for the word bathos. First, it refers to an abrupt shift in style or tone, often from the sublime or serious to the trivial or ridiculous, producing a comedic or ludicrous effect—for example, a dramatic speech suddenly ending with a mundane or silly remark. Second, it describes excessive or insincere displays of sentimentality that fail to evoke genuine emotion, often appearing melodramatic or overwrought, such as a story attempting to be deeply emotional but instead coming across as cloying or artificial. Third, in its more archaic sense, bathos denotes depth, whether literal or metaphorical, and can be used to describe profound ideas or emotions, as in the "bathos" of philosophical insight.
I want to pick up on three of these meanings: (1) an abrupt shift from the seemingly sublime—understood as a divine majesty that transcends the world—to the seemingly trivial or incongruous events of worldly life, such as a baby in a manger, or a girl hugging a dog; (2) excessive emotion, in this case love, though not necessarily insincere; and (3) the more archaic meaning of depth. My suggestion is that part of divine depth lies in its unexpected and sometimes abrupt appearance within seemingly non-sublime situations and its over-the-top expression of love, especially for the vulnerable.
The idea that the divine reality has "emotions" may seem strange to many, perhaps even overly sentimental. Even bathetic! However, my suggestion—supported by process theology—is that the Consciousness of the universe, its unifying and ongoing whole, is filled with "prehensions" and "subjective forms" of compassion. From a human perspective, these forms of compassion may well seem excessive or over the top. A little embarrassing.
Yet, it is precisely this quality that makes them provocative and life-transforming, revealing a beauty that challenges and inspires us to reimagine the depths of divine love. Perhaps not unlike the girl's love for the dog in the image, or the dog's love of the girl.
In this sense, what might initially seem like bathos—a descent from divine majesty to emotional extravagance—can instead be understood as a radical expression of divine solidarity, a compassion so profound that it unsettles our expectations and invites us into deeper participation in love, especially for the vulnerable, and a recognition of a different kind of depth: Divine Bathos.
Divine Bathos as Unguarded Love
Julie said to me: "I think God is bathetic." I thought she meant "pathetic" with a "p," but then realized she meant "bathetic" with a "b." I asked her what she meant, and she said:
“I mean that God sometimes feels overly sentimental, almost embarrassingly tender, like a character in a melodrama who wears their heart on their sleeve. Not in a negative way, though. I find it comforting, actually. It’s like God cares so deeply that it verges on being excessive, but maybe that’s what we need—someone or something that isn’t afraid to feel too much, to love too much, to weep with us when we’re broken.
I guess what I’m saying is that God doesn’t just sympathize; God empathizes so completely that it can feel almost dramatic, like a flood of tears in a sad movie. And maybe that’s what makes God so approachable—this willingness to be vulnerable, to share in the rawness of our emotions without holding back.”
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I paused, letting Julie’s words sink in. I had never heard anyone speaking of divine "bathos" with a "b." And most people I know don't use the word "bathos" at all. Then I said, “So you’re imagining God as almost embarrassingly tender, like someone who cries at commercials or openly sobs at funerals—not because it’s performative, but because the feelings are just that real?”
Julie nodded. “Exactly. It’s not the kind of God who stands at a distance, majestic and untouchable, like a king on a throne. It’s more like the God who steps off the throne altogether, who isn’t afraid to look bathetic—overly sentimental, almost awkwardly tender—because the love is just that raw and honest. It’s the God who gets down in the dirt with us, who feels every loss as if it were God’s own. It’s the God who doesn’t just watch us cry but cries with us, even if it looks excessive, even if it risks seeming ridiculous.”
I thought about that and replied, “So you’re saying God’s bathos—this almost over-the-top emotional involvement—isn’t a flaw but a kind of strength? A refusal to be detached or indifferent?”
“Right,” Julie said. “And maybe that’s what makes God’s love so radical. It’s not measured or calculated; it’s unguarded. And in a world that often prizes control and coolness, that kind of love might look a little absurd. But maybe absurd love is what saves us.”
Divine Bathos as Holy Incongruity
Divine Pathos and Bathos
The Pathos of God is a name for divine suffering. It is the idea that God feels deeply with and within the world, sharing in its joys and sorrows. The Bathos of God, by contrast, is a name for divine incongruity. It reflects the surprising and even paradoxical ways in which God is revealed—not through displays of overpowering strength, but through vulnerability, humility, and unexpected appearances.
For Christians, the incarnation of God in Jesus is a window into divine bathos. It is the image of a majestic God who "incongruously" appears in the form of a helpless infant, born in a humble manger, dependent on human care and vulnerable to the struggles of earthly life.
This image of divine bathos—of the infinite clothed in the finite, the amipotent appearing as powerless—reveals a God who embraces radical humility and solidarity with creation. It upends expectations of divine majesty by choosing identification with the lowly, the marginalized, and the ordinary.
Weakness as Strength
For Christians, this incongruity is not a flaw but a revelation. It points to a God who subverts worldly ideas of power and grandeur, showing that divine love is expressed not through dominance but through vulnerability and presence.
The incarnation, as an act of divine bathos, invites believers to see holiness in the unexpected and the sacred in the seemingly absurd, reminding them that God's wisdom often appears as foolishness to the world. It is a vision of divine love that transforms weakness into strength, humility into glory, and vulnerability into a source of hope.
In this light, divine pathos and divine bathos complement one another. Pathos reveals God’s empathetic love, sharing in the world’s suffering. Bathos reveals God’s surprising ways, entering into the world’s brokenness in forms that defy expectation. Together, they invite us into deeper participation in the mystery of divine love—a love that suffers with us and saves through seeming weakness.
A Different Kind of Depth
The use of bathos in this context is, I realize, unconventional. Traditionally, bathos refers to an abrupt shift from the lofty or sublime to the trivial or ridiculous, often used in literature to create humor or irony. However, here bathos is redefined as divine incongruity—the surprising and paradoxical ways in which God appears in vulnerability and humility rather than grandeur and dominance.
This reinterpretation draws on the etymological roots of bathos (Greek for "depth") to suggest that divine depth that subverts expectations of a certain kind of divine majesty. Rather than being comic or anticlimactic, this divine bathos highlights the radical humility of God. This different kind of depth invites a sense of awe, to be sure, but it is awe in a recognition that God is found in, not apart from, frailty, absurdity, humor, tenderness, and surprise.