The Spirit and Man’s Freedom.

We saw in Chapter 11 that man was not understood in the Greek patristic tradition as an autonomous being; participation in divine life was seen as an integral part of his nature. But since man is created free, it is obvious that there cannot be as in Western theology any opposition between “grace” and freedom. It is quite to the contrary. Man can be authentically free only “in God” when through the Holy Spirit he has been liberated from the determinism of created and fallen existence and has received the power to share in God’s lordship over creation.

This approach to freedom has crucial implications for man’s attitude toward the Church as well as for his social and personal ethics. On the one hand, it presupposes that nowhere, except in the sacramental community of the Church, is it possible to achieve the truly liberating divine life. On the other hand, the whole approach to man’s salvation remains based on a personal, responsible, and free experience of God. This paradox, irreducible to a rational scheme, corresponds to an essential element of pneumatology: the Spirit simultaneously guarantees the continuity and authenticity of the Church’s sacramental institutions and bestows upon each human person a possibility of free divine experience and therefore a full responsibility for both personal salvation and corporate continuity of the Church in the divine truth. Between the corporate and the sacramental, on the one hand, and the personal, on the other, there is therefore a necessary tension in the spiritual life of the Christian and in his ethical behaviour. The Kingdom to come is already realized in the sacraments, but each individual Christian is called to grow into it by exercising his own efforts and by using his own God-given freedom with the cooperation of the Spirit.

In the Byzantine tradition, there has never been any strong tendency to build systems of Christian ethics, and the Church has never been viewed as the source of authoritative and detailed statements on Christian behaviour. Church authority was certainly often called upon to solve concrete cases, and its decisions were seen as authoritative criteria for future judgments; but the creative mainstream of Byzantine spirituality was a call to “perfection” and to “holiness” and not a prepositional system of ethics. It is the mystical, eschatological, and therefore maximalistic character of this call to holiness which gives it its essential difference from the legalism of Medieval Roman Catholicism, the puritanical moralism of other Western trends, and the relativism of modern “situation ethics.” Whenever they searched for models of Christian behaviour, Byzantine Christians looked rather at saints and “athletes of the faith,” especially the monks. Monastic literature is the source par excellence for our own understanding of Byzantine spirituality, and it is dominated by a “quest” of the Spirit.

Especially associated with the tradition of Macarius, this quest is particularly evident in the flowery, hymns of Symeon the New Theologian, addressed to the Holy Spirit:

I give thanks to Thee for this, that Thou, divine Being above all things, makest Thyself a single spirit with me — without confusion, without change — and that Thou didst become all in all for me, ineffable nourishment, freely distributed, which falls from the lips of my soul, which flows abundantly from the source of my heart; the resplendent vesture which covers me and protects me and which destroys the demons; the purification which washes from me every stain through these holy and perpetual tears which Thy presence accords to those whom Thou visitest. I give thanks to Thee for Thy being which was revealed to me as the day without twilight, as the sun which does not set. Ο Thou who hast no place where Thou hidest Thyself, for Thou dost never shun us, never hast Thou disdained anyone; it is we, on the contrary, who hide ourselves, not wishing to go toward Thee.²⁶

The conscious and personal experience of the Holy Spirit is therefore the supreme goal of Christian life in the Byzantine tradition, an experience which presupposes constant growth and ascent. This experience is not opposed to an essentially Christocentric understanding of the Gospel, for it itself is possible only “in Christ,” i.e., through communion in the deified humanity of Jesus; nor is it contradictory to practical ethical requirements, for it remains impossible unless these requirements are fulfilled. But obviously, such experience reflects a basically personalistic understanding of Christianity. To a degree larger than in the West then, the Byzantine Church will see in the saint or in the mystic the guardian of the faith and will trust him more than any permanent institution; and it will not develop legal or canonical guarantees for an independent Christian action in the world hoping rather that if they will be needed prophets will arise to preserve the identity of the Gospel; this hope will indeed be fulfilled in the irreducible non-conformity of monastic personalities and communities throughout Byzantine history.

Obviously, however, Byzantine Christianity will also be faced with temptations inherent in its personalistic outlook. Spiritualistic and dualistic sects will often prosper in the Byzantine and post-Byzantine world, side by side with Orthodox spirituality. Between the fourth and the fourteenth centuries, various forms of Messalianism — “the Plagiarisms of the East”²⁷— will promote an anti-social, non-sacramental, and dualistic interpretation of the monastic ideal. They will be followed by the Russian Strigol’niky and other sects. Their influence under the form of an exaggerated anti-institutionalism will always be felt inside the canonical boundaries of the Orthodox Church itself.

The Church, of course, has never admitted that spiritualistic individualism and “enthusiasm” to be erected as an ecclesiological system but has maintained its sacramental structure and canonical discipline. Conscious of the fact that in the Kingdom of God there are no laws other than those of the Spirit, it has also remembered that the Kingdom already accessible as a true and direct experience has not yet come in strength and remains hidden under the sacramental veils. In the present aion, structures, laws, canons, and institutions are unavoidable as means toward a fuller realization of the Kingdom. In practice, the Byzantine world recognized that the Christian empire had a legitimate role to play in codifying practical Christian ethics and in supervising their application. The standard code of Christian behaviour was the Nomocanon, a collection of Church rules and of state laws concerning religion. Even there, however, the basic personalism of Byzantine Christianity was preserved in the fact that a person, not an institution, was invested with direct responsibilities in the Christian world: the Christian emperor, “elect of God.” Historically, the perpetuation of the empire in the East played a role in preventing the Byzantine Church from assuming the direct role of ruling society politically and thus keeping more strictly to its function as a signpost of the Kingdom to come — a Kingdom fundamentally different from all political systems of this age.

Whatever the obvious ambiguity and the hypocrisy which at times was evident in the Byzantine state, it thus served as an historical framework for a tradition which maintained the eschatological character of Christianity. In general, whether in the lands of Islam or in modern secular societies of Eastern Europe the Orthodox settled for a ghetto life: the closed liturgical community with its experience of the heavenly served both as a refuge and as a school. It demonstrated a remarkable capacity for survival and also as for example in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Russia for influencing intellectual development. Its emphasis on the free experience of the Spirit as the liberating goal of human life may be even better appreciated among those who today are looking for alternatives to the over-institutionalized ecclesiasticism of Western Christianity.

Notes

1. Letter 38, 4; PG 32:332C; trans. R. J. Deferrari (London: Hcinemann, 1961), p. 211.

2. Cat. 16, 11; PG 33:932C.

3. De Spir. S.t 16, 38; PG 32:136B.

4. In Joh. XI, 10; PG 74:541C.

5. See R. Leaney, “The Lucan text of the Lord’s Prayer (in Gregory of Nyssa),” Novum Testamentum 1 (1956), 103-111.

6. Apodeipnon, canon, ode 5.

7. Great Blessing of Water.

8. Ad Scrap. 1, 31; PG 26:605A.

9. Ibid., 1, 28; PG 26:590A.

10. See for example Basil, De Spirit. S., 9, 23, PG 32:109B.

11. On the Incarnation and Against the Arians, 8; PG 26:997A.

12. A Commentary on the Divine Liturgy, 37, 3, SC 4 bis, p. 229; trans. J. M. Husscy and P. A. McNulty (London: SPCK, 1960), p. 90.

13. Kathisma, after the Polyeleon.

14. Canon 2, ode 8.

15. Canon 1, ode 1.

16. Kathisma 1.

17. De fide orth. I, 8; PG 94:821nc.

18. Lossky, Mystical Theology, pp. 166-167.

19. Cf. J. Meyendorff, Gregory Palamas, pp. 14-15, 231.

20. Boris Bobrinskoy, “Liturgie et ecclesiologie trinitaire de St. Basile,” Etudes patris-tiques: le traite sur le Saint-Esprit de Saint Basile, Foi et Constitution, 1969, pp. 89-90; also in Verbum Caro, 23, No. 88.

21. Kontat(ion of Pentecost.

22. Letter 159, 2; PG 32:62lAB; ed. Deferrari, p. 396.

23. Sunday Matins, Antiphon, tone 4.

24. On The Life in Christ, IV; PG I50:617B.

25. Troparion.

26. PG 120:509BC.

27. I. Hausherr, “L’erreur fondamentale et la logique du mcssalianismc,” OCP 1 (1955), 328-360.

The Triune God.

“When I say God, I mean Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” writes Gregory of Nazianzus.¹ Far from being a form of abstract speculation, the doctrine of the Trinity was always for the Greek patristic tradition a matter of religious experience — liturgical, mystical, and often poetical:

No sooner do I conceive of the one than I am illumined by the splendour of the three; no sooner do I distinguish them than I am carried back to the one. When I think of any one of the three, I think of Him as the whole, and my eyes are filled, and the greater part of what I am thinking escapes me.²

The basis of this Trinitarian theology, which was formulated by the Cappadocian Fathers in the fourth century at the conclusion of the Arian controversies and remained standard throughout the Byzantine period, was found in soteriology: the Fathers were actually preoccupied not with speculation but with man’s salvation. The Nicaean doctrine of con-substantiality meant “the confession of the fullness of divinity in Christ and implied that the Incarnation was essential to the redemptive act of Christ;” and maintained similarly that if “the Spirit was not fully God He was unable to bestow sanctification.”³ In itself, the Cappadocian doctrine of the Trinity remains totally meaningless unless one remembers that its goal is to maintain the Christological and pneumatological presuppositions developed in the last two chapters: the incarnate Logos and the Holy Spirit are met and experienced first as divine agents of salvation, and only then they are also discovered to be essentially one God. It was well known that during the theological debates of the fourth century the Cappadocian Fathers were accused of tritheism, so that Gregory of Nyssa was even obliged to issue his famous apologetic treatise proving that “there were not three gods.”⁴ It remained debatable however whether he succeeded in proving his point philosophically. The doctrine of the three hypostases, adopted by the Cappadocian Fathers to designate the three divine Persons, had definite Plotinian and Origenistic associations, which normally implied substantial differentiation. The Fathers however remained faithful to the terminology they had adopted, in spite of all difficulties and criticism — both from the “old Nicaeans” faithful to Athanasius and from the theologians of the Latin West — because they saw no other means of preserving the Biblical experience of salvation in the fully identifiable and distinct persons of Christ and the Spirit, an experience which could never enter the categories of philosophical essentialism.

The Latin West adopted a different approach to Trinitarian theology, and the contrast has been well expressed by Theodore de Régnon: “Latin philosophy considers the nature in itself first and proceeds to the agent; Greek philosophy considers the agent first and passes through it to find the nature. The Latins think of personality as a mode of nature; the Greeks think of nature as the content of the person.”⁵ Practically speaking, the difference of emphasis means that in both the lex orandi and the lex credendi of Byzantine Christianity the Trinity remains a primary and concrete experience; the unity of God’s nature was an article of faith coupled always with an insistence on the absolute unknowability of the divine essence. In the West, however, especially since the time of Augustine, the unity of the divine being served as the starting point of Trinitarian theology. Obviously, as long as the two schools of thought remained open to dialogue and mutual understanding, they could have developed in a complementary way. Unfortunately, the bitter polemics on the Filioque issue led to a stiffening position and became one of the major causes of the schism. The modern crisis of deism, the increasing difficulty faced by modern theologians in explaining and justifying the being of God as a philosophically definable entity, may prove helpful not only in solving the Medieval controversy between East and West but also in the revival of a more authentic Trinitarianism. “It would seem that in our time,” writes Theodore de Regnon, “the dogma of the divine unity had, as it were, absorbed the dogma of the Trinity of which one only speaks as a memory.”⁶ But the “dogma of the divine unity” is being challenged by that of the “death of God;” hence, there is a return to an existential and experiential approach to the doctrine of God seen in the context of salvation history: “Without our experience of Father, Son, and Spirit in salvation history,” writes Karl Rahner, “we would ultimately be unable to conceive at all of their subsisting distinctly as the one God.” ⁷

These modern concerns meet directly the consistent position of Byzantine theology.

Unity and Trinity.

The Cappadocian Fathers adopts the formulation which would remain the criterion of Orthodox Trinitarian theology in the East: God is one essence in three hypostases. This Cappadocian settlement given the circumstances of the fourth century never pretended to be anything more than the best possible description of the divine mystery, not the solution of a philosophical process similar to the Plotinian “Trinity of hypostases.” The Fathers always affirms that we cannot know what God is; only that He is because He has revealed Himself — in salvation history — as Father, Son, and Spirit. God is Trinity, “and this fact can be deduced from no principle nor explained by any sufficient reason, for there are neither principles nor causes anterior to the Trinity.”⁸

Why then are this description and this terminology preferable to others? Mainly, it is because all the options then available seemed inadequate from the start. The formula “one essence, three prosopa,” for example, was not able to exclude a modalistic Trinity since the term prosopon although commonly used to designate “person” could also mean “mask” or “appearance.” The Cappadocian Fathers meanwhile have wanted to affirm simultaneously that God is one object and three objects, that both His unity and His trinity are full realities. “When I speak of God,” writes Gregory of Nazianzus, “you must be illumined at once by one flash of light and by three. Three in properties, in hypostases or Persons, if anyone prefers so to call them, for we would not quarrel about names so long as the syllables amount to the same meaning; but one in respect of the ousia, that is, the Godhead.”⁹

There is no claim here for philosophical consistency although an effort is made to use current philosophical terms. The ultimate meaning of the terms however is clearly different from their meaning in Greek philosophy, and their inadequacy is frankly recognized.

This is particularly true of hypostasis, a term crucial in Trinitarian theology, and in Christology. Neither in Aristotelianism nor in Neo-Platonism was the term intended to designate a person in the Christian (and modern) sense, an agent, “possessing” his own nature and “acting” accordingly, a unique subject whose absolute identity can in no way be duplicated. Against the “old Nicaeans,” the Cappadocian Fathers wanted to emphasize that the Nicaean homoousion (“consubstantial”) did not identify the Son with the Father on the personal level but only on the level of the ousia. “Neither is the Son Father, for the Father is one, but He is what the Father is; nor is the Spirit Son because He is of God, for the Only-begotten is one, but He is what the Son is.”¹⁰ Thus, in God, the “what” is one, but the three hypostases are personal identities irreducible to each other in their personal being. They “possess divinity,”¹¹ and divinity is “in them.”¹²

One recognizes the hypostatic character [of the Spirit] in that He is revealed after the Son and with the Son, and in that He receives His subsistence from the Father. And the Son, in Himself and with Himself revealing the Spirit, who proceeds from the Father, shines alone with the un-begotten light and has nothing in common with the Father and the Spirit in the identity of His particularities, but is revealed alone in the characters proper to His hypostasis. And the Father possesses the particular hypostatic character of being the Father and of being independent from all causality...13

The same personalistic emphasis appears in the Greek Fathers’ insistence on the “monarchy” of the Father. Contrary to the concept which prevails in the post-Augustinian West and in Latin Scholasticism, Greek theology attributes the origin of hypostatic ‘‘subsistence” to the hypostasis of the Father — not to the common essence. The Father is the “cause” (aitia) and the “principle” (archē) of the divine nature, which is in the Son and in the Spirit. What is even more striking is the fact that this “monarchy” of the Father is constantly used by the Cappadocian Fathers against those who accuse them of “tritheism”: “God is one,” writes Basil, “because the Father is one.”¹⁴ And the same thought is found in Gregory of Nazianzus: “God is the common nature of the three, but the Father is their union [henōsis].”¹⁵ Pseudo-Dionysius also speaks of the Father as the “source of Divinity,”¹⁶ and John of Damascus in his Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith also affirms the essential dependence of the Son and the Spirit upon the Person of the Father:

Whatsoever the Son has from the Father, the Spirit also has, including His very being. And if the Father does not exist, then neither does the Son and the Spirit; and if the Father does not have something, then neither has the Son or the Spirit. Furthermore, because of the Father, that is because of the fact that the Father is, the Son and the Spirit are; and because of the Father, the Son and the Spirit have everything that they have.¹⁷

By accepting Nicaea, the Cappadocian Fathers eliminated the ontological subordinationism of Origen and Arius, but they preserved indeed together with their understanding of hypostatic life, a Biblical and Orthodox subordinationism, maintaining the personal identity of the Father as the ultimate origin of all divine being and action: “The three [are] one God when contemplated together; each [is] God because [they are] consubstantial; the three [are] one God because of the monarchy [of the Father].”¹⁸ Developing his well-known doctrine of the divine image in man, Gregory of Nyssa defines one aspect of human personal existence which is clearly different from that of God: each human person possesses the power of reproducing himself while in God there is only “one and the same Person of the Father from whom the Son is born and the Spirit proceeds.”¹⁹ Thus, the human race is in a constant process of fragmentation, and can recover its unity only through adoption by the Father in Christ — i.e., by becoming children of the one single hypostasis which generates without fragmenting or multiplying. The origin of unity in the Trinity, the Father restores the unity of creation by adopting humanity in His Son, the New Adam, in whom humanity is “recapitulated” through the activity of the Spirit.

Not an abstract intellectual speculation, the doctrine of the Trinity stands at the very centre of Byzantine religious experience: the immanent Trinity manifests itself as the “economic” Trinity, i.e., the saving revelation of God in history. This is made particularly clear in the liturgy, especially in the Eucharistic canon. As a solemn prayer to the Father by the adopted human community united in the incarnate Son and invoking the Spirit, the Eucharist is indeed the sacrament of divine unity being bestowed upon men. The same Trinitarian reality is expressed in innumerable hymns scattered throughout the Byzantine liturgical cycles. Here is a solemn hymn of Pentecost attributed to the emperor-poet Leo VI (886-912), and constituting a variation on the famous Trisagion:

Come, Ο peoples, let us venerate the tri-hypostatic Deity,

The Son in the Father, with the Holy Spirit

For before time the Father generated a Son, sharing His eternity and His

Throne;

And the Holy Spirit was in the Father, glorified together with the Son.

One Power, One Essence, One Deity, whom we all venerate and say:

Holy God, who created all things through the Son, with the cooperation of

the Holy Spirit;

Holy Mighty, through whom we knew the Father and the Holy Spirit

dwelt in the world;

Holy Immortal, the Spirit Comforter, who proceeds from the Father

and abides in the Son,

Holy Trinity, glory to Thee.²⁰

In the classical Latin Trinitarian doctrine, “Father, Son, and Spirit are only ‘relatively’ distinct.”²¹ Whatever the interpretation given to the idea of “relation” implied in this statement, it is clear that Western thought recognized the ontological primacy of essential unity over personal diversity in God; that is that God is essentially one, except in the divine Persons who are defined in terms of relations. In Byzantine thought, however, — to use an expression from Maximus the Confessor, — “God is identically monad and triad,”²² and there is probably a tendency in both worship and philosophical formulations (as distinct from doctrinal statements) to give a certain pre-eminence to the personal diversity over essential unity. A reference to the Nicaean “consubstantial” was the Byzantine response to the accusation of “tritheism.”

This reference however could not be decisive in itself simply because Greek patristic thought and particularly that of the Cappadocians always presupposed the starting point of apophatic theology: that God’s being and, consequently, the ultimate meaning of hypostatic relations were understood to be totally above comprehension, definition, or argument. The very notion of God’s being both Unity and Trinity was a revelation illustrating this incomprehensibility; for no reality accessible to the mind could be both “one” and “three.” As Vladimir Lossky puts it: “the Incomprehensible reveals Himself in the very fact of His being incomprehensible, for His incomprehensibility is rooted in the fact that God is not only Nature but also Three Persons.”²³

The knowledge of God is therefore possible only inasmuch as He reveals Himself, inasmuch as the immanent Trinity manifests itself in the “economy” of salvation, and inasmuch as the transcendent acts on the immanent level. It is in the fundamental oneness of these “acts” or “energies” of God that the Greek Fathers, particularly Basil and Gregory of Nyssa, discover the decisive and existential sign of the unity of God’s essence. Basil’s well-known argument in favour of the divinity of the Spirit is that He has the same “energy” as the Father and the Son. Similarly, Gregory of Nyssa proves the essential unity of Father, Son, and Spirit from the unity of their operation.²⁴ This argument also fitted into the context of the Cappadocians’ polemics against Eunomius who affirmed the possibility of knowing God’s essence; no knowledge concerning God they asserted was possible, except from His “energies.” The “economic” Trinity revealed in God’s action in the world is therefore the only possible basis for affirming that God is indeed, paradoxically and incomprehensibly, a transcendent and immanent Trinity. Gregory of Nyssa’s doctrine of the “energies” is well described by G. L. Prestige:

In men..., in spite of the solidarity of the whole race, each individual acts separately, so that it is proper to regard them as many. This is not so... with God. The Father never acts independently of the Son, nor the Son of the Spirit. Divine action... always begins from the Father, proceeds through the Son, and is completed in the Holy Spirit; there is no such thing as a separate individual operation of any Person; the energy invariably passes through the three, though the effect is not three actions but one.²⁵

In fact, the Aristotelian principle according to which each “nature” (physis) has an “energy” (energeia) — i.e., an existentially perceivable manifestation, — provides the terminological background for the patristic concept of “energy” (We find this terminology is used as well in Christology where Maximus the Confessor, for example, maintains that the two natures of Christ presuppose two “energies” or wills). However, significantly, the Aristotelian dyad, nature-energy, was not considered sufficient in itself when applied to God because in God’s nature the decisive acting factor is hypostatic; hence, divine “energy” is not only unique but tri-hypostatic since the “energy” reflects the common life of the three Persons. The personal aspects of the divine subsistence do not disappear in the one “energy,” and it is indeed the Trinitarian life of God which is communicated and participated in the “energy”: through the “energy” therefore the divine hypostases appear in their co-inherence (pcrichōrēsis):²⁶ “I am in the Father and the Father in me” (Jn 14:11). Human persons though also one in nature and substance act disjointly and often in conflict with each other; in God however the pcrichōrēsis expresses the perfect love, and, therefore, the perfect unity of “energy,” of the three hypostases, without however any mingling or coalescence. The “energy,” because it is always Trinitarian, is always an expression and a communication of love: “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you: abide in my love” (Jn 15:9).

It is probably in the context of the doctrine of the pcrichōrēsis that one should understand a unique passage in Palamas, where he seems inspired by the Augustinian “psychological” image of the Trinity.²⁷ Palamas writes, “This Spirit of the Word from on high is like the mysterious love of the Father toward the Word mysteriously begotten; it is that possessed by the Word, the beloved Son, toward the Father who begat Him; this the Son does insofar as He comes from the Father conjointly with this love, and this love rests naturally upon him.”²⁸ Since the whole approach to the Trinity in Palamas is different from Augustine’s, it is certainly the result of the personalistic interpretation, which can be given to the “psychological” image being used here to suggest the Trinitarian mystery: love unites the three divine hypostases, and pours out, through their common divine “energy” or “action,” upon those worthy to receive it.

Date: 2016-01-14; view: 581