The Passage: John 1:1-18*
The Father: Origen
The Issue: How can Christians claim to know God and in what way do they expect to be saved by God?
The Text: "Accordingly, if Celsus were to ask us how we think we know God, and how we shall be saved by Him, we would answer that the WORD of God, which entered into those who seek Him, or who accept Him when He appears, is able to make known and to reveal the Father, who was not seen (by any one) before the appearance of the WORD. And who else is able to save and conduct the soul of man to the God of all things, save God the WORD, who, “being in the beginning with God,” became flesh for the sake of those who had cleaved to the flesh, and had become as flesh, that He might be received by those who could not behold Him, inasmuch as He was the Word, and was with God, and was God?
This WORD, speaking in human form and described as "flesh," calls to himself all those who are flesh that he might first cause them to be transformed according to the WORD made flesh and after that lead them up to see him as he was before he became "flesh." so that they, profiting therefrom and making progress beyond their initiation, would say: "Even though we once regarded Christ from a human point of view, we regard him thus no longer." He has therefore "become flesh," and having become "flesh," "he pitched his tent among us" and is not outside of us. And after tabernacling and dwelling in us, he did not remain in his first form, but bringing us up to the "high mountain", showed us his glorified form and the brilliance of his garments.
And not His own form alone, but that also of the spiritual law, which is Moses, seen in glory along with Jesus. He showed to us, moreover, all prophecy, which did not perish even after His incarnation, but was received up into heaven, and whose symbol was Elijah. And he who beheld these things could say, “We beheld His glory, the glory as of the only-begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth." Celsus, then, has exhibited considerable ignorance in the imaginary answer to his question which he puts into our mouth, “How we think we can know God? and how we know we shall be saved by Him?” for our answer is what we have just stated."
- Contra Celsum 6.68
* So I'm chickening out by going for a gospel passage two weeks in a row -- but seriously, who can pass up the chance to use John 1?!
Sunday, December 28, 2008
LinkBlog: Holiday Edition
A blog is not, generally speaking, the ideal means for pleasuring its author -- at least not unless you're writing second-rate furry porn ... and into that kind of thing. One of the things I've discovered in prior ventures into the blogosphere is the embarrassing enjoyment of speaking of myself in the third person. (A note to friends and colleagues who have pointed out that I am, in fact, a pretentious tosser: You may be right.)
I have been, however, rather stumped for a moniker; I'm fond of Jerome (... yet another pretentious tosser ...), not least of all because of his thoroughgoing crankiness -- quiet in the peanut gallery! If ever there was a man who wore his faults on his epistolary sleeve, it was surely (... and unconsciously ...) Blessed Jerome.
But where does that leave me, nomenclature-ly speaking? Jerry, Jr.? The Git? The Old Koot? Hieronyanium? (My grasp of the classics is lamentably such that no one would label me "Ciceronis es!" at this point in my life.) The Chronicler? That one may have potential. With the undue delay of a few days' of celebration, debauchery, feasting, the consumption of spectacles, and other things of which the Fathers would thoroughly disapprove, I give a few worthwhile links:
... and that's it for now. More on yet another Sunday with the Fathers later on.
I have been, however, rather stumped for a moniker; I'm fond of Jerome (... yet another pretentious tosser ...), not least of all because of his thoroughgoing crankiness -- quiet in the peanut gallery! If ever there was a man who wore his faults on his epistolary sleeve, it was surely (... and unconsciously ...) Blessed Jerome.
But where does that leave me, nomenclature-ly speaking? Jerry, Jr.? The Git? The Old Koot? Hieronyanium? (My grasp of the classics is lamentably such that no one would label me "Ciceronis es!" at this point in my life.) The Chronicler? That one may have potential. With the undue delay of a few days' of celebration, debauchery, feasting, the consumption of spectacles, and other things of which the Fathers would thoroughly disapprove, I give a few worthwhile links:
- I love little presses that put out affordable (and frequently long-overdue) translations -- the Center for Traditionalist Orthodox Studies is a fine example. Pick up some Ambrose, some Gregory the Great, or perhaps something more exotic.
- Inclined towards Syriac studies? Wish you were here! Or pick up something from Gorgias Press (... although, really, what were they thinking with "Gorgiana"?!)
- From the -- sort of -- New Testament corner: Readers of the most recent edition of the Journal of Early Christian Studies will likely have discovered an article by Scott G. Brown, dedicated to "The Letter to Theodore: Stephen Carlson's Case against Clement's Authorship". The article sets out to refute an argument from Mr. Carlson's book, The Gospel Hoax: Morton Smith's Invention of Secret Mark. (Given the contribution by Jeff Jay on "A New Look at the Epistolary Framework of the Secret Gospel of Mark," this JECS appears to be at least partly a theme-issue ... but I disgress.) Interestingly, this is a discussion that started right here on the internets ... and both Mr. Carlson and his dissertation adviser Dr. Goodacre can be found as prominent participants in the blogosphere. (Good on you, Stephen! We're all dreaming of having an article in JECS with our name in the title one of these years ;)
- Finally, a treat for the recently birthday-ed blogger -- from "Ralph," esteemed blogger and even more esteemed associate professor in the Department of Semitics at Catholic U. Thanks, Ed!
... and that's it for now. More on yet another Sunday with the Fathers later on.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Entertaining the Trinity Unawares. (Part II)
The image on the left is perhaps the most famous icon in existence: Andrei Rublev's 15th century "Angels at Mamre," frequently billed as "the Old Testament Trinity". There's much to be said for the icon's artistic arrangement -- the three figures inclining towards one another perichoretically, the openness of the image to include the viewer, etc. There's fine social trinitarian theory to be made or illustrated on the basis of Rublev's work.As we've already seen, however, the idea that the angels at Mamre were in some way reflective of the Trinity is far less obvious to the passage's Patristic interpreters than to 15th century painters or 21st century theologians. Take, for example, Ephrem ("the Syrian") -- roughly a contemporary of Hilary of Poitiers, albeit rather farther East. In his commentary on Genesis, Ephrem claims that three strangers appeared to Abraham -- but that God appeared to Abraham in one of the three.
This provides a rather satisfying solution to the problem of the passage's three/one//plural/singular address: Abraham welcomes all three -- and indeed, the angels condescend to receiving human treatment as a blessing to Abraham's household -- but worships only one of them, or rather: worships the manifestation of God in one of the angels.
Afterwards, Ephrem intimates, two angels depart for Sodom while the one in whom God appeared to Abraham remains behind to negotiate the city's fate. (Ephrem rather charmingly notes that the angels were sensitive enough to not reveal Sodom's fate to Sarah, lest she be unduly distressed about it.) Ephrem knows nothing of the frequent Patristic theme, according to which the fact that Lot is visited by two rather than three angels is taken as a comment about Lot's moral inferiority to Abraham. Rather, Lot receives a theophany in the same way as his brother-in-law:
"Then two angels set out for Sodom and they went directly to the gate where Lot was sitting to receive stranges who came there. Lot rose to meet them as if to meet strangers, but when he drew near to them there appeared in the second angel the same vision that abraham had seen in the third, and Lot bowed his face to the ground." (XVI.2.1)
The same angel in which God appears to Lot is later also the angel who brings down fire and brimstone upon Sodom; in both cases, as in the instance of the angels' visit to Abraham, the theophany is conveyed by way of a vision that images God -- not the Trinity -- and, evidently, the Father rather than the Son. Interestingly, Ephrem -- as strong a defender of Nicea as Hilary -- does not struggle with the potential incarnational aspects of the appearance, nor does he use the opportunity for exploring the presence of Christ in the Hebrew Scriptures.
Interestingly, at least one pre-fourth century Father nevertheless offers intimations of Trinitarian readings of the text -- Origen of Alexandria*. His is, obviously, not the kind of explicit Trinitarian reading we'll come across in (some of) Augustine and that Caesarius will add -- rather incongruously -- to Origen's account, but Homily IV on Genesis worries the issue of three-foldness like the proverbial dog worrying a bone. Given Origen's commitment to making every word count and his textual perspicacity, this isn't really surprising. Origen thus notes the mystery inherent in the three men and the three measures of flour used to prepare the meal for them. The three men image God -- although the same might be said for the two men that come to Lot. In either case, the mode of arrival -- descent to the sinner, standing before the righteous -- rather than the means of the theophany is the focus of Origen's reading.
The most interesting part of the homily form a Trinitarian perspective is, however, its conclusion. Origen here argues that the inquiry God makes about Sodom has to do with the difference in divine knowledge -- God, Origen claims, only knows those who recognize him. Those who deny him, God chooses not to know. As a result:
"These things, indeed, have been said against those who "speak iniquity on high." But let us give attention to make our acts such, our manner of life such, that we may be held worthy of knowledge of God, that he may see fit to know us, that we may be held worthy of the knowledge of his son Jesus Christ nad knowledge of the Holy Spirit, that we, known by the Trinity, might also deserve to know the mystery of the Trinity fully, completely, and perfectly, the Lord Jesus Christ revealing it to us."
Interestingly, this is almost the first time in his homily that Origen mentions the Trinity, although he makes frequent reference to a mystery in three-ness. Whether the medium simply does not lend itself to theological speculation -- as, indeed, much of this and other homilies is focused on "ethical" readings -- or whether Origen is on some level drawn to Trinitarian readings but uncomfortable expounding on them is hard to say. The very fact that the Trinity appears in this early-third-century reading of the text is, nevertheless, remarkable. By the time Augustine and his De Trinitate appears on the scene nearly 200 years later, the Trinity is, however, set to take center-stage at Mamre.
* At the risk of sounding too much like the product of my academic parentage, I'm firmly convinced that if you scratch most any 4th-, 5th- or 6th century writer, you'll find Origen underneath ... pretty remarkable, considering the witchhunt otherwise known as the Origenist Controversy, and the relative paucity of extant (un-interpolated, un-adulterated) works.
Sundays with the Fathers -- December 21 (Fourth Advent)*
(* I have been and remain somewhat ambivalent about this feature. As should be apparent, this blog is primarily a professional one, focused on topics related to my research and academic interests. This is so not because I'm such a self-important tosser, but simply because in the midst of my busy schedule any "distraction" -- such as, say, a blog -- needs to keep me focused on the things that sit towards the top of my list of priorities. I should further note that I'm simply no good at writing on "devotional" or "edifying" topics ... but I do follow the lectionary with decent regularity, and if anyone had something beyond utter tripe to say about these, it was probably the Fathers. Without further ado, I'm giving you the first Sunday comments -- which, of course, won't always be from a commentary -- by one of their number on one of the Sunday readings.)
The Passage: Luke 1:26-38
The Father: Ambrose
The Issue: Why does Luke mention Mary as both espoused and a virgin?
The Text: "Divine mysteries, indeed, lie hidden, and none among men can easily know God's counsel, according to the prophecy, but from the deeds and precepts of our Lord and Savior, we can understand this to be a deliberate plan, that she who was espoused to a man was chosen above all to obey the Lord. But why did she not become pregnant before she was espoused? Perchance, lest it should be said that she had conceived through fornication. And Scripture fittingly mentions both that she was espoused and that she was a Virgin: Virgin, that she should be seen as not having known a man; espoused, lest she whose swollen belly presented a sign of a seducer be branded with the dishonour of violated virginity. But the Lord preferred that some should doubt concerning His Birth, rather than concerning His Mother's honour -- for He knew that the modesty of a virgin is tender, and the rumour is slippery --, nor did He think that the credibility of His origin should be added to His Mother's wrongs. Thus, Saint Mary's Virginity is preserved unimpaired by shame and inviolable by rumour; for it behoves the Saints also to have testimony from outsiders, nor was it fitting that the veil of excuse be abandoned through ill repute by those living as virgins, because even the Mother of the Lord was seen as disgraced."
-- Exposition of the Holy Gospel according to Saint Luke (Expositio Evangelii Secundum Lucam)
The Passage: Luke 1:26-38
The Father: Ambrose
The Issue: Why does Luke mention Mary as both espoused and a virgin?
The Text: "Divine mysteries, indeed, lie hidden, and none among men can easily know God's counsel, according to the prophecy, but from the deeds and precepts of our Lord and Savior, we can understand this to be a deliberate plan, that she who was espoused to a man was chosen above all to obey the Lord. But why did she not become pregnant before she was espoused? Perchance, lest it should be said that she had conceived through fornication. And Scripture fittingly mentions both that she was espoused and that she was a Virgin: Virgin, that she should be seen as not having known a man; espoused, lest she whose swollen belly presented a sign of a seducer be branded with the dishonour of violated virginity. But the Lord preferred that some should doubt concerning His Birth, rather than concerning His Mother's honour -- for He knew that the modesty of a virgin is tender, and the rumour is slippery --, nor did He think that the credibility of His origin should be added to His Mother's wrongs. Thus, Saint Mary's Virginity is preserved unimpaired by shame and inviolable by rumour; for it behoves the Saints also to have testimony from outsiders, nor was it fitting that the veil of excuse be abandoned through ill repute by those living as virgins, because even the Mother of the Lord was seen as disgraced."
-- Exposition of the Holy Gospel according to Saint Luke (Expositio Evangelii Secundum Lucam)
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Looking for the dead amongst the living.
There's nothing particularly novel or interesting about the statement that legal interpretation and biblical interpretation have a lot in common. After all, both involve a (reasonably) closed canon -- in the best Jonathan Z. Smith sense of the term -- from which interpreters who are removed from the initial creation of aforementioned canon by anywhere from years to millennia try to wring applications to situations never contemplated, or contemplated "wrongly" by its original creators.
This is without question a nerve-racking task, regardless of whether one is trying to read 1 Timothy or the first Amendment, and the fear of "getting it wrong" is second only to the fear that there is no "right way" accessible to the interpreter. Ergo "originalism" in the realm of Constitutional Law and "inerrancy" in the realm of Biblical Interpretation (... is it any wonder that the warm endorsement of one frequently coincides with the eager embrace of the other?) The difficulty with either, of course, is that much as we would like to believe otherwise, no judge, scholar or minister approaches "the text" with a completely open mind, devoid of preconceptions or personal predilection -- gazing down the long, dark mine-shaft of history, we tend to discover that, hey, look! Paul, or, as the case may be, Thomas Jefferson, looks a lot like ME! (Thus the inimitable Ed Sanders' pictures of a couple of rather semitic-looking first-century gentlemen on his erstwhile webpage, labeled "Not Ed Sanders" -- good for him and, well, us!*)
In the field of Early Christianity, the problem of finding rather too precisely who or what one is looking for does not, of course, afflict only those looking for the historical Jesus of the historical Paul -- and the fact that we have rather more of the writings of, say, Augustine, than we do of the works of, say, Paul, tends to exacerbate the situation. In other words, having set out to find, however well-intentioned-ly and scholarly, Augustine's true views on _____, I have considerably more rope by which to hang myself and considerably more texts from which to read what, on some level, I hoped to find. This realization rouses as much unease for the historian as it does for the judge or the pastor: The future of the nation or the faith my not depend on whether Origen was truly a "heretic," but the shaky epistemological ground on which we find ourselves threatens to cave not only under our own feet but under those of our entire discipline in a veritable landslide of post-modernism.
I was reminded of this dilemma while reading Paula Fredriksen's (exceedingly fine) Augustine and the Jews. Prof. Fredriksen is, of course, an exceptional reader of texts, and excedingly careful in her conclusions; indeed, my anxiety probably reflects more on my own work of the various pro and adversus Iudaios writings of a different Father than Frederiksen's treatment of Augustine. I confess myself to be a bit too enamoured with a pro-Jewish (... or at least: less anti-Jewish ...) Augustine, Ephrem or Ambrose: Like most scholars, I harbor a good deal of affection for my subjects; without feeling the need to agree with them on everything (or anything), I nevertheless want them to be "good men" by my standards, my most stalward commitment to scholarly objectivity notwithstanding.
That's not to say that I would be any more likely to uncover "the truth" about Origen's views on homosexuality or Jerome's thoughts on women if I were hostilly inclined towards them or the larger social construct (... otherwise known as some variant of "the Church" ...) in which they find themselves: I would likely find a Father who looks rather less like his prior historical portrayal -- and that is, I think, nothing to be sneezed at -- but I would still fall short of grasping the holy grail of objectivity.
What then? Shall we throw over history as a failed venture? Perhaps -- only to the extent that we might do well to stick with the evidence (... the text, the epigraph, the icon, the architectural remains ...) and, in the words of an acquaintance, beware of grand sweeping theories. On a more modest level, though, it strikes me that the solution, such as it is, lies also with the very discomfort that historians experience when we probe our consciences and our subjects -- that it, in fact, lies in the very desire to write "Not P. Fredriksen" or "Not (Yours Truly)" under the icons or caricatures of the men and women we study.
That's my story -- and I'm sticking with it! ;)
* Courtesy of the Inter-Web, I'm told that Ed Sanders is indeed yummy. Who knew?
This is without question a nerve-racking task, regardless of whether one is trying to read 1 Timothy or the first Amendment, and the fear of "getting it wrong" is second only to the fear that there is no "right way" accessible to the interpreter. Ergo "originalism" in the realm of Constitutional Law and "inerrancy" in the realm of Biblical Interpretation (... is it any wonder that the warm endorsement of one frequently coincides with the eager embrace of the other?) The difficulty with either, of course, is that much as we would like to believe otherwise, no judge, scholar or minister approaches "the text" with a completely open mind, devoid of preconceptions or personal predilection -- gazing down the long, dark mine-shaft of history, we tend to discover that, hey, look! Paul, or, as the case may be, Thomas Jefferson, looks a lot like ME! (Thus the inimitable Ed Sanders' pictures of a couple of rather semitic-looking first-century gentlemen on his erstwhile webpage, labeled "Not Ed Sanders" -- good for him and, well, us!*)
In the field of Early Christianity, the problem of finding rather too precisely who or what one is looking for does not, of course, afflict only those looking for the historical Jesus of the historical Paul -- and the fact that we have rather more of the writings of, say, Augustine, than we do of the works of, say, Paul, tends to exacerbate the situation. In other words, having set out to find, however well-intentioned-ly and scholarly, Augustine's true views on _____, I have considerably more rope by which to hang myself and considerably more texts from which to read what, on some level, I hoped to find. This realization rouses as much unease for the historian as it does for the judge or the pastor: The future of the nation or the faith my not depend on whether Origen was truly a "heretic," but the shaky epistemological ground on which we find ourselves threatens to cave not only under our own feet but under those of our entire discipline in a veritable landslide of post-modernism.
I was reminded of this dilemma while reading Paula Fredriksen's (exceedingly fine) Augustine and the Jews. Prof. Fredriksen is, of course, an exceptional reader of texts, and excedingly careful in her conclusions; indeed, my anxiety probably reflects more on my own work of the various pro and adversus Iudaios writings of a different Father than Frederiksen's treatment of Augustine. I confess myself to be a bit too enamoured with a pro-Jewish (... or at least: less anti-Jewish ...) Augustine, Ephrem or Ambrose: Like most scholars, I harbor a good deal of affection for my subjects; without feeling the need to agree with them on everything (or anything), I nevertheless want them to be "good men" by my standards, my most stalward commitment to scholarly objectivity notwithstanding.
That's not to say that I would be any more likely to uncover "the truth" about Origen's views on homosexuality or Jerome's thoughts on women if I were hostilly inclined towards them or the larger social construct (... otherwise known as some variant of "the Church" ...) in which they find themselves: I would likely find a Father who looks rather less like his prior historical portrayal -- and that is, I think, nothing to be sneezed at -- but I would still fall short of grasping the holy grail of objectivity.
What then? Shall we throw over history as a failed venture? Perhaps -- only to the extent that we might do well to stick with the evidence (... the text, the epigraph, the icon, the architectural remains ...) and, in the words of an acquaintance, beware of grand sweeping theories. On a more modest level, though, it strikes me that the solution, such as it is, lies also with the very discomfort that historians experience when we probe our consciences and our subjects -- that it, in fact, lies in the very desire to write "Not P. Fredriksen" or "Not (Yours Truly)" under the icons or caricatures of the men and women we study.
That's my story -- and I'm sticking with it! ;)
* Courtesy of the Inter-Web, I'm told that Ed Sanders is indeed yummy. Who knew?
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Is there a Doctor in the House?
Recently, I've been spending a bit more time with my buddy Aphrahat -- one of my "great writers you've (probably) never heard of". Aphrahat is otherwise known as "the Persian Sage" ... now, how's that for pretentious? Given, however, that his slightly younger contemporary, Ephrem, had already nabbed the sub-title "the Syrian," I suppose we'll have to cede to Aphrahat the two things we know about him with some degree of certainty: a.) He was "Persian" -- East Syrian, and b.) he was at least generally recognized as wise.
What little there's left of his writings encompasses 23 single-subject treatises, better known as "Demonstrations," from the first half of the fourth century. These cover such handy topics as "prayer," "fasting," "wars," "virginity," etc. -- a kind of "everything you've always wanted to know about ___ but were afraid to ask" for the moderately ascetic Eastern Christian of late antiquity. (Quite a few of these can be accessed in translation here; plus, if you're feeling ambitious and have your Payne-Smith or Brockelmann handy, there's always the parallel Syriac/Latin version here.)
One of the treatises that's captured my attention recently is No. 7 -- "On Penitence." (In conversation with one of my "normal" -- a.k.a. not patristically-minded -- friends who remains too polite to simply avoid the "so, what are you working on?" question, I was recently asked whether penitence is "that thing from the Da Vinci Code, with the self-flogging". The answer is, I think, that quite aside from the fact that the Da Vinci Code is a literary abomination, some things just got a bit more ... intense ... in the Medieval era. Medievalists, please don't hurt me!) The treatise's thesis is easy to sum up: Penitence -- asking for it, offering it, receiving it -- is a very good thing. (Indeed, Aphrahat suggests that if a certain ancestral bozo has had the good sense to own up to his apple-related misdeed and asked God's forgiveness, humanity might not be in this present mess -- a suggestion Ephrem heartily seconds in his Commentary on Genesis.)
One of the likely but uncertain bits and bobbles about Aphrahat is the suggestion that he may have been a bishop. Tradition certainly -- and with great certainty: mistakenly -- places him at the helm of the Mar Mattai bishopric, but some of the Demonstrations themselves hint at Aphrahat's having held episcopal office. Demonstration VII certainly knows of such an office (... and we'd be more than a little confused if it didn't! ...) and identifies it with the Mt. 16:19 responsibility of holding the keys to the kingdom: The bishops are those whose task is to loose and to bind -- although reading Aphrahat, the latter is consistently downplayed. The bishop's role, the reader is given to understand, is central in large part because he relieves repentant Christians of the burden of their sins.
Aphrahat couches this in terms of the "physician" metaphor: Bishops are the medical personnel that appeases the wounds Christians have sustained in their battle with the adversary. The Christian that succumbs to temptation is thus wounded and cannot fully rejoin the battle unless he first brings his sin -- the wound -- to the attention to the bishop. Only by airing out one's sins and by receiving the medicine of penitence can the Christian be once again fortified ... although, Aphrahat suggests, a second wound in the same place, while heal-able, will take the Christian permanently away from the battle proper.
What's interesting about the text is the ways in which it testifies to tensions within the ecclesial hierarchy in Aphrahat's community. The bishops, as will have already become apparent, are key to the church's struggle against evil and Aphrahat addresses them as such. By the same token, however, they are far from the frontlines; those are staffed by the Bnei Qyama, the Sons and Daughters of the Covenant, a quasi-ascetic group about whom we know little ... and what little we know comes from the likes of Aphrahat and his later contemporary Rabbula. Whatever else they do, they spend considerable time in prayer and devotion; as such, they are the obvious targets for the adversary, Aphrahat reasons -- so much so, that news of a wound sustained by one of them has the potential to damage the morale of the entire "army".
Their physicians, the bishops, must thus treat each confession with confidentiality and sensitivity ... and yet, the reader infers, Aphrahat's bishops are less than enthusiastic about dispensing the medicine of penitence to their ascetic constituents. Aphrahat thus has no qualms about reminding them of their two-fold relationship with God: On the one hand, bishops image God amongst the people -- God's example as forgiving, loosing, receiving is thus the primary inspiration for the bishops' task vis-a-vis penitents. On the other hand, bishops as physicians are in the employ of the same king -- God -- who also leads the army to which the Bnei Qyama belong. They will thus receive the king's praise and recompense for restoring his warriors to him -- and face his wrath if they fail to do so. The bishops thus have power -- but all power is conditional upon its proper employ: The physician who does not heal is useless; the representative of God who acts in un-god-like ways fails at his task.
Such tensions between hierarchal and "rogue" manifestations of authority are, of course, not limited to the 4th century Syrian churches. While the Bnei Qyama disappeared soon after Aphrahat's time -- or so we gather -- the tension between bishops and mystics, and, right into the 21st century, between regular and secular clergy belie similarly competing concerns. Bishops and Ascetics. Physicians and fighters. I suppose there might be a lesson in all this ... somewhere.
What little there's left of his writings encompasses 23 single-subject treatises, better known as "Demonstrations," from the first half of the fourth century. These cover such handy topics as "prayer," "fasting," "wars," "virginity," etc. -- a kind of "everything you've always wanted to know about ___ but were afraid to ask" for the moderately ascetic Eastern Christian of late antiquity. (Quite a few of these can be accessed in translation here; plus, if you're feeling ambitious and have your Payne-Smith or Brockelmann handy, there's always the parallel Syriac/Latin version here.)
One of the treatises that's captured my attention recently is No. 7 -- "On Penitence." (In conversation with one of my "normal" -- a.k.a. not patristically-minded -- friends who remains too polite to simply avoid the "so, what are you working on?" question, I was recently asked whether penitence is "that thing from the Da Vinci Code, with the self-flogging". The answer is, I think, that quite aside from the fact that the Da Vinci Code is a literary abomination, some things just got a bit more ... intense ... in the Medieval era. Medievalists, please don't hurt me!) The treatise's thesis is easy to sum up: Penitence -- asking for it, offering it, receiving it -- is a very good thing. (Indeed, Aphrahat suggests that if a certain ancestral bozo has had the good sense to own up to his apple-related misdeed and asked God's forgiveness, humanity might not be in this present mess -- a suggestion Ephrem heartily seconds in his Commentary on Genesis.)
One of the likely but uncertain bits and bobbles about Aphrahat is the suggestion that he may have been a bishop. Tradition certainly -- and with great certainty: mistakenly -- places him at the helm of the Mar Mattai bishopric, but some of the Demonstrations themselves hint at Aphrahat's having held episcopal office. Demonstration VII certainly knows of such an office (... and we'd be more than a little confused if it didn't! ...) and identifies it with the Mt. 16:19 responsibility of holding the keys to the kingdom: The bishops are those whose task is to loose and to bind -- although reading Aphrahat, the latter is consistently downplayed. The bishop's role, the reader is given to understand, is central in large part because he relieves repentant Christians of the burden of their sins.
Aphrahat couches this in terms of the "physician" metaphor: Bishops are the medical personnel that appeases the wounds Christians have sustained in their battle with the adversary. The Christian that succumbs to temptation is thus wounded and cannot fully rejoin the battle unless he first brings his sin -- the wound -- to the attention to the bishop. Only by airing out one's sins and by receiving the medicine of penitence can the Christian be once again fortified ... although, Aphrahat suggests, a second wound in the same place, while heal-able, will take the Christian permanently away from the battle proper.
What's interesting about the text is the ways in which it testifies to tensions within the ecclesial hierarchy in Aphrahat's community. The bishops, as will have already become apparent, are key to the church's struggle against evil and Aphrahat addresses them as such. By the same token, however, they are far from the frontlines; those are staffed by the Bnei Qyama, the Sons and Daughters of the Covenant, a quasi-ascetic group about whom we know little ... and what little we know comes from the likes of Aphrahat and his later contemporary Rabbula. Whatever else they do, they spend considerable time in prayer and devotion; as such, they are the obvious targets for the adversary, Aphrahat reasons -- so much so, that news of a wound sustained by one of them has the potential to damage the morale of the entire "army".
Their physicians, the bishops, must thus treat each confession with confidentiality and sensitivity ... and yet, the reader infers, Aphrahat's bishops are less than enthusiastic about dispensing the medicine of penitence to their ascetic constituents. Aphrahat thus has no qualms about reminding them of their two-fold relationship with God: On the one hand, bishops image God amongst the people -- God's example as forgiving, loosing, receiving is thus the primary inspiration for the bishops' task vis-a-vis penitents. On the other hand, bishops as physicians are in the employ of the same king -- God -- who also leads the army to which the Bnei Qyama belong. They will thus receive the king's praise and recompense for restoring his warriors to him -- and face his wrath if they fail to do so. The bishops thus have power -- but all power is conditional upon its proper employ: The physician who does not heal is useless; the representative of God who acts in un-god-like ways fails at his task.
Such tensions between hierarchal and "rogue" manifestations of authority are, of course, not limited to the 4th century Syrian churches. While the Bnei Qyama disappeared soon after Aphrahat's time -- or so we gather -- the tension between bishops and mystics, and, right into the 21st century, between regular and secular clergy belie similarly competing concerns. Bishops and Ascetics. Physicians and fighters. I suppose there might be a lesson in all this ... somewhere.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Entertaining the Trinity Unawares. (Part I)
Trinitarian theophanies are rare. In fact, my scripturally challenged brain can come up with only a handful of texts historically open to such interpretation -- the most significant being, of course, the various baptism scenes (Mk. 1:10/Mt. 3:16/Lk. 3:22/Jn. 1:32). Then there's the Isaianic Trishagion (Is. 6:3) -- complete with the question of whether the two cherubim may be interpreted as Son and Spirit. The Transfiguration accounts (Mk. 9:7/Mt. 17:5) are more binitarian, as far as I can discern, and the Genesis references to divinity in plurality ("Let us make ... humankind" -- thank you, genderinclusive NRSV! -- "in our image") not only lack reference to a tertium quid, but qualify only in the loosest, most literary sense as "theophanies". Bummer.
And then there's the Genesis 18 account of Abraham's three visitors at the Oaks of Mamre. A glance at the opening verses makes clear why this text became the darling of Trinitarian interprets everywhere:
"The LORD appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground. He said, “My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant."
There's the emphasis on the divine appearance, the manifestation thereof in three visitors, and Abraham's address of them (him?) in the singular. Philo in his On Abraham deals with the passage on a figurative level as follows (... given the ungodly length of this quote, which would nevertheless be criminal to cut in any way, I'm highlighting the 10-cent-version those of us who lack time, interest, or an introduction to Philo's views on the Logos*.)
"The things which are expressed by the voice are the signs of those things which are conceived in the mind alone; when, therefore, the soul is shone upon by God as if at noonday, and when it is wholly and entirely filled with that light which is appreciable only by the intellect, and by being wholly surrounded with its brilliancy is free from all shade or darkness, it then perceives a threefold image of one subject, one image of the living God, and others of the other two, as if they were shadows irradiated by it. And some such thing as this happens to those who dwell in that light which is perceptible by the outward senses, for whether people are standing still or in motion, there is often a double shadow falling from them.
Let not any one then fancy that the word shadow is applied to God with perfect propriety. It is merely a catachrestical abuse of the name, by way of bringing before our eyes a more vivid representation of the matter intended to be intimated. Since this is not the actual truth, but in order that one may when speaking keep as close to the truth as possible, the one in the middle is the Father of the universe, who in the sacred scriptures is called by his proper name, I am that I am; and the beings on each side are those most ancient powers which are always close to the living God, one of which is called his creative power, and the other his royal power. And the creative power is God, for it is by this that he made and arranged the universe; and the royal power is the Lord, for it is fitting that the Creator should lord it over and govern the creature.
Therefore, the middle person of the three, being attended by each of his powers as by body-guards, presents to the mind, which is endowed with the faculty of sight, a vision at one time of one being, and at another time of three; of one when the soul being completely purified, and having surmounted not only the multitudes of numbers, but also the number two, which is the neighbour of the unit, hastens onward to that idea which is devoid of all mixture, free from all combination, and by itself in need of nothing else whatever; and of three, when, not being as yet made perfect as to the important virtues, it is still seeking for initiation in those of less consequence, and is not able to attain to a comprehension of the living God by its own unassisted faculties without the aid of something else, but can only do so by judging of his deeds, whether as creator or as governor.
This then, as they say, is the second best thing; and it no less partakes in the opinion which is dear to and devoted to God. But the firstmentioned disposition has no such share, but is itself the very God-loving and God-beloved opinion itself, or rather it is truth which is older than opinion, and more valuable than any seeming."
What's interesting about Philo's account is that it is actually more "Trinitarian" than early Christian readings of the text in question. Justin Martyr in his second-century Dialogue with Trypho thus agrees with Philo that the central figure is God -- albeit not merely figuratively, as Philo suggests, but actually and quasi-incarnationally -- but sees the two "extraneous" figures as mere angels, ontologically not merely inferior (pace Philo) but different animals entirely:
"Moses, the blessed and faithful servant of God, declares that the one who appeared to Abraham under the oak in Mamre is God, sent with the two angels in his company to judge Sodom, by another, who dwells eternally in the heavenly places, invisible to all and engaging in converse with none; the one whom we believe to be the Maker and Father of all things." (Dialogue 56)
For Justin, of course, the central figure is not merely God, but the Logos -- Christ -- who functions as the Father's revelatory agent in the divine economy. While this Logos is indeed God, however, Justin, like his contemporaries, readily subordinates the Son to the Father:
"Therefore neither Abraham nor Isaac nor Jacob nor anyone else saw the Father and ineffable Lord of all (even of Christ); rather did they see the one who was according to his will his Son, being God and the Angel, because he ministered to his will." (Dialogue 127)
A couple of centuries later, Justin's vision will be picked up by Hilary of Poitiers, who argues similarly that the "Trinity" encountered by Abraham at Mamre is composed of God/Christ and two angels. The latter two, in an ingenious (... and, as far as I can tell, original to Hilary ...) move are said to go on towards Sodom to meet with Lot while God/Christ remains behind to converse with Abraham.
For Hilary, however, the designation of the revelatory-Logos as God suggests that there is equality between Father and Son: The Logos whom Abraham encounters speaks for God and has power to bring about what is promised, including Sarah's pregnancy and the resultant mutiplication of Abraham's progeny and the destruction of Sodom. At work here, Hilary argues, is more than a unity of wills or even a unity of works, but a unity of powers and thus of nature:
"Scripture makes no distinction, by difference of name, between Their natures, but discriminates between Themselves. For we read in the Gospel "The Father judgeth no man, but hath given all judgment ot the Son. Thus what the Lord gave, the Lord had received from the Lord." (On the Trinity IV.29)
Of course, to the casual reader of Patristic sources, Hilary's interpretation -- and, by extension, Justin's -- sound patently wrong. We "know," after all, that the Fathers, especially the heavily pro-Nicene ones like Hilary, read this passages in Trinitarian terms ... not simply as Christological revelations. That interpretation has its hayday in Augustine -- or at least: in some of Augustine -- as well as in an incipient form in Origen. What these two, plus, perhaps, Ephrem and Caesarius of Arles are doing with the text is, however, a subject more appropriately reserved for a future entry.
* For the Patristically disposed, Rowan Williams' offers a nice, quick'n'dirty intro to Philo's Logos in Arius: Heresy and Tradition (... which, really, everyone should be reading regardless.)
And then there's the Genesis 18 account of Abraham's three visitors at the Oaks of Mamre. A glance at the opening verses makes clear why this text became the darling of Trinitarian interprets everywhere:
"The LORD appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground. He said, “My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant."
There's the emphasis on the divine appearance, the manifestation thereof in three visitors, and Abraham's address of them (him?) in the singular. Philo in his On Abraham deals with the passage on a figurative level as follows (... given the ungodly length of this quote, which would nevertheless be criminal to cut in any way, I'm highlighting the 10-cent-version those of us who lack time, interest, or an introduction to Philo's views on the Logos*.)
"The things which are expressed by the voice are the signs of those things which are conceived in the mind alone; when, therefore, the soul is shone upon by God as if at noonday, and when it is wholly and entirely filled with that light which is appreciable only by the intellect, and by being wholly surrounded with its brilliancy is free from all shade or darkness, it then perceives a threefold image of one subject, one image of the living God, and others of the other two, as if they were shadows irradiated by it. And some such thing as this happens to those who dwell in that light which is perceptible by the outward senses, for whether people are standing still or in motion, there is often a double shadow falling from them.
Let not any one then fancy that the word shadow is applied to God with perfect propriety. It is merely a catachrestical abuse of the name, by way of bringing before our eyes a more vivid representation of the matter intended to be intimated. Since this is not the actual truth, but in order that one may when speaking keep as close to the truth as possible, the one in the middle is the Father of the universe, who in the sacred scriptures is called by his proper name, I am that I am; and the beings on each side are those most ancient powers which are always close to the living God, one of which is called his creative power, and the other his royal power. And the creative power is God, for it is by this that he made and arranged the universe; and the royal power is the Lord, for it is fitting that the Creator should lord it over and govern the creature.
Therefore, the middle person of the three, being attended by each of his powers as by body-guards, presents to the mind, which is endowed with the faculty of sight, a vision at one time of one being, and at another time of three; of one when the soul being completely purified, and having surmounted not only the multitudes of numbers, but also the number two, which is the neighbour of the unit, hastens onward to that idea which is devoid of all mixture, free from all combination, and by itself in need of nothing else whatever; and of three, when, not being as yet made perfect as to the important virtues, it is still seeking for initiation in those of less consequence, and is not able to attain to a comprehension of the living God by its own unassisted faculties without the aid of something else, but can only do so by judging of his deeds, whether as creator or as governor.
This then, as they say, is the second best thing; and it no less partakes in the opinion which is dear to and devoted to God. But the firstmentioned disposition has no such share, but is itself the very God-loving and God-beloved opinion itself, or rather it is truth which is older than opinion, and more valuable than any seeming."
What's interesting about Philo's account is that it is actually more "Trinitarian" than early Christian readings of the text in question. Justin Martyr in his second-century Dialogue with Trypho thus agrees with Philo that the central figure is God -- albeit not merely figuratively, as Philo suggests, but actually and quasi-incarnationally -- but sees the two "extraneous" figures as mere angels, ontologically not merely inferior (pace Philo) but different animals entirely:
"Moses, the blessed and faithful servant of God, declares that the one who appeared to Abraham under the oak in Mamre is God, sent with the two angels in his company to judge Sodom, by another, who dwells eternally in the heavenly places, invisible to all and engaging in converse with none; the one whom we believe to be the Maker and Father of all things." (Dialogue 56)
For Justin, of course, the central figure is not merely God, but the Logos -- Christ -- who functions as the Father's revelatory agent in the divine economy. While this Logos is indeed God, however, Justin, like his contemporaries, readily subordinates the Son to the Father:
"Therefore neither Abraham nor Isaac nor Jacob nor anyone else saw the Father and ineffable Lord of all (even of Christ); rather did they see the one who was according to his will his Son, being God and the Angel, because he ministered to his will." (Dialogue 127)
A couple of centuries later, Justin's vision will be picked up by Hilary of Poitiers, who argues similarly that the "Trinity" encountered by Abraham at Mamre is composed of God/Christ and two angels. The latter two, in an ingenious (... and, as far as I can tell, original to Hilary ...) move are said to go on towards Sodom to meet with Lot while God/Christ remains behind to converse with Abraham.
For Hilary, however, the designation of the revelatory-Logos as God suggests that there is equality between Father and Son: The Logos whom Abraham encounters speaks for God and has power to bring about what is promised, including Sarah's pregnancy and the resultant mutiplication of Abraham's progeny and the destruction of Sodom. At work here, Hilary argues, is more than a unity of wills or even a unity of works, but a unity of powers and thus of nature:
"Scripture makes no distinction, by difference of name, between Their natures, but discriminates between Themselves. For we read in the Gospel "The Father judgeth no man, but hath given all judgment ot the Son. Thus what the Lord gave, the Lord had received from the Lord." (On the Trinity IV.29)
Of course, to the casual reader of Patristic sources, Hilary's interpretation -- and, by extension, Justin's -- sound patently wrong. We "know," after all, that the Fathers, especially the heavily pro-Nicene ones like Hilary, read this passages in Trinitarian terms ... not simply as Christological revelations. That interpretation has its hayday in Augustine -- or at least: in some of Augustine -- as well as in an incipient form in Origen. What these two, plus, perhaps, Ephrem and Caesarius of Arles are doing with the text is, however, a subject more appropriately reserved for a future entry.
* For the Patristically disposed, Rowan Williams' offers a nice, quick'n'dirty intro to Philo's Logos in Arius: Heresy and Tradition (... which, really, everyone should be reading regardless.)
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Caesarius of Arles, Plagiarist.
The medium-sized and decently well-regarded pastor-factory I occasionally teach at was recently beset by the odd instance (or three) of plagiarism. These cases are not particularly interesting in and of themselves, although the fact that the perpetrators were students well on their way into the pulpits of America made them perhaps additionally disturbing to some of my colleagues. One of them remarked: "What are they going to do when they have to preach every week? Copy sermons from the internet?!"
Righteous indignation aside, it struck me that, historically speaking, the fine young men making up the homiletic elite would have done precisely that. Take, for example, Caesarius of Arles -- a fine example of a late-5th/early-6th century preaching powerhouse. No fewer than three volumes of his sermons have been published in Catholic U. Press's fine series, The Fathers of Church, and while he's garnered less attention than the likes of, say, Augustine, the re-translation of his works remains a growth industry. [A few too many years in academia make the urge to footnote or hyper-link -- the blogosphere's equivalent -- almost irresistable. Curse you, foul academic fiend!]
Yet a reader of, e.g., Caesarius' Sermon 83 -- a fine piece of Trinitarian exposition of Genesis 18 -- might experience an odd sense of deja vu. Should aforementioned reader then pick up a copy of, say, Origen of Alexandria's Homily IV on Genesis, that sense of deja vu would certainly blossom in astonishing ways. To demonstrate, let's start with one of Caeasarius' more interesting and passages:
"[Abraham] also served a bullock; not a tough one, but a 'good, tender one.' Now what is so good and tender as He who humbled Himself for us even unto death? He Himself is that fatted calf which the father killed upon receiving his repentant son. For God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son."
Compare now Origen's treatment -- roughly 300 years before Caesarius:
"A calf is served; behold, another mystery. The calf itself is not tough, but good and tender.' And what is so tender, what so good as that one who humbled himself for us to death and laid down his life for his friends? He is the 'fatted calf' which the father slaughtered to receive his repentant son. For he so loved this world, as to give his only son for the life of this world."
As far as things that make us go "hmm" are concerned, this passage -- and its many parallels and parallels of parallels throughout the two short homilies -- should be high on our lists. If we take into account that the passages were not only translated by different individuals, but that one was originally written in Greek -- albeit translated into Latin during the latter parts of the 4th century -- and the other in Latin, the correspondences become even more striking.
What goes by the name of "plagiarism" in contemporary academic circles and is rightly reviled and punished as such is treated as "literary dependency" in the study of Late Antiquity. That's not to say that plagiarism was either unheard of or thought of benignly in Caesarius' era -- Jerome, for one, had definite views on those who sought to feather their caps with literary gems not of their own making, as his Commentary on Didymus the Blind and preface to his translation of Origen's homilies on Luke suggest. But don't take my -- or Jerome's -- word for it: Rumor has it that forgery and literary use and abuse of all kinds will get an up-to-date treatment by a certain well-known NT scholar and former Daily Show guest in the coming months.
And there you have it. A suitably nerdy introduction :)
Righteous indignation aside, it struck me that, historically speaking, the fine young men making up the homiletic elite would have done precisely that. Take, for example, Caesarius of Arles -- a fine example of a late-5th/early-6th century preaching powerhouse. No fewer than three volumes of his sermons have been published in Catholic U. Press's fine series, The Fathers of Church, and while he's garnered less attention than the likes of, say, Augustine, the re-translation of his works remains a growth industry. [A few too many years in academia make the urge to footnote or hyper-link -- the blogosphere's equivalent -- almost irresistable. Curse you, foul academic fiend!]
Yet a reader of, e.g., Caesarius' Sermon 83 -- a fine piece of Trinitarian exposition of Genesis 18 -- might experience an odd sense of deja vu. Should aforementioned reader then pick up a copy of, say, Origen of Alexandria's Homily IV on Genesis, that sense of deja vu would certainly blossom in astonishing ways. To demonstrate, let's start with one of Caeasarius' more interesting and passages:
"[Abraham] also served a bullock; not a tough one, but a 'good, tender one.' Now what is so good and tender as He who humbled Himself for us even unto death? He Himself is that fatted calf which the father killed upon receiving his repentant son. For God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son."
Compare now Origen's treatment -- roughly 300 years before Caesarius:
"A calf is served; behold, another mystery. The calf itself is not tough, but good and tender.' And what is so tender, what so good as that one who humbled himself for us to death and laid down his life for his friends? He is the 'fatted calf' which the father slaughtered to receive his repentant son. For he so loved this world, as to give his only son for the life of this world."
As far as things that make us go "hmm" are concerned, this passage -- and its many parallels and parallels of parallels throughout the two short homilies -- should be high on our lists. If we take into account that the passages were not only translated by different individuals, but that one was originally written in Greek -- albeit translated into Latin during the latter parts of the 4th century -- and the other in Latin, the correspondences become even more striking.
What goes by the name of "plagiarism" in contemporary academic circles and is rightly reviled and punished as such is treated as "literary dependency" in the study of Late Antiquity. That's not to say that plagiarism was either unheard of or thought of benignly in Caesarius' era -- Jerome, for one, had definite views on those who sought to feather their caps with literary gems not of their own making, as his Commentary on Didymus the Blind and preface to his translation of Origen's homilies on Luke suggest. But don't take my -- or Jerome's -- word for it: Rumor has it that forgery and literary use and abuse of all kinds will get an up-to-date treatment by a certain well-known NT scholar and former Daily Show guest in the coming months.
And there you have it. A suitably nerdy introduction :)
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