Monday, October 09, 2006

The Function of Tradition in the Ancient Church


[Note from Ad Orientem: Sorry about the writing structure. Florovsky was not a big fan of paragraphs.]

Archpriest George Florovsky

"Ego vero Evangelio non crederem, ni si me catholicae Ecclesiae commoveret auctoritas." [Indeed, I should not have believed the Gospel, if the authority of the Catholic Church had not moved me]. St. Augustine, contra epist. Manichaei, I.1.

St. Vincent of Lerins and tradition

The famous dictum of St. Vincent of Lerins was characteristic of the attitude of the Ancient Church in the matters of faith: "We must hold what has been believed everywhere, always, and by all" [Commonitorium, 2]. This was at once the criterion and the norm. The crucial emphasis was here on the permanence of Christian teaching. St. Vincent was actually appealing to the double "ecumenicity" of Christian faith — in space and in time. In fact, it was the same great vision which had inspired St. Irenaeus in his own time: the One Church, expanded and scattered in the whole world, and yet speaking with one voice, holding the same faith everywhere, as it had been handed down by the blessed Apostles and preserved by the succession of witnesses: quae est ab apostolis, quae per successionem presbyterorum in ecclesiis custoditur. ["Which is being preserved in the Church from the Apostles through the succession of the presbyters."] These two aspects of faith, or rather — the two dimensions, could never be separated from each other. Universitas and antiquitas, as well as consensio, belonged together. Neither was an adequate criterion by itself. "Antiquity" as such was not yet a sufficient warrant of truth, unless a comprehensive consensus of the "ancients" could be satisfactorily demonstrated. And consensio as such was not conclusive, unless it could be traced back continuously to Apostolic origins. Now, suggested St. Vincent, the true faith could be recognized by a double recourse — to Scripture and Tradition: duplici modo … primum scilicet divinae legis auctoritate, tum deinde ecclesiae catholicae traditione. ["In two ways … first clearly by the authority of the Holy Scriptures, then by the tradition of the Catholic Church."] This did not imply, however, that there were two sources of Christian doctrine. Indeed, the rule, or canon, of Scripture was "perfect" and "self-sufficient" — ad omnia satis superque sufficiat. ["For all things complete and more than sufficient."] Why then should it be supplemented by any other "authority"? Why was it imperative to invoke also the authority of "ecclesiastical understanding" — ecclesiasticae intelligentiae auctoritas? The reason was obvious: Scriptures were differently interpreted by individuals: ut paene quot hominess tot illinc sententiae erui posse videantur. ["So that one might almost gain the impression that it can yield as many different meanings, as there are men."] To this variety of "private" opinions St. Vincent opposes the "common" mind of the Church, the mind of the Church Catholic: ut propheticae et apostolicae interpretationis linea secundum ecclesiastici et catholici sensus normam dirigatur. ["That the trend of the interpretation of the prophets and the apostolic writings be directed in accordance with the rule of the ecclesiastical and Catholic meaning."] Tradition was not, according to St. Vincent, an independent instance, nor was it a complementary source of faith. "Ecclesiastical understanding" could not add anything to the Scripture. But it was the only means to ascertain and to disclose the true meaning of Scripture. Tradition was, in fact, the authentic interpretation of Scripture. And in this sense it was co-extensive with Scripture. Tradition was actually "Scripture rightly understood." And Scripture was for St. Vincent the only, primary and ultimate, canon of Christian truth (Commonitorium, cap. II, cf. cap. 28).

The hermeneutical question in the Ancient Church

At this point St. Vincent was in full agreement with the established tradition. In the admirable phrase of St. Hilary of Poitiers, scripturae enim non in legendo sunt, sed in intelligendo. ["For Scripture is not in the reading, but in the understanding;" ad Constantium Aug., lib. II, cap. 9, ML X, 570; the phrase is repeated also by St. Jerome, Dial. c. Lucifer., cap. 28, ML XXIII, 190-191]. The problem of right exegesis was still a burning issue in the Fourth century, in the contest of the Church with the Arians, no less than it has been in the Second century, in the struggle against Gnostics, Sabellians, and Montanists. All parties in the dispute used to appeal to Scripture. Heretics, even Gnostics and Manichees, used to quote Scriptural texts and passages and to invoke the authority of the Holy Writ. Moreover, exegesis was at that time the main, and probably the only, theological method, and the authority of the Scripture was sovereign and supreme. The Orthodox were bound to raise the crucial hermeneutical question: What was the principle of interpretation? Now, in the Second century the term "Scriptures" denoted primarily the Old Testament and, on the other hand, the authority of these "Scriptures" was sharply challenged, and actually repudiated, by the teaching of Marcion. The Unity of the Bible had to be proved and vindicated. What was the basis, and the warrant, of Christian, and Christological, understanding of "Prophecy," that is — of the Old Testament? It was in this historical situation that the authority of Tradition was first invoked. Scripture belonged to the Church, and it was only in the Church, within the community of right faith, that Scripture could be adequately understood and correctly interpreted. Heretics, that is — those outside of the Church, had no key to the mind of the Scripture. It was not enough just to read and to quote Scriptural words — the true meaning, or intent, of Scripture, taken as an integrated whole, had to be elicited. One had to grasp, as it were in advance, the true pattern of Biblical revelation, the great design of God’s redemptive Providence, and this could be done only by an insight of faith. It was by faith that Christuszeugniss could be discerned in the Old Testament. It was by faith that the unity of the tetramorph Gospel could be properly ascertained. But this faith was not an arbitrary and subjective insight of individuals — it was the faith of the Church, rooted in the Apostolic message, or kerygma, and authenticated by it. Those outside of the Church were missing precisely this basic and overarching message, the very heart of the Gospel. With them Scripture was just a dead letter, or an array of disconnected passages and stories, which they endeavored to arrange or re-arrange on their own pattern, derived from alien sources. They had another faith. This was the main argument of Tertullian in his passionate treatise De praescriptione. He would not discuss Scriptures with heretics — they had no right to use Scriptures, as they did not belong to them. Scriptures were the Church’s possession. Emphatically did Tertullian insist on the priority of the "rule of faith," regula fidei. It was the only key to the meaning of the Scripture. And this "rule" was Apostolic, was rooted in, and derived from, the Apostolic preaching. C. H. Turner has rightly described the meaning and the intention of this appeal or reference to the "rule of faith" in the Early Church. "When Christians spoke of the ‘Rule of Faith’ as ‘Apostolic,’ they did not mean that the Apostles had met and formulated it … What they meant was that the profession of belief which every catechumen recited before his baptism did embody in summary form the faith which the Apostles had taught and had committed to their disciples to teach after them." This profession was the same everywhere, although the actual phrasing could vary from place to place. It was always intimately related to the baptismal formula [C. H. Turner, Apostolic Succession, in "Essays on the Early History of the Church and the Ministry," edited by H. B. Swete (London, 1918), pp. 101-102. See also Yves M. J. Cougar, O.P., La Tradition et les traditions, 11. Essai Théologique (Paris, 1963), pp. 21 ss]. Apart from this "rule" Scripture could be but misinterpreted. Scripture and Tradition were indivisibly interwined for Tertullian. Ubi enim apparuerit esse veritatem disciplinae et fidei christianae, illic erit veritas scripturarum et expositionum et omnium traditionum christianarum. ["For only where the true Christian teaching and faith are evident will the true Scriptures, the true interpretations, and all the true Christian traditions be found;" XIX. 3]. The Apostolic Tradition of faith was the indispensable guide in the understanding of Scripture and the ultimate warrant of right interpretation. The Church was not an external authority, which had to judge over the Scripture, but rather the keeper and guardian of that Divine truth which was stored and deposited in the Holy Writ [Cf. E. Flesseman-van-Leer, Tradition and Scripture in the Early Church (Assen, 1954), pp. 145-185; Damien van den Eynde, Les Normes de l’Enseignment Chrétien dans la litterature patristique des trois premiers siècles (Gembloux-Paris, 1933), pp. 197-212; J. K. Stirniman, Die Praescriptio Tertullians im Lichte des römischen Rechts und der Théologie (Freiburg, 1949); and also the introduction and notes of R. F. Refoulé, O.P., in the edition of De praescriptione, in the "Sources Chrétiennes," 46 (Paris, 1957)].

St. Irenaeus and the “Canon of Truth”

Denouncing the Gnostic mishandling of Scriptures, St. Irenaeus introduced a picturesque simile. A skillful artist has made a beautiful image of a king, composed of many precious jewels. Now, another man takes this mosaic image apart, re-arranges the stones in another pattern so as to produce the image of a dog or of a fox. Then he starts claiming that this was the original picture, by the first master, under the pretext that the gems (the ψηφιδες) were authentic. In fact, however, the original design had been destroyed — λυσας την υποκειμενην του ανθρωπου ιδεαν. This is precisely what the heretics do with the Scripture. They disregard and disrupt "the order and connection" of the Holy Writ and "dismember the truth" — λυοντες τα μελη της αληθειας. Words, expressions, and images —ρηματα, λεξεις παραβολαι —are genuine, indeed, but the design, the υποθεσις (ipothesis), is arbitrary and false (adv. haeres., 1. 8. 1). St. Irenaeus suggested as well another analogy. There were in circulation at that time certain Homerocentones, composed of genuine verses of Homer, but taken at random and out of context, and re-arranged in arbitrary manner. All particular verses were truly Homeric, but the new story, fabricated by the means of re-arrangement, was not Homeric at all. Yet, one could be easily deceived by the familiar sound of the Homeric idiom (1.9.4). It is worth noticing that Tertullian also refers to these curious centones, made of Homeric or Virgilian verses (de praescr., XXXIX). Apparently, it was a common device in the polemical literature of that time. Now, the point which St. Irenaeus endeavored to make is obvious. Scripture had its own pattern or design, its internal structure and harmony. The heretics ignore this pattern, or rather substitute their own instead. In other words, they re-arrange the Scriptural evidence on a pattern which is quite alien to the Scripture itself. Now, contended St. Irenaeus, those who had kept unbending that "canon of truth" which they had received at baptism, will have no difficulty in "restoring each expression to its appropriate place." Then they are able to behold the true image. The actual phrase used by St. Irenaeus is peculiar: προσαρμοσας τω της αληθειας σωματιω (prosarmosas to tis alithias somatio; which is clumsily rendered in the old Latin translation as corpusculum veritatis). But the meaning of the phrase is quite clear. The somatio is not necessarily a diminutive. It simply denotes a "corporate body." In the phrase of St. Irenaeus it denotes the corpus of truth, the right context, the original design, the "true image," the original disposition of gems and verses [Cf. F. Kattenbusch, Das Apostolische Symbol, Bd. II (Leipzig, 1900), ss. 30 ff., and also his note in the "Zeitschrift f. neutest. Theologie," x (1909), ss. 331-332]. Thus, for St. Irenaeus, the reading of Scripture must be guided by the "rule" of faith — to which believers are committed (and into which they are initiated) by their baptismal profession, and by which only the basic message, or "the truth," of the Scripture can be adequately assessed and identified. The favorite phrase of St. Irenaeus was "the rule of truth," κανων της αλιθειας (kanon tis alithias), regula veritatis. Now, this "rule" was, in fact, nothing else than the witness and preaching of the Apostles, their κηρυγμα (kirigma) and praedicatio (or praeconium), which was "deposited" in the Church and entrusted to her by the Apostles, and then was faithfully kept and handed down, with complete unanimity in all places, by the succession of accredited pastors: Those who, together with the succession of the episcopacy, have received the firm charisma of truth [IV. 26. 2]. Whatever the direct and exact connotation of this pregnant phrase may be [It has been contended that charisma veritatis was actually simply the Apostolic doctrine and the truth (of the Divine Revelation), so that St. Irenaeus did not imply any special ministerial endowment of the bishops. See Karl Müller, Kleine Beiträge zur alten Kirchengeschichte, 3. Das Charisma veritatis und der Episcopat bei Irenaeus, in "Zeitschrift f. neut. Wissenschaft," Bd. xxiii (1924), ss. 216-222; cf. van den Eynde, pp. 183-187; Y. M. J. Congar, O.P., La Tradition et ler traditions, Êtude historique (Paris, 1960), pp. 97-98; Hans Freiherr von Campenhausen, Kirchliches Amt und geistliche Vollmacht in den ersten drei Jahrhunderten (Tübingen, 1953), ss. 185 ff.; and also-with the special emphasis on the character of "Succession" — Einar Molland, Irenaeus of Lugdunum and the Apostolic Succession, in the "Journal of Ecclesiastical History," 1.1, 1950, pp. 12-28, and Le développement de 1’idée de succession apostolique, in the "Revue d’historie et de philosophie réligieuses," xxxiv.i, 1954, pp. 1-29. See, on the other hand, the critical remarks of Arnold Ehrhardt, The Apostolic Succession in the first two centuries of the Church (London, 1953), pp. 207-231, esp. 213-214], there can be no doubt that, in the mind of St. Irenaeus, this continuous preservation and transmission of the deposited faith was operated and guided by the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit in the Church. The whole conception of the Church in St. Irenaeus was at once "charismatic" and "institutional." And "Tradition" was, in his understanding, a depositum juvenescens, a living tradition, entrusted to the Church as a new breath of life, just as breath was bestowed upon the first man — (quemadmodum aspiratio plasmationis III. 24. 1). Bishops or "presbyters" were in the Church accredited guardians and ministers of this once deposited truth. "Where, therefore, the charismata of the Lord have been deposited (posita sunt), there is it proper to learn the truth, namely from those who have that succession of the Church which is from the Apostles (apud quos est ea quae est ab apostolis ecclesiae successio), and who display a sound and blameless conduct and an unadulterated and incorrupt speech. For these also preserve this faith of ours in one God who created all things, and they increase that love for the Son of God, who accomplished such marvellous dispensation for our sake, and they expound the Scriptures to us without danger, neither blaspheming God, nor dishonoring the patriarchs, nor despising the prophets" (IV. 26. 5).

The regula fidei

Tradition was in the Early Church, first of all, an hermeneutical principle and method. Scripture could be rightly and fully assessed and understood only in the light and in the context of the living Apostolic Tradition, which was an integral factor of Christian existence. It was so, of course, not because Tradition could add anything to what has been manifested in the Scripture, but because it provided that living context, the comprehensive perspective, in which only the true "intention" and the total "design" of the Holy Writ, itself of Divine Revelation, could be detected and grasped. The truth was, according to St. Irenaeus, a "well-grounded system," a corpus (adv. haeres. II. 27. 1 — veritatis corpus), a "harmonious melody" (II. 38. 3). But it was precisely this "harmony" which could be grasped only by the insight of faith. Indeed, Tradition was not just a transmission of inherited doctrines, in a "Judaic manner," but rather the continuous life in the truth [Cf. Dom Odo Casel O.S.B., Benedict von Nursia als Pneumatiker, in "Heilige Überlieferung" (Münster, 1938), ss. 100-101: Die heilige Überlieferung ist daher in der Kirche von Anfang an nicht bloss ein Weitergeben von Doktrinen nach spätjudischen (nachchristlicher) Art gewesen, sondern ein lebendiges Weiterblühen des göttlichen Lebens. In a footnote Dom Casel sends the reader back to John Adam Möhler]. It was not a fixed core or complex of binding propositions, but rather an insight into the meaning and impact of the revelatory events, of the revelation of the "God who acts." And this was determinative in the field of Biblical exegesis. G. L. Prestige has well put it: "The voice of the Bible could be plainly heard only if its text were interpreted broadly and rationally, in accordance with the apostolic creed and the evidence of the historical practice of Christendom. It was the heretics that relied on isolated texts, and the Catholics who paid more attention on the whole to scriptural principles" [G. L. Prestige, Fathers and Heretics (London, 1940), p. 43]. Summarizing her careful analysis of the use of Tradition in the Early Church, Dr. Ellen Flessemanvan-Leer has written: "Scripture without interpretation is not Scripture at all; the moment it is used and becomes alive it is always interpreted Scripture." Now, Scripture must be interpreted "according to its own basic purpose," which is disclosed in the regula fidei. Thus, this regula becomes, as it were, the controlling instance in the exegesis. "Real interpretation of Scripture is Church preaching, is tradition" [Flesseman, pp. 92-96. On St. Irenaeus see Flesseman, 100-144; van den Eynde, 159-187; B. Reynders, Paradosis, Le progrès de l’idée tradition jusqu’ à Saint Irénée, in the "Recherches de théologie ancienne et mediévale," v (1933), 155-191; La polemique de Saint Irenee, ibidem, vii (1935), 5-27; Henri Holstein, La Tradition des Apotres chez Saint Irénée, in the "Recherches de Science réligieuse," xxxvi (1949), 229-270; La Tradition dans l’Eglise (Paris, 1960); André Benoit, Ecriture et Tradition chez Saint Irénée, in the "Révue d’histoire et de philosophie réligieuses," xL (1960), 32-43; Saint Irénée, Introduction á l’etude de sa théologie (Paris, 1960)].

St. Athanasius and the “Scope of Faith”

The situation did not change in the Fourth century. The dispute with the Arians was centered again in the exegetical field — at least, in its early phase. The Arians and their supporters have produced an impressive array of Scriptural texts in the defense of their doctrinal position. They wanted to restrict theological discussion to the Biblical ground alone. Their claims had to be met precisely on this ground, first of all. And their exegetical method, the manner in which they handled the text, was much the same as that of the earlier dissenters. They were operating with selected proof-texts, without much concern for the total context of the Revelation. It was imperative for the Orthodox to appeal to the mind of the Church, to that "Faith" which had been once delivered and then faithfully kept. This was the main concern, and the usual method, of St. Athanasius. The Arians quoted various passages from the Scripture to substantiate their contention that the Saviour was a creature. In reply St. Athanasius invoked the "rule of faith." This was his usual argument. "Let us, who possess τον σκοπον της πιστεως [the scope of faith], restore the correct meaning (ορθην την διανοιαν) of what they had wrongly interpreted" (c. Arian. III. 35). St. Athanasius contended that the "correct" interpretation of particular texts was only possible in the total perspective of faith. "What they now allege from the Gospels they explain in an unsound sense, as we may discover if we take in consideration τον σκοπον της καθ ημας τους Χριστιανοθς πιοτεως [the scope of the faith according to us Christians], and read the Scripture using it (τον σκοπον, ton skopon) as the rule— ωσπερ κανονι χρησαμενοι" (III. 28) On the other hand, close attention must be given also to the immediate context and setting of every particular phrase and expression, and the exact intention of the writer must be carefully identified (I. 54). Writing to Bishop Serapion, on the Holy Spirit, St. Athanasius contends again that Arians ignored or missed "the scope of the Divine Scripture" (ad Serap., II. 7; cf. ad episc. Eg., 4). The (σκοπος) skopos was, in the language of St. Athanasius, a close equivalent of what St. Irenaeus used to denote as (υποθεσις) ipothesis — the underlying "idea," the true design, the intended meaning (See Guido Müller, Lexicon Athanasianum, sub voce: id quod quis docendo, scribendo, credendo intendit). On the other hand, the word σκοπος skopos was a habitual term in the exegetical language of certain philosophical schools, especially in Neoplatonism. Exegesis played a great role in the philosophical endeavor of that time, and the question of hermeneutical principle had to be raised. Jamblichos was, for one, quite formal at this point. One had to discover the "main point," or the basic theme, of the whole treatise under examination, and to keep it all time in mind [See Karl Prächter, Richtungen und Schulen im Neuplatonismus, in "Genethalikon" (Carl Roberts zum 8. März 1910), (Berlin, 1910). Prächter translates skopos as Zielpunkt or Grundthema (s. 128 f.). He characterizes the method of Jamblichos as an "universalistische Exegese" (138). Proclus, in his Commentary on Timaeus, contrasts Porphyry and Jamblichos: Porphyry interpreted texts merikoteron, while Jamblichos did it epoptikoteron, that is in a comprehensive or syntretic manner: in Tim. I, pp. 204, 24 ff., quoted by Prächter, s. 136.). St. Athanasius could well be acquainted with the technical use of the term. It was misleading, he contended, to quote isolated texts and passages, disregarding the total intent of the Holy Writ. It is obviously inaccurate to interpret the term (σκοπος) skopos in the idiom of St. Athanasius as "the general drift" of the Scripture. The "scope" of the faith, or of the Scripture, is precisely their credal core, which is condensed in the "rule of faith," as it had been maintained in the Church and "transmitted from fathers to fathers," while the Arians had "no fathers" for their opinions (de decr., 27). As Cardinal Newman has rightly observed, St. Athanasius regarded the "rule of faith" as an ultimate "principle of interpretation," opposing the "ecclesiastical sense" (την εκκλησιαστικην διανοιαν, c. Arian. I. 44) to "private opinions" of the heretics [Select Treatises of St. Athanasius, freely translated by J. H. Cardinal Newman, Vol. II (Eighth impression, 1900), pp. 250-252]. Time and again, in his scrutiny of the Arian arguments, St. Athanasius would summarize the basic tenets of the Christian faith, before going into the actual re-examination of the alleged proof-texts, in order to restore texts into their proper perspective. H. E. W. Turner has described this exegetical manner of St. Athanasius:

Against the favorite Arian technique of pressing the grammatical meaning of a text without regard either to the immediate context or to the wider frame of reference in the teaching of the Bible as a whole, he urges the need to take the general drift of the Church’s Faith as a Canon of interpretation. The Arians are blind to the wide sweep of Biblical theology and therefore fail to take into sufficient account the context in which their proof-texts are set. The sense of Scripture must itself be taken as Scripture. This has been taken as a virtual abandonment of the appeal to Scripture and its replacement by an argument from Tradition. Certainly in less careful hands it might lead to the imposition of a strait-jacket upon the Bible as the dogmatism of Arian and Gnostic had attempted to do. But this was certainly not the intention of St. Athanasius himself. For him it represents an appeal from exegesis drunk to exegesis sober, from a myopic insistence upon the grammatical letter to the meaning of intention (σκοπος skopos, χαρακτηρ haraktir) of the Bible" (H.E.W. Turner, The Pattern of Christian Truth, London, 1954, pp. 193-194).

It seems, however, that Professor Turner exaggerated the danger. The argument was still strictly scriptural, and, in principle, St. Athanasius admitted the sufficiency of the Scripture, sacred and inspired, for the defense of truth (c. Gentes, I). Only Scripture had to be interpreted in the context of the living credal tradition, under the guidance or control of the "rule of faith." This "rule," however, was in no sense an "extraneous" authority which could be "imposed" on the Holy Writ. It was the same "Apostolic preaching," which was written down in the books of the New Testament, but it was, as it were, this preaching in epitome. St. Athanasius writes to Bishop Serapion: "Let us look at that very tradition, teaching, and faith of the Catholic Church from the very beginning, which the Lord gave (εδωκεν), the Apostles preached (εκηρυξαν), and the Fathers preserved (εφυλαξαν). Upon this the Church is founded" (ad Serap., I. 28). The passage is highly characteristic of St. Athanasius. The three terms in the phrase actually coincide: (παραδοσις) paradosis [tradition] — from Christ himself, (διδασκαλια) didaskalia [teaching] — by the Apostles, and (πιστις) pistis [faith] — of the Catholic Church. And this is the foundation (θεμελιον, themelion) of the Church — a sole and single foundation. Scripture itself seems to be subsumed and included in this "Tradition," coming, as it is, from the Lord. In the concluding chapter of his first epistle to Serapion St. Athanasius returns once more to the same point. "In accordance with the Apostolic faith delivered to us by tradition from the Fathers, I have delivered the tradition, without inventing anything extraneous to it. What I learned, that have I inscribed (ενεχαραξα, eneharaksa), conformably with the Holy Scriptures" (c. 33). On an occasion St. Athanasius denoted the Scripture itself as an Apostolic paradosis (ad Adelph., 6). It is characteristic that in the whole discussion with the Arians no single reference was made to any "traditions" — in plural. The only term of reference was always "Tradition," — indeed, the Tradition, the Apostolic Tradition, comprising the total and integral content of the Apostolic "preaching," and summarized in the "rule of faith." The unity and solidarity of this Tradition was the main and crucial point in the whole argument.

The purpose of exegesis and the “Rule of Worship”

The appeal to Tradition was actually an appeal to the mind of the Church. It was assumed that the Church had the knowledge and the understanding of the truth, of the truth and the "meaning" of the Revelation. Accordingly, the Church had both the competence and the authority to proclaim the Gospel and to interpret it. This did not imply that the Church was "above" the Scripture. She stood by the Scripture, but on the other hand, was not bound by its "letter." The ultimate purpose of exegesis and interpretation was to elicit the meaning and the intent of the Holy Writ, or rather the meaning of the Revelation, of the Heilsgeschichte. The Church had to preach Christ, and not just "the Scripture." The use of Tradition in the Ancient Church can be adequately understood only in the context of the actual use of the Scripture. The Word was kept alive in the Church. It was reflected in her life and structure. Faith and Life were organically interwined. It would be proper to recall at this point the famous passage from the Indiculus de gratia Dei, which was mistakenly attributed to Pope Celestine and was in fact composed by St. Prosper of Aquitania: "These are the inviolable decrees of the Holy and Apostolic See by which our holy Fathers slew the baneful innovation … Let us regard the sacred prayers which, in accordance with apostolic tradition our priests offer uniformly in every Catholic Church in all the world. Let the rule of worship lay down the rule of faith." It is true, of course, that this phrase in its immediate context was not a formulation of a general principle, and its direct intention was limited to one particular point: Infant Baptism as an instance pointing to the reality of an inherited or original sin. Indeed, it was not an authoritative proclamation of a Pope, but a private opinion of an individual theologian, expressed in the context of a heated controversy [See Dom M. Capuyns, L’origine des Capitula Pseudo-Celestiniens contre les Semipelagiens, in ‘Révue Bénédictine,’ t. 41 (1929), pp. 156-170; especially Karl Federer, Liturgie und Glaube, Eine theologiegeschichtliche Untersuchung (Freiburg in der Schweiz, 1950. Paradosis, IV; cf. Dom B. Capelle, Autorité de la liturgie chèz les Pères, in ‘Recherches de Théologie ancienne et médiévale,’ t. XXI (1954), pp. 5-22]. Yet, it was not just an accident, and not a misunderstanding, that the phrase had been taken out of its immediate context and slightly changed in order to express the principle: ut legem credendi statuat lex orandi [So that the rule of worship should establish the rule of faith]. "Faith" found its first expression precisely in the liturgical, sacramental, rites and formulas — and "Creeds" first emerged as an integral part of the rite of initiation. "Credal summaries of faith, whether interrogatory or declaratory, were a by-product of the liturgy and reflected its fixity or plasticity," says J. N. D. Kelly [J. N. D. Kelly, Early Christian Creeds London, 1950), p. 167]. "Liturgy," in the wide and comprehensive sense of the word, was the first and initial layer in the Tradition of the Church, and the argument from the lex orandi [Rule of worship] was persistently used in discussion already by the end of the Second century. The Worship of the Church was a solemn proclamation of her Faith. The baptismal invocation of the Name was probably the earliest Trinitarian formula, as the Eucharist was the primary witness to the mystery of Redemption, in all its fulness. The New Testament itself came to existence, as a "Scripture," in the Worshipping Church. And Scripture was read first in the context of worship and meditation.

St. Basil and “Unwritten Tradition”

Already St. Irenaeus used to refer to "faith" as it had been received at baptism. Liturgical arguments were used by Tertullian and St. Cyprian [See Federer, op. cit., s. 59 ff.; F. De Pauw, La justification des traditions non écrites chèz Tertullien, in ‘Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses,’ t. XIX, 1/2, 1942, pp. 5-46. Cf. also Georg Kretschmar, Studien zur frühchristlichen Trinitätstheologie (Tübingen, 1956)]. St. Athanasius and the Cappadocians used the same argument. The full development of this argument from the liturgical tradition we find in St. Basil. In his contest with the later Arians, concerning the Holy Spirit, St. Basil built his major argument on the analysis of doxologies, as they were used in the Churches. The treatise of St. Basil, De Spiritu Sancto, was an occasional tract, written in the fire and heat of a desperate struggle, and addressed to a particular historic situation. But St. Basil was concerned here with the principles and methods of theological investigation. In his treatise St. Basil was arguing a particular point — indeed, the crucial point in the sound Trinitarian doctrine — the homotimia of the Holy Ghost. His main reference was to a liturgical witness: the doxology of a definite type ("with the Spirit"), which, as he could demonstrate, has been widely used in the Churches. The phrase, of course, was not in the Scripture. It was only attested by tradition. But his opponents would not admit any authority but that of the Scripture. It is in this situation that St. Basil endeavored to prove the legitimacy of an appeal to Tradition. He wanted to show that the omotimia (ομοτιμια) of the Spirit, that is, his Divinity, was always believed in the Church and was a part of the Baptismal profession of faith. Indeed, as Père Benoit Pruche has rightly observed, the omotimos (ομοτιμιος), was for St. Basil an equivalent of the omousios (ομοουσιος) [See his introduction to the edition of the treatise De Spiritu Sancto in ‘Sources Chrètiennes,’ (Paris, 1945), pp. 28 ss]. There was little new in this concept of Tradition, except consistency and precision.

His phrasing, however, was rather peculiar. "Of the dogmata and kerygmata, which are kept in the Church, we have some from the written teaching (εκ της εγγραφου διδασκαλιας), and some we derive from the Apostolic paradosis, which had been handed down en mistirio (εν μυστηριω). And both have the same strength (την αυτην ισχυν) in the matters of piety" (de Spir. S., 66). At first glance one may get the impression that St. Basil introduces here a double authority and double standard — Scripture and Tradition. In fact he was very far from doing so. His use of terms is peculiar. Kerygmata were for him what in the later idiom was usually denoted as "dogmas" or "doctrines" — a formal and authoritative teaching and ruling in the matters of faith, the open or public teaching. On the other hand, dogmata were for him the total complex of "unwritten habits" (τα αγραφα των εθνων), or, in fact, the whole structure of liturgical and sacramental life. It must be kept in mind that the concept, and the term itself, "dogma," was not yet fixed by that time, it was not yet a term with a strict and exact connotation [See the valuable study by August Deneffe, S.J., Dogma. Wort und Begriff, in the ‘Scholastik,’ Jg. VI (1931), ss. 381-400 and 505-538]. In any case, one should not be embarrassed by the contention of St. Basil that dogmata were delivered or handed down, by the Apostles en mistirio (εν μυστρηω). It would be a flagrant mistranslation if we render it as "in secret." The only accurate rendering is: "by the way of mysteries," that is — under the form of rites and (liturgical) usages, or "habits." In fact, it is precisely what St. Basil says himself: τα πλειτα των μυστικων αγραφως ημιν εμπολιτευεται [Most of the mysteries are communicated to us by an unwritten way]. The term ta mistika (τα μυστικα) refers here, obviously, to the rites of Baptism and Eucharist, which are, for St. Basil, of "Apostolic" origin. He quotes at this point St. Paul’s own reference to "traditions," which the faithful have received (ειτε δια λογου ειτε δι επιστολης 2 Thess. 2:15; 1 Cor. 11:2). The doxology in question is one of these "traditions" (71; cf. also 66) — οι τα περι τας Εκκλησιας εξαρχης διαθεσμοθετησαντες αποστολοι και πατερες, εν τω κεκρυμμενω και αφθεγκτω το σεμνον τοις μυστηριοις εφυλασσον [The Apostles and Fathers who from the very beginning arranged everything in the churches, preserved the sacred character of the mysteries in silence and secrecy]. Indeed, all instances quoted by St. Basil in this connection are of ritual or liturgical nature: the use of the sign of the Cross in the rite of admission of Catechumens; the orientation toward East at prayer; the habit to keep standing at worship on Sundays; the epiclesis in the Eucharistic rite; the blessing of water and oil, the renunciation of Satan and his pomp, the triple immersion, in the rite of Baptism. There are many other "unwritten mysteries of the Church," says St. Basil: τα αγραφα της εκκλησιας μυστηρια (c. 66 and 67). They are not mentioned in the Scripture. But they are of great authority and significance. They are indispensable for the preservation of right faith. They are effective means of witness and communication. According to St. Basil, they come from a "silent" and "private" tradition: απο της αδημοσιευτου και μυστικης παραδοσεως εκ της αδημοσιευτου ταυτης και απορρητου διδασκαλιας [From the silent and mystical tradition, from the unpublic and ineffable teaching]. This "silent" and "mystical" tradition, "which has not been made public," is not an esoteric doctrine, reserved for some particular elite. The "elite" was the Church. In fact, "tradition" to which St. Basil appeals, is the liturgical practice of the Church. St. Basil is referring here to what is now denoted as disciplina arcani [The discipline of secrecy]. In the fourth century this "discipline" was in wide use, was formally imposed and advocated in the Church. It was related to the institution of the Catechumenate and had primarily an educational and didactic purpose. On the other hand, as St. Basil says himself, certain "traditions" had to be kept "unwritten" in order to prevent profanation at the hands of the infidel. This remark obviously refers to rites and usages. It may be recalled at this point that, in the practice of the Fourth century, the Creed (and also the Dominical Prayer) were a part of this "discipline of secrecy" and could not be disclosed to the non-initiated. The Creed was reserved for the candidates for Baptism, at the last stage of their instruction, after they had been solemnly enrolled and approved. The Creed was communicated, or "traditioned," to them by the bishop orally and they had to recite it by memory before him: the ceremony of traditio and redditio symboli. [Transmission and Repetition (by the initiated) of the Creed]. The Catechumens were strongly urged not to divulge the Creed to outsiders and not to commit it to writing. It had to be inscribed in their hearts. It is enough to quote there the Procatechesis of St. Cyril of Jerusalem, cap 12 and 17. In the West Rufinus and St. Augustine felt that it was improper to set the Creed down on paper. For that reason Sozomen in his History does not quote the text of the Nicene Creed, "which only the initiated and the mystagogues have the right to recite and hear" (hist. eccl. 1.20) . It is against this background, and in this historic context, that the argument of St. Basil must be assessed and interpreted. St. Basil stresses strongly the importance of the Baptismal profession of faith, which included a formal commitment to the belief in the Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (67 and 26). It was a "tradition" which had been handed down to the neophytes "in mystery" and had to be kept "in silence." One would be in great danger to shake "the very foundation of the Christian faith" — το στερεωμα της Χριστον πιστεως — if this "unwritten tradition" was set aside, ignored, or neglected (c. 25). The only difference between dogma (δογμα) and kirigma (κηρυγμα) was in the manner of their transmission: dogma is kept "in silence" and kerygmata are "publicized:" το μεν γαρ σιωπαται, τα δε κηρυγματα δημοσειυονται. But their intent is identical: they convey the same faith, if in different manners. Moreover, this particular habit was not just a tradition of the Fathers — such a tradition would not have sufficed: uk eksarki. In fact, "the Fathers" derived their "principles" from "the intention of the Scripture" — τω βουληματι της Γραφης λαβοντες [Following the intention of the Scripture, deriving their principles from the scriptural witnesses]. Thus, the "unwritten tradition," in rites and symbols, does not actually add anything to the content of the Scriptural faith: it only puts this faith in focus [Cf. Hermann Dörries, De Spiritu Sancto, Der Beitrag des Basilius zum Abschluss des trinitarischen Dogmas (Göttingen, 1956); J. A. Jungmann, S.J., Die Stellung Christi im liturgischen Gebet, 2. Auflage (Münster i/W, 1962), ss. 155 ff., 163 ff.; Dom David Amand, L’ascese monastique de Saint Basile, Editions de Maredsous (1949), pp. 75-85. The footnotes in the critical editions of the treatise De Spiritu S. by C. F. H. Johnson (Oxford, 1892) and by Benoit Pruche, O.P. (in the ‘Sources Chrètiennes,’ Paris, 1945) are highly instructive and helpful. On disciplina arcani see O. Perler, s.v. Arkandisciplin, in ‘Reallexikon für Antike and Christentum,’ Bd. I (Stuttgart, 1950), ss. 671-676,. Joachim Jeremias, Die Abendmahlsworte Jesu (Göttingen, 1949), ss. 59 ff., 78 ff., contended that disciplina arcani could be detected already in the formation of the text of the Gospels, and actually existed also in Judaism; cf. the sharp criticism of this thesis by R. P. C. Hanson, Tradition in the Early Church (London, 1962), pp. 27 ss].

St. Basil’s appeal to "unwritten tradition" was actually an appeal to the faith of the Church, to her sensus catholicus, to the (φρονιμα εκκλησιατικον) fronima ekklisiatikon [Ecclesiastical mind]. He had to break the deadlock created by the obstinate and narrow-minded pseudo-biblicism of his Arian opponents. And he pleaded that, apart from this "unwritten" rule of faith, it was impossible to grasp the true intention and teaching of the Scripture itself. St. Basil was strictly scriptural in his theology: Scripture was for him the supreme criterion of doctrine (epist. 189.3). His exegesis was sober and reserved. Yet, Scripture itself was a mystery, a mystery of Divine "economy" and of human salvation. There was an inscrutable depth in the Scripture, since it was an "inspired" book, a book by the Spirit. For that reason the true exegesis must be also spiritual and prophetic. A gift of spiritual discernment was necessary for the right understanding of the Holy Word. "For the judge of the words ought to start with the same preparation as the author … And I see that in the utterances of the Spirit it is also impossible for everyone to undertake the scrutiny of His word, but only for them who have the Spirit which grants the discernment" (epist. 204). The Spirit is granted in the sacraments of the Church. Scripture must be read in the light of faith, and also in the community of the faithful. For that reason Tradition, the tradition of faith as handed down through generations, was for St. Basil an indispensable guide and companion in the study and interpretation of the Holy Writ. At this point he was following in the steps of St. Irenaeus and St. Athanasius. In the similar way Tradition, and especially the liturgical witness, of the Church was used by St. Augustine [Cf. German Mártil, O.D., La tradición en San Agustín a través de la controversia pelagiana (Madrid, 1942) (originally in ‘Revista española de Teología,’ Vol. I, 1940, and II, 1942); Wunibald Roetzer, Des heiligen Augustinus Schriften als liturgie-geschichtliche Quelle (München, 1930); see also the studies of Federer and Dom Capelle, as quoted above].

The Church as interpreter of Scripture

The Church had the authority to interpret the Scripture, since she was the only authentic depository of Apostolic kerygma. This kerygma was unfailingly kept alive in the Church, as she was endowed with the Spirit. The Church was still teaching viva voce, commending and furthering the Word of God. And viva vox Evangelii [the living voice of the Gospel] was indeed not just a recitation of the words of the Scripture. It was a proclamation of the Word of God, as it was heard and preserved in the Church, by the ever abiding power of the quickening Spirit. Apart from the Church and her regular Ministry, "in succession" to the Apostles, there was no true proclamation of the Gospel, no sound preaching, no real understanding of the Word of God. And therefore it would be in vain to look for truth elsewhere, outside of the Church, Catholic and Apostolic. This was the common assumption of the Ancient Church, from St. Irenaeus down to Chalcedon, and further. St. Irenaeus was quite formal at this point. In the Church the fullness of truth has been gathered by the Apostles: plenissime in eam contulerint omnia quae sunt veritatis [lodged in her hands most copiously are all things pertaining to truth (adv. hoeres., III.4.1)]. Indeed, Scripture itself was the major part of this Apostolic "deposite." So was also the Church. Scripture and Church could not be separated, or opposed to each other. Scripture, that is — its true understanding, was only in the Church, as she was guided by the Spirit. Origen was stressing this unity between Scripture and Church persistently. The task of the interpreter was to disclose the word of the Spirit: hoc observare debemus ut non nostras, cum docemus, led Sancti Spiritus sententias proferamus [we must be careful when we teach to present not our own interpretation but that of the Holy Spirit (in Rom. 1.3.1)]. And this is simply impossible apart from the Apostolic Tradition, kept in the Church. Origen insisted on catholic interpretation of Scripture, as it is offered in the Church: audiens in Ecclesia verbum Dei catholice tractari [hearing in the Church the Word of God presented in the catholic manner (in Lev. hom., 4.5)]. Heretics, in their exegesis, ignore precisely the true "intention" or the voluntas of the Scripture: qui enim neque juxta voluntatem Scripturarum neque juxta fidei veritatem profert eloquia Dei, seminat triticum et metit spinas [those who present the words of God, not in conjunction with the intention of the Scriptures, nor in conjunction ‘with the truth of faith, have sown wheat and reaped thorns (in Jerem. hom., 7.3)]. The "intention" of the Holy Writ and the "Rule of faith" are intimately correlated and correspond to each other. This was the position of the Fathers in the Fourth century and later, in full agreement with the teaching of the Ancients. With his usual sharpness and vehemence of expression, St. Jerome, this great man of Scripture, has voiced the same view:

Marcion and Basilides and other heretics … do not possess the Gospel of God, since they have no Holy Spirit, without which the Gospel so preached becomes human. We do not think that Gospel consists of the words of Scripture but in its meaning; not on the surface but in the marrow, not in the leaves of sermons but in the root of meaning. In this case Scripture is really useful for the hearers when it is not spoken without Christ, nor is presented without the Fathers, and those who are preaching do not introduce it without the Spirit … It is a great danger to speak in the Church, lest by a perverse interpretation of the Gospel of Christ, a gospel of man is made (in Galat., I, 1. II; M. L. XXVI, c. 386).

There is the same preoccupation with the true understanding of the Word of God as in the days of St. Irenaeus, Tertullian, and Origen. St. Jerome probably was simply paraphrasing Origen. Outside of the Church there is no "Divine Gospel," but only human substitutes. The true meaning of Scripture, the sensus Scripturae, that is, the Divine message, can be detected only juxta fidei veritatem [in conjunction with the truth of faith], under the guidance of the rule of faith. The veritas fidei [the truth of faith] is, in this context, the Trinitarian confession of faith. It is the same approach as in St. Basil. Again, St. Jerome is speaking here primarily of the proclamation of the Word in the Church: audientibus utilis est [to those who hear the Word].

St. Augustine and Catholic Authority.

In the same sense we have to interpret the well known, and justly startling, statement of St. Augustine: Ego vero Evangelio non crederem, nisi me catholicae Ecclesiae commoveret auctoritas [Indeed, I should not have believed the Gospel, if the authority of the Catholic Church had not moved me (c. epistolam Fundamenti, v.6) ]. The phrase must be read in its context. First of all, St. Augustine did not utter this sentence on his own behalf. He spoke of the attitude which a simple believer had to take, when confronted with the heretical claim for authority. In this situation it was proper for a simple believer to appeal to the authority of the Church, from which, and in which, he had received the Gospel itself: ipsi Evangelio catholicis praedicantibus credidi. [I believed the Gospel itself, being instructed by catholic preachers]. The Gospel and the preaching of the Catholica belong together. St. Augustine had no intention "to subordinate" the Gospel to the Church. He only wanted to emphasize that "Gospel" is actually received always in the context of Church’s catholic preaching and simply cannot be separated from the Church. Only in this context it can be assessed and properly understood. Indeed, the witness of the Scripture is ultimately "self-evident," but only for the "faithful," for those who have achieved a certain "spiritual" maturity, — and this is only possible within the Church. He opposed this teaching and preaching auctoritas of the Church Catholic to the pretentious vagaries of Manichean exegesis. The Gospel did not belong to the Manicheans. Catholicae Ecclesiae auctoritas [the authority of the Catholic Church] was not an independent source of faith. But it was the indispensable principle of sound interpretation. Actually, the sentence could be converted: one should not believe the Church, unless one was moved by the Gospel. The relationship is strictly reciprocal

[Cf. Louis de Montadon, Bible et Eglise dans l’Apologétique de Saint Augustin, in the "Recherches de Science réligieuse," t. II (1911), pp. 233-238; Pierre Battiffol, Le Catholicisme de Saint Augustin, 5th ed. (Paris, 1929), pp. 25-27 (see the whole chapter I, L’Eglise règle de foi); and especially A. D. R. Polman, The Word of God according to St. Augustine (Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1961), pp. 198-208 (it is a revised translation of the book published in Dutch in 1955 - De Theologie van Augustinus, Het Woord Gods bij Augustinus); see also W. F. Dankbaar, Schriftgezag en Kerkgezag bij Augustinus, in the ‘Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift,’ XI (1956-1957), ss. 37-59 (the article is written in connection with the Dutch edition of Polman’s book)].

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Six Months of Blogging: A Note to My Readers

I am deeply grateful to the various readers who stop by Ad Orientem from time to time and especially to those who contribute with their comments. Also I would like to express my gratitude to those who have passed on to others the existence of my blog, in some cases with very flattering recommendations. I know that several bloggers have linked AO on their own web sites. Some of them are blogs which I have a very high regard for and read regularly. (A partial list of web sites I look at can be found in the left column.) If you have linked AO to your website and I am not aware of it please drop me a line. I also welcome comments questions and suggestions. My email address is posted above.

In closing I thought I would take a quick minute to answer a few questions which I have received from readers. I am paraphrasing the questions.

Q How often do you post new comments or articles?

A) It varies. I do not have a particular schedule and there will be times when I will be busy or there just may not be much that moves me to write. However as a rule I try to post at least several times a week and sometimes on a near daily basis. The exception is Sundays, when I do not generally post unless something of importance comes up. If I know I will not be posting for more than a few days I will try to put up a notice on AO to let everyone know.

Q) You are Orthodox but often post on matters about the Roman Catholic Church. Why?

A) I was formerly Roman Catholic and retain an interest in what goes on in the Western Church. Some Orthodox are very hostile to Rome and others take a “who cares” approach to all things Roman. But like it or not Roman Catholicism is by far the largest Christian denomination. Its influence in the world is profound and it can not be ignored. Also the RCC continues to promote moral values that are largely the same as those held in Orthodoxy. As the Patriarchate of Moscow has noted, the very real theological differences separating us do not preclude cooperation in many other areas of common interest.

Q) Ad Orientem seems sometimes to be lacking in focus (I am paraphrasing a critical comment from one reader). Is it a religious blog or one about the Mets or what?

A) It is a blog that reflects my interests. To the extent that it is disorganized that could well describe aspects of my life. The principal focus of my life is my faith, Orthodox Catholic Christianity. That is reflected by the theme of the majority of my posts (I think). However I do have a life outside of church and I do have other interests including politics, social issues and baseball. For those of you who are sick of the Mets, sorry. The season is almost over. Just deal with it.

Q) Why all of the really long articles? Other sites keep the posts a lot shorter.

A). Because short articles or excerpted ones often do not cover an issue adequately. Deep subjects often require more than a few paragraphs to even scratch the surface. And on a personal note I am not a fan of fast food theology.

Quote of the Day


"All I know, is that the only thing they’ll be talking about in the city of New York for the remainder of this season is National League baseball."

-Omar Minaya, General Maganer of the New York Metropolitans (note the very Orthodox team name).

Rome, Women and Holy Orders (kinda)

Ben over at Western Orthodoxy has a pretty disturbing piece up on the very quiet but pronounced expansion of the role of women in the Latin Church. It would seem they are discreetly being given the authority to do just about everything except actually pronounce consecration at Mass (and presumably absolution in confession). One very interesting comment from the article which I commend to the reader in its entirety is...

"The Orthodox Church (both Eastern and Western rite) has a similar service, in which a Deacon leads a worship service, then communes the faithful with "Presanctified Communion" (or "Reserved Sacrament"). However, the person leading the modern RCC worship is -- a woman. At this point, a baptized Roman Catholic woman may exercise nearly all the parish functions of an ordained deacon in the traditional Church. One wonders what it might do to the ecumenical dialogue if Orthodoxy knew Rome had created female deacons by stealth?

A conservative Lutheran professor of mine once asked, "How can the Roman Catholics hope to avoid female ordination when they have altar girls?" How can they possibly avoid it now that they have stealth priestesses?"

I do not agree with the last word in the above quote. Not even the most liberal bishops in the Roman Church have gone that far... yet.. But, there is not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that there are many who want to. It is likely that the only thing holding them back is the Vatican. This whole situation is of course unthinkable in Orthodoxy. Female ordination is not even a controversial subject over here. At the risk of sounding polemic, this begs a serious question. What has happened to the sensus fidei of the west that this is possible? And can we Orthodox seriously entertain even the remote possibility of communion with a church whose adherence to one of the most basic tenants of the Apostolic Faith (at least below the level of the Vatican) has become highly questionable?

Friday, October 06, 2006

St. Innocent Enlightener of Alaska & North America


Many years ago the late Hieromonk Seraphim (Rose) wrote: "The very presence of Orthodoxy in America has a missionary purpose. Orthodoxy is not the national religion of a few peoples, but the true Church of Christ, and as such meant to be preached to all peoples...." Few Orthodox Americans are perhaps aware of the promising beginning of the Orthodox mission in the 18th and 19th centuries, when a serious attempt was undertaken to make the riches of Holy Orthodoxy accessible to Americans" (Orthodox Word, Vol. 1, No. 5, 1965).

The important first chapter written in American Orthodox history by St. Herman of Alaska's holy life and labors on this continent is now well-known to many, but fewer know and fully appreciate the second chapter in that history, written by the evangelistic struggles of a second righteous one in Alaska, Archbishop Innocent Veniaminov, often called the "Apostle to America."

Born in 1797 and baptized with the name John, this future great missionary bishop came from a pious clerical family, was educated in the usual ecclesiastical manner, graduating at the head of his class, and was ordained to the priesthood in 1821. This giant of a man (he was six foot three, tall even for our times) now began work in the crucible of pastoral activity, where he was to become a giant in the spirit as well.

Although assigned to a regular parish — the Church of the Annunciation in Irkutsk — it was necessary for him to supplement his large family's material needs (he and his Matushka, Katherine, were to have seven children) by making clocks and little barrel-organs — skills that were to be very useful in later missionary activity.

A Missionary Summons.

In 1823 his bishop received instructions from the Holy Synod to send a priest to the Russian-American colony in Alaska. In Father John's own words: "When all the clergymen in the diocese were asked by order of the late Bishop Michael if they would like to go to Unalaska — and if not, then why? — I like all the others stated that I did not wish to accept the position because it was too far away....Indeed, how could I — why should I (humanly speaking) — have traveled God-knows where when I had one of the best parishes in the city, when I enjoyed the love of my parishioners and the good graces of the authorities, when I already owned my own home and had a larger income than the salary being offered to whomever was assigned to Unalaska?' Who among us could doubt the sincerity of Fr. John's motives here; who would not identify with his natural desire to stay in the familiar, comfortable and secure world of a cathedral town in Old Russia?

But the Providence of God sent a Russian adventurer from Alaska his way, whose inspiring tales were an instrument of the Holy Spirit in changing Fr. John's heart and destiny: he "began to tell me of the Aleuts' zeal in prayer and hearing the Word of God (I doubtless had heard these same things from him many times before), when suddenly Blessed be the Name of the Lord! — I began to burn with a desire to go to such a people."

Calling Fr. John a "Son of Obedience," Bishop Michael enthusiastically appointed him to this post, and saw to his missionary needs (holy vessels, vestments, service books, two antimensia, as well as salary and a qualified Reader — Fr. John's own nineteen year old brother). On October 20, 1823 — a holy day in the history of American Orthodoxy — this little missionary band arrived safely in Alaska After wintering in Sitka, Fr. John arrived in Unalaska where he inaugurated his missionary activity on August 1, 1824, the Feast of the Procession of the Precious and Life-giving Cross. Fr. John could hardly contain his joy when he wrote that "for the first time since the birth of Christ — in fact, from the creation of the world," the Cross of the Lord had been venerated in that remote and nearly inaccessible part of the world.

There now began the years of hardship, intense missionary activity, struggle, and holy glory, all of which was well documented at the time and serves as a true model for those struggling to work in the missionary fields of America today.

There are two important things "modelled" for us in Fr. John's missionary approach.

First, he quite literally fell in love with the natives among whom he lived and worked. This cannot be overstated as a necessary criterion for successful missionary work. Externally, superficially, there was nothing attractive about the Aleuts and Eskimos. To a refined and cultured man from a priestly family, these natives might have appeared dirty, ragged, and lazy, as they did to others. But Fr. John saw beyond this to their joyful, affectionate, honest, and above all patient souls. He saw in them decent and precious qualities of character that were plainly lacking in most "civilized" races, and these qualities warmed and melted his heart with deep Christ-like love for them. As he himself later wrote:

"The more I become acquainted with these 'savages' the more I love them and am convinced that we, for all our 'enlightenment' have, without even noticing it, departed far, far from the paths of perfection. Many a so-called 'savage' is morally superior to us so-called 'enlightened' people." Indeed, he was to realize that, "although it is painful and shameful to admit it, holy truth demands we say that the present Russian Orthodox are themselves an obstacle to spreading and confirming Christianity· Our exhortations here are useless..." On a later visit to his homeland, Fr. John was to proudly proclaim not that he was a' Russian, but "I'm from America — a savage."

Thus he sought, in constant conversation and concourse, to understand and deeply penetrate the tribal character, not seeking to "russify them but to bring out and enhance their own native character, which was, as he discovered, already "patient, meek, obedient, peaceful, pious" and so forth...

Secondly, he realized immediately that for his missionary task to be fruitful he must use the native languages wherever possible — not only for preaching the Gospel, but also in translating Scripture, the Catechism, and Divine Services. There was no hesitation in his own mind about this, no thought of making the natives into Russians which, had he tried to do so, would only have put massive and quite unnecessary obstacles in the path of salvation for these new sheep of Christ· Besides, it was much more practical for a few missionaries to learn the languages of their flecks than for all of these tribes to learn new tongues.

Devoting at least two hours a day to learning quite difficult native languages, and then making translations for publication, Fr. John encountered a familiar objection from Church authorities back in Russia: how could they be sure that these native languages had the proper terminology to express "accurately and with full force...the lofty truths" of the Gospel?

Returning to Russia, he insured the future of his translating and publishing activities, and won over both the Ober-Procurater and the great and Blessed Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow, who quickly saw something "apostolic" about Fr. John. He appeared before the Holy Synod and also had a private audience with the pious Tsar Nicholas I, all of whom enthusiastically gave their support — both moral and financial — to missionary activity in the New World.

During this same visit to his homeland he was raised to the rank of Archpriest and then, shortly, learned of the untimely death of his beloved Matushka. After a pilgrimage to the Kiev Caves he accepted monastic tonsure and was given the name Innocent — touchingly, on the first anniversary of her repose, which was also her Nameday.

While he was still in Russia, the Holy Synod and the Tsar resolved to crests a diocese out of Fr. John's (now Fr. Innocent's) missionary territory. Of the three candidates nominated for bishop, the Tsar chose Archimandrite Innocent because of "his outstanding ability and true worth." Thus, on December 15, 1840, he was consecrated to the episcopacy. One month later he was on his way back to his second homeland, where his own orphaned children in the flesh and those thousands in the spirit eagerly awaited their father's return.

Fields White With Harvest

The next year saw an amazing-one should say truly miraculous — increase in missionary activity, establishing churches, schools, and orphanages. In the words of one observer, "It is difficult to describe in full the labors which this great worker took upon himself. Travel on reindeer, sometimes lack of food, inclement weather — even foul weather — hostile natives, and insults all around — all of this the old man endured patiently and in good humor. Often, when I would mention his incredible labors to him, he would tell me about patience and the rewards in heaven which await those who do good for God and their neighbor. Without rest for nine months the great old man preached the true God before hundreds of savages. With animation, zeal, and often tears in his eyes he taught them the truths of the Gospel, and his labors did not prove in vain.

In particular he encouraged candidates for the priesthood from among the natives themselves, establishing a seminary for this purpose, for "One cannot doubt that there will be success," he wrote, "Of course, everything comes from the Lord. God Himself — and not the preachers — converts people to the path of Truth; these are only His 'weapons'."

After providing a vicar for himself in the New World, Archbishop Innocent moved on to Yakutsk, where he continued his missionary labors, particularly the arduous work of translating the Divine Liturgy into the local vernacular. On the day (July 19, 1859) the newly-translated service books were first presented and used in the Cathedral, tribal leaders petitioned that that day be henceforth kept as a feastday.

Now entering the autumn of his life, and soon to become Metropolitan of Moscow, the greatest see in the Russian Church, Archbishop Innocent first made detailed recommendations about the Church in America. He was convinced that it was God's will that the Russian colonies be sold to the United States for in this way, he wrote, Orthodoxy would spread far beyond his former missionary diocese. He suggested (among other things) that the residence of the bishop be moved to San Francisco and that the bishop and his retinue be required not only to know English but that they and all clerics of the Orthodox Church in America be allowed to celebrate the Liturgy and other services in English (for which purpose, obviously, the service books must be translated into English). And further, that English rather than Russian (which must sooner or later be replaced by English) be used "in all instruction in the schools to be established in San Francisco and elsewhere to prepare people for missionary and clerical positions."

After he was chosen Metropolitan of Moscow, he used his lofty position and influence to encourage more, and still more missionary activity, regardless of the odds and difficulties, convincing the populace at large that it was their "sacred duty" to further — not an ethnic culture, however old and beautiful — but the Gospel of Jesus Christ throughout all the world. Thus, not only did he wisely govern the Russian Church, but zealously kept his hand to the missionary plow right up to his holy death on Great Saturday, 1878, as though whether waking or sleeping, he could hear the voice of the Lord whispering in his ear: "Go, and preach the Gospel to all nations…"

It is in this that the greatness , the saintliness of Archbishop Innocent consists. His fearless single-mindedness seems quite awesome to us today, so weighed down by our "sophistication," academic credentials, and worldly comforts; so distracted by our jurisdictional disputes, our modern technology and the signs of an approaching Armaggedon. True, Archbishop Innocent lived in a much simpler age than ours; yet in the balance, although his obstacles were different, ours are no more formidable than his, for with God all things are possible.

There can be no doubt that the powerful personality, the great soul, of this man stands over the Church in America today and, to a certain extent, reproaches us for our weak-heartedness, our lack of missionary zeal. The very fact that many of his own goals and recommendations for Orthodoxy on this continent have waited now for more than 100 years to be fully implemented should shame us all, and surely accounts for the quite minimal success of Orthodoxy since his time. Yet, before his repose 2,000 natives were being baptized every year, and 3,000 more were catechumens!

What became of this wonderful promise, this amazing outpouring of the Holy Spirit in our own times?

From Selected Lives of the Saints.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

An update on Pontifications

Michael Liccione is hosting discussions of the articles posted at Pontifications on his web site Sacramentum Vitae. Those familiar with Michael will know him as a regular contributor on Al's blog whose posts are always informative. His own blog is definitely worth a look in its own right.

Some thoughts on primacy and schism…

Over at Free Republic there is an interesting post about the recent testy relations between the Patriarchates of Constantinople and Moscow. The MP has been getting a bit short with the EP who they suspect (and I tend to agree) has been stepping on the toes of the other churches. This is generally not good etiquette in Orthodoxy. But it is the conversation which follows in the comments area that is of particular interest. Since I am persona non grata over at FR, I thought I would post some thoughts on the general subject and a particular question.

In # 14 Freeper Sitest posts…
“What would happen if some theological dispute occurred within Orthodoxy that caused different patriarchies to fall out of communion with each other? Let's say the EP and a couple of big folks on one side, the Patriarch of Moscow and some other folks on the other side.

And let's assume, for the sake of argument, that the dioceses and laity followed their respective patriarchies.

Where would Orthodoxy then be? Who would be Orthodox, and who would be in schism from Orthodoxy?

Thanks in advance.”

For general information the author of the above question is Roman Catholic.

Schisms have been a part of the history of the Church since its foundation. This is a sad fact, but a fact nonetheless. I think the point behind this question and its wording is that Orthodoxy lacks a final arbiter of what is and is not kosher. We have no Pope and thus logically from the RC point of view should be highly susceptible to schisms. In a later post Sitest clarifies his question by stating that he is hypothetically talking about a really serious theological issue and not some jurisdictional squabble.

My answer would be that there have been a number of very serious theological schisms in the Church’s history, almost all of them in the first millennium. Probably the most serious was Arianism which at one point was actually the dominant school of thought. However through councils and often heated debate all but two of these schisms have been either healed or simply died out. The first of the two which have not died and remain in existence to this day is the Monophysite heresy which produced the schism of the non-Chalcedonian churches. The second is the papal schism produced by a combination of factors the most serious being the gradually increased claims to universal jurisdiction over the entire of the Church by the Patriarch of Rome, one of the five Apostolic Patriarchates and universally recognized as primus inter pares by the entire Church until the schism. Since none of the other four patriarchates recognized the papal pretensions there is no difficulty in establishing who is and who is not Orthodox (though doubtless Roman Catholics would disagree).

Of these two the non-Chalcedonian Schism is a lot closer to resolution than many would think. Conversations have been ongoing and have substantially closed the gap between the churches. In the case of the Roman Schism it is good to be able to report that the two sides are talking to one another and not at one another or just glaring at each other across an icy rift. Nice things are generally being said by both sides and the Pope is scheduled to travel to Turkey to meet with the EP in November. But that’s about as far as the good news goes for now. Despite very cordial conversations and theological commissions little real progress has been made in resolving the substantive issues which divide Rome from Orthodoxy. In fact it would have to be said that the divisions are more profound today than they were in the 13th century. Some might call me a pessimist but I see little likelihood of any resolution to this schism in my lifetime.

However, since the Latin schism of 1204 or 1054 (for those who prefer the more traditional but IMO less accurate date) there have been no serious schisms on theological grounds in the Church. All of the schisms which have occurred since the Pope’s departure have been more or less over matters of church discipline or inter jurisdictional quarrels. But the question poses a hypothetical problem that is worth talking about.

First I should say that I think it’s beyond unlikely that anything like that would occur today because the Church has settled down and unlike in the West where doctrinal development or innovation (depending on one’s point of view) is ongoing it has pretty much ceased in the East. Grave theological schisms are something peculiar to the West since its departure from Orthodoxy. I also really don’t like the way the question was worded since it poses a hypothetical with out enough detail to answer. It’s a bit like asking someone if a movie is pornographic or not without naming the movie.

That said the general rule of thumb in Orthodoxy where there is a serious disagreement on a matter of faith is, what is new is suspect. If you stand up and say I believe and confess in what was taught by the Church of the Seven Councils and what has been hitherto understood to be the Holy Orthodox Catholic Faith you are probably on pretty safe ground. Anyone attempting to add anything to the faith without a Great Council of the Church which is received by the whole Church is likely in a place he/she probably should not be. The final authority in Orthodoxy is not the Pope, or the EP or any other patriarch. It’s the whole Church. And since the communion shattering schism with Rome there has been no grave theological division within Orthodoxy because the faith is settled.

Now a quick word on the much maligned EP. Poor Patriarch Bartholomew. He presides over a church of only a few thousand. He is denigrated by some for papal pretensions (a common charge whenever a bishop says or does something that someone else doesn’t agree with). His position is highly tenuous within a country whose government is overtly hostile to his presence. And yet, he is clearly identified by church canons as being primus inter pares. He holds the first place of honor among the hierarchs of the Orthodox Church. There are certainly some in Orthodoxy who think that primacy means the right to be the first person in the procession and the right to sit at the head of the table, and that’s about it. Trying to assert something more than that when your See is the merest shadow of the once great Roman Empire of the East is a pretty uphill battle at the least. But yet any reading of the history of the first millennium shows very clearly that primacy existed. And while it was not even remotely close to what apologists for Rome have attempted to claim, neither was it a purely figure head position analogous to the Queen of England’s status today. Primacy meant something. The problem is that its exact boundaries and prerogatives have never been defined for a number of reasons, of which two stand out.

First is the inevitable knee jerk hostility to the very term primacy since Rome went off the deep end. Anyone who uses it more than once in any reference to ecclesiology is instantly suspect by some of crypto-papism. The second reason is that the Church has until recent times not been free of the interference of the secular government. Historic, political, and cultural circumstances have combined to make primacy a largely moot point until the second half of the twentieth century.

Some hints of this controversy are visible in the comments on FR. One interesting point made is that one does not have to be in communion with the EP to be Orthodox. This was made as a counterpoint to the Roman Catholic position that where Rome is, there is the true faith. It is certainly true that in Orthodoxy we do not accord to any individual hierarch the promise of divine protection which Christ made to His Church as a whole. If Rome can fall into heresy so in theory could the Ecumenical Patriarch. However a very critical point needs to be made.

Unless you are talking about some very overt heresy it is (IMO) a very dicey proposition to claim that you’re Orthodox while not being in communion with the EP. The Catholicity of the Church implies accepting more than just your own little group as being Orthodox. This is one reason why I have serious problems with some of the various “True Orthodox” and radical Old Calendarist groups. (The calendar issue is not one that excites me. If pressed on the subject I would say that I think from a legal point of view the adoption of the reformed calendar was done in a highly irregular manner and one that is doubtfully canonical. But it’s not heresy.)

So yes, you can in theory be not in communion with the EP and still be Orthodox. The EP has in recent years been acting in a heavy handed manner in relation to some of the other jurisdictions and has been particularly snippy with the Russian Church. A really grave inter jurisdictional quarrel might justify a temporary breach in communion, but it would have to be very serious to tell one group of Orthodox Christians that they may not commune the Holy Mysteries with another group of people who are admitted to be Orthodox Christians just because their bishop is a jerk. I think my bottom line on the subject of non-communion with the EP is this.

The Ecumenical Patriarch is not the Orthodox Pope. BUT, he is canonically the first among the bishops in the Orthodox Church. Not being in communion with him does not mean I am going to instantly dismiss your jurisdiction as being heretical or schismatic. But it is a red flag. If you are not in communion with him, then you have some explaining to do. It means your group is at least suspect in my eyes until you come up with a good reason for violating the peace and unity of the Church by refusing communion with the patriarch identified by the canons of the Ecumenical Councils as holding this dignity. As of this writing the only jurisdiction not in normal communion with the EP that I am prepared to accept as being fully canonical is the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia (and that for very unusual reasons bound up in the tragic history of the last century).

Monday, October 02, 2006

The Darkness of Night

The Existence of Evil as a Paradox

In a world that is created by God, whose laws and purposes are established by Divine wisdom and goodness, how is it possible that evil exists? For evil is precisely that which opposes itself to God and resists Him, perverting His designs and repudiating His ordinances. Evil is, furthermore, that which is not created by God. And since the Divine will establishes the reasons for everything which exists (and this Sovereign will alone establishes "sufficient reasons"), one can assert that evil, as evil, exists despite a lack of reasons, exists without a single reason for its existence. As St. Gregory of Nyssa stated, it is "an unsown herb, without seed and without root." One could say: phaenomenon omnino non fundatum. It is God alone Who establishes the foundations of the world.

Certainly there are always and everywhere causes and reasons for evil. But the causality of evil is deeply peculiar. The causes and reasons of evil are always an absurdity, more or less veiled. This strange causality is not included in the ideal "chain" of God's universal causality; it splits and disfigures it. It is a causality rivaling that of the Creator, coming, as it were, from a destroyer of the world. And this destructive power — whence does it come? For all real power belongs to God alone. One wonders whether the existence of evil is compatible with the existence of God. Nevertheless, this illegitimate power is not at all an anemic phantom. It is a real force, a violent energy. The opposition of evil to God is very active. The Good is seriously restricted and oppressed by the revolt of evil. God himself is engaged in a struggle with these powers of darkness. And in this struggle there are very real losses, a perpetual diminution of the Good. Evil is an ontological danger. Universal harmony, willed and established by God, is truly decomposed. The world is fallen. The entire world is surrounded by a dismal twilight of nothingness. No longer is it that world conceived and created by God. There are morbid innovations, new existences — existences which are false, but real. Evil adds something to what is created by God, it has a "miraculous" force of imitating creation — indeed, evil is productive in its destructions. In the fallen world there is an incomprehensible surplus, a surplus which has entered existence against the will of God. In a certain sense, the world is stolen from its Master and Creator.

It is more than an intellectual paradox; it is rather a scandal, a terrible temptation for faith, because, above all, this destruction of existence by evil is in a large measure irreparable. The lofty "universalist" hope is prohibited us by the direct witness of Holy Scripture and by the explicit teaching of the Church. There will be exterior darkness for "the sons of perdition" in the world to come! In the case of perseverance in evil, all the devastations and perversions produced by it will preserve themselves forever in the paradoxical eternity of hell. Hell is a sinister testimony to the staggering power of evil. In the final reckoning of this historical struggle between Divine Goodness and evil, all the ravages produced among unrepentant beings will only be acknowledged by the simple, final decree of condemnation. The perverse split, introduced into the world of God by an act of usurped power, seems to be eternal. The unity of the world is compromised forever. Evil seems to have eternal conquests. The obstinacy of evil, its resolved impenitence, is never covered by the omnipotence of God's compassion. We are now already in the realm of the full mystery.

The Existence of Evil as a Mystery

God has his response to the world of evil. "The ancient law of human freedom," as St. Irenaeus states, is still respected by God, who has granted from the beginning this dignity to spiritual beings. Any coercion or compulsion by Divine Grace is excluded from possibility. God has in fact responded authoritatively to evil, once for all, through his Beloved Son, who came here upon the earth to bear the sins of the world and the sins of all humanity. God's absolute response to evil was the Cross of Jesus, the sufferings of the Servant of God, the Death of the Incarnate Son. A Russian preacher of the 19th century stated once, "Evil begins on earth, but it disquiets heaven, and causes the Son of God to descend to earth." Evil causes God himself to suffer, and he accepts this suffering to the end. And the glory of eternal life shines forth victoriously from the tomb of God Incarnate. The Passion of Jesus was a triumph, a decisive victory. But it is a triumph of Divine Love which calls and accepts without any coercion. From this time on, the existence of evil is given to us only within this framework of the Co-Suffering Love of God. And the Love, and even the sublime majesty of God, are also revealed to us in the enigmatic framework of evil and sin ... Felix culpa quae tantum et talem meruit habere Redemptorem.

One defines evil as nothingness. Certainly evil never exists by itself but only inside of Goodness. Evil is a pure negation, a privation or a mutilation. Undoubtedly evil is a lack, a defect, defectus. But the structure of evil is rather antinomic. Evil is a void of nothingness; but it is a void which exists, swallowing and devouring beings. Evil is a powerlessness; it never creates--but its destructive energy is enormous. Evil never ascends; it always descends--but the very debasement of being which it produces is frightening. Nevertheless, there is an illusory grandeur even in this baseness of evil. Occasionally there is something of genius in sin and in evil. Evil is chaotic; it is a separation, a decomposition constantly in progress, a disorganization of the entire structure of being. But evil is also, without doubt, vigorously organized. Everything in this sad domain of deception and illusion is amphibolic and ambiguous. Undoubtedly, evil only lives through the Good which it deforms, but it also adapts it to its needs. But this deformed "Universe" is a reality which asserts itself.

Actually, the problem of evil is not at all a purely philosophical problem, and that is why it can never be resolved on the neutral plane of a theory of being. It is no longer a purely ethical problem, and on the plane of natural morality one can never surmount the correlativity of good and evil. The problem of evil only takes on its proper character on the religious plane. The meaning of evil is a radical opposition to God, a revolt, a disobedience, a resistance. The unique source of evil, in the strict sense of the term, is sin, the opposition to God and the tragic separation from Him. Speculation about the freedom of choice is always barren and ambiguous. Freedom of choice, the libertas minor of St. Augustine and the "gnomic will" of St. Maximos the Confessor, is a disfigured freedom, a freedom diminished and impoverished, a freedom as it exists after the fall, among fallen beings. The duality of purpose, the two correlative directions, do not belong to the essence of the primordial freedom of innocent beings. It must be restored to penitent sinners through asceticism and Grace. Original sin was not just an erroneous choice, not just an option for the wrong direction, but rather a refusal to ascend toward God, a desertion from the service of God.

Actually, choice as such was not at all possible for the first sinner because evil did not yet exist as an ideal possibility. If, however, it was a choice, it was not a choice between good and evil but only a choice between God and himself, between service and sloth. And it is precisely in this sense that St. Athanasius interpreted the fall and original sin in his work, Contra Gentes. The vocation of primordial man, innate in his very nature, was to love God with filial devotion and to serve him in the world of which man was designated to be prophet, priest, and king. It was an appeal from the paternal love of God to the filial love of man. Undoubtedly, to follow God involved a total surrender to Divine arms. This was not yet a sacrifice. Innocent man had nothing to sacrifice, for everything he possessed came from the Grace of God. (Here, there is something more profound than a voluptuous attachment to the world.) It was rather a tragedy of a misguided love. According to St. Athanasius, the human fall consists precisely in the fact that man limits himself to himself, that man becomes, as it were, in love with himself. Through this concentration on himself, man separated himself from God, and broke the spiritual and free contact he had with God. It was a kind of delirium, a self-erotic obsession, a spiritual narcissism. And through this, man isolated himself from God and soon became aware of his involvement in the external cosmic flow. One can say it was a de-spiritualization of human existence. All the rest — the death and decomposition of the human structure — came as a result. In any case, the fall was first realized in the realm of the spirit, just as it already had been in the angelic world. The meaning of original sin is the same everywhere — self-eroticism, pride, and vanity. All the rest is only a projection of this spiritual catastrophe into the different areas of the human structure. Evil comes from above, not from below; from the created spirit and not from matter. It is more profound than a false choice of direction, more profound even than a choice between an inferior and a superior good. Rather, it was the infidelity of love, the insane separation from the Only One Who is worthy of affection and love. This infidelity is the main source of the negative character of evil. It was a primordial negation and it was fatal.

It is necessary to take precaution and not identify the infirmity of fallen nature with the inherent imperfection of all created nature. There is nothing morbid or sinister in the "natural imperfection" of created nature except what is penetrated "'from above" after the consummated fall. In pre-fallen nature, one can perhaps speak of lack and flaws. But in the fallen world there is something more — perversion, revolt, vertiginous blasphemy, violence. It is the domain of usurpation. The dark tide of this perverted love envelops all creatures and the entire cosmos. Behind all the negations of evil one always discerns something quasipositive, an initial licentiousness, the egoistic arbitrariness of finite personalities. The fallen world is de-centralized, or rather, it is oriented around an imaginary or fictitious center. One could say perhaps that the circle (with a unique center) is deformed, becoming an ellipse with two points of reference — God and anti-God. Being, in any case, is dynamically divided in two. There are now two tendencies intersecting and crossing each other, both remaining essentially different. One could say there are two worlds within one: there are the Two Cities of St. Augustine. Evil, beginning with a practical atheism, puts itself in the place of God, resulting in a theoretical atheism and consequently, in a resolved deification of itself. In this dualized world true freedom does not exist. Freedom of choice is only a remote and pale reflection of real freedom.

Evil is created by personal agents. Evil, in the strict sense of this word, exists only in persons or in their creations and their acts. Physical and cosmic evil also originates from these personal acts. And that is why evil can have power, why it can be active. For evil is a perverse personal activity. But this activity inevitably spreads itself to the impersonal. Evil de-personalizes personality itself. Complete de-personalization, however, can never be achieved; there is a potential limit which can never be attained. But the tendency and the aspiration of evil toward this limit of total disintegration is energetically accentuated everywhere. Even demons never cease being individuals. It is the intrinsic form of their existence which cannot be lost. But, since personality is the "image of God" in spiritual beings, personal character can only be preserved in a constant conversation with God. Separated from God, personality vanishes; it is stricken with spiritual sterility. The isolated personality, which encloses itself within itself, often loses itself. In the state of sin there is always tension between the two internal solicitations: the "I," and something impersonal, represented by the instincts, or rather by passions.

Passions are the place, the seat of evil in the human person. The "passions," according to the Fathers and Greek masters of spirituality are active; they entrap. The person possessed by passions is passive; he suffers constraint. Passions are always impersonal; they are a concentration of cosmic energies which make the human person its prisoner, its slave. They are blind and they blind those whom they possess. The impassioned man, "the man of passions," does not act on his own, but rather, is acted upon: fata trahunt. He often loses even the consciousness of being a free agent. He doubts the existence and the possibility of freedom in general. He adopts rather the "necessarionist" concept of reality [the expression of Charles Renouvier]. And, as a consequence, he loses his personality, his personal identity. He becomes chaotic, with multiple faces, or rather — masks. The "man of passions" is not at all free, although he can give an impression of activity and energy. He is nothing more than a "ball" of impersonal influences. He is hypnotized by these influences which have a real power over him. Arbitrariness is not freedom. Or, perhaps, it is an imaginary freedom, which actually engenders servitude. In the spiritual life we begin precisely with a struggle against passions. "Impassability" is the main goal of spiritual ascent.

In general, the "impassability" of the Greeks is poorly understood and interpreted. It is not an indifference, nor a cold insensibility of the heart. On the contrary, it is an active state, a state of spiritual activity, which is acquired only after struggles and ordeals. It is rather an independence from passions. Each person's own "I" is finally regained, freed from a fatal bondage. But one can regain oneself only in God. True "impassability" is achieved only in an encounter with the Living God. The path which leads there is the path of obedience, even of servitude to God, but this servitude engenders true freedom, a concrete freedom, the real freedom of the adopted sons of God. In evil, the human personality is absorbed by the impersonal milieu, even though the sinner may pretend to be free. In God, the personality is restored and reintegrated in the Holy Spirit, although a severe discipline is imposed on the individual.

Evil is revealed to us in the world at first under the aspect of suffering and sorrow. The world is empty, cold, and indifferent (cf. "the indifferent nature" in Pushkin). It is a non-responding wasteland. We all suffer because of evil. Evil, sown everywhere in the world, causes us to suffer. And the contemplation of this universal suffering brings us sometimes to the brink of despair. Universal suffering was not discovered for the first time by Schopenhauer. It had already been attested to by St. Paul (Rom. 8:20-22), who gives us a very clear explication: evil is introduced in the creature by sin. All creation suffers. There is a cosmic suffering. The entire world is poisoned by evil and malevolent energies, and the entire world suffers because of it.

The intricate problem of Theodicy was first inspired by these facts of suffering. It was one of the primary questions of Dostoevsky. The world is hard, cruel, and pitiless. And the world is terrible and frightening: terror antiquus. There is chaos in the world; there are subterranean storms, an elemental disorder. Man feels himself frail and lost in this inhospitable world. But evil encounters us not only externally, in an exterior milieu, but also internally, in our own existence. We also are sick — we ourselves — and we suffer because of it. Again there is an unexpected discovery — not only do we suffer from evil, but we do evil. And sometimes one is delighted with evil and unhappiness. One is sometimes enraptured by the Fleurs du mal. One sometimes dreams of an "ideal of Sodom." The abyss — it has a sinister appeal. Sometimes one loves ambiguous choices. One can be enchanted by them. It is easier to do evil than to do good. Everyone can discover in himself this "subterranean" darkness, the subconscious full of malignant seeds, full of cruelty and deceit. Alas — the analyses of Dostoevsky (and of many others) are not morbid dreams of a pessimist who looks at life through a black glass. It is a truthful revelation of the sad reality of our existential situation. One could find the same revelations in the ancient teachers of Christian spirituality. There is a delirium, a spiritual fever, a libido at the core of "this world," at the core of our existence. One cannot ask an insane or maniacal person for reasons. He does not have reasons for his folly. He has lost his reason; he is insane.

Origen was very close to the correct solution when he attributed the origin of evil, in the world of spirits, either to boredom and idleness [desidia et laboris taedium in servando bono], or to a satiety of Divine contemplation and love [De princ. II, 9-2; and 8-3]. Now, in any case, with regard to us, we find in our heart and intelligence many revivals of the same paroxysms of delirium, the same absurdities. Libido is not the same thing as carnal concupiscence. It is a broader term. It is synonymous with self-eroticism, originating from sin. Evil in man is an ignorance and an insensibility; it is the blindness of reason and the hardness of the heart. Man seals himself up, encloses himself in himself, isolates and separates himself. But evil is multi-form and chaotic.

There are contrasting forms in evil: the aggressive form — der Wille zur Macht, sadism; and the solipsistic form — indifference, "the cold heart." Evil is divided within itself: it is a discord and a disharmony, inordinatio. Evil is ambiguous, wavering, variable. It does not have its own stable character. The seat of evil in man is in the depths of his heart, and not only on the empirical plane. Nature itself is affected; nature itself is no longer pure. And it is rather dynamic, a dynamic or functional perversion which is not yet consolidated in a metaphysical transformation. The existence of evil is a parasitical existence; evil lives because of the Good, ex ratione boni. The elements are the same in the original world and in the fallen world.

But the principle of organization is changed. And although dynamic, the perversion is inconvertible. He who has descended voluntarily into the abyss of evil cannot reascend from there by himself. His energies are exhausted. Without doubt, even in the demoniac depths, the creature remains the work of God and the traits of Divine design are never effaced. The image of God, obscured by the infidelity of sin, is nevertheless preserved intact, and that is why there is always, even in the abyss, an ontological receptacle for Divine appeal, for the Grace of God. This is true even for those who obstinately shut themselves off from the appeal of the Cross, who have always rendered themselves incapable of receiving the vivifying gifts of this Divine Love, the gifts of the Paraclete. Metaphysical identity is not destroyed even among the demons. Demons are still, according to a phrase by St. Gregory of Nyssa, angels by nature, and angelic dignity is not completely abolished in them.

But perhaps we could say that this image of God in man is paralyzed in a certain sense, and rendered ineffective after the separation from the One who should always be reflected in this image, in this living and personal mirror. It is not enough to begin again the ascent to God — it is necessary to have the living co-operation of God himself, who restores the circulation of spiritual life in a dead man, enslaved in and paralyzed by sin and evil. The paradox of evil resides precisely in this split of human existence and in the entire cosmic structure; it resides in the dynamic splitting of life in two, a split which resulted from the separation from God. It is as though there were two souls within each person. Good and evil are strangely mixed. But no synthesis is possible. "Natural" Good is too weak to resist evil. And evil exists only through the Good. Human unity is seriously compromised, if not lost. The Grace of God alone can surmount this human impasse.

Formal analysis of evil is not enough. The existence of evil is a reality on the religious plane. And only through spiritual effort can one understand and resolve this paradox, surmount this scandal, and penetrate the mystery of Good and Evil.

-Archpriest George Florovsky