The Byzantine Fathers

All quotations are from pages 5 and 11 of the Harvard Gazette of October 1, 1982, written by George H. Williams, Hollis Professor of Divinity Emeritus, Harvard Divinity School and Edward Louis Keenan, Dean of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, Harvard University and "placed upon the records" at the Harvard Faculty of Divinity Meeting on September 16, 1982.

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"Archpriest Professor Georges Vasilyevich Florovsky (1893-1979), pre-eminent theologian of Orthodoxy and historian of Christian thought, ecumenical leader and interpreter of Russian literature… died in Princeton, New Jersey in his 86th year" on August 11, 1979.

Born in Odessa in 1893, Fr. Florovsky was the beneficiary of that vibrant Russian educational experience, which flourished toward the end of the 19th century and produced many gifted scholars. His father was a rector of the Theological Academy and a dean of the Cathedral of the Transfiguration. His mother, Claudia Popruzhenko, was a daughter of a professor of Hebrew and Greek. Fr. Florovsky’s first scholarly work, "On Reflex Salivary Secretion," written under one of Pavlov’s students, was published in English in 1917 at the last issue of The Bulletin of the Imperial Academy of Sciences.

In 1920, with his parents and his brother Antonii, Fr. Florovsky left Russia and first settled down Sophia, Bulgaria. He left behind his brother Vasilii, a surgeon, who died in the 1924 in famine, and his sister Claudia V. Florovsky, who became a professor of history at the University of Odessa. In 1921 the President of Czechoslovakia, Thomas Masaryk, invited Fr. Florovsky and his brother Antonii to Prague. Fr. Florovsky taught the philosophy of law. Antonii later became a professor of history at the University of Prague.

In 1922, Georges Florovsky married Xenia Ivanovna Simonova, and they resettled down Paris where he became cofounder of St. Sergius Theological Institute and taught there as a professor of patristic (1926-1948). In 1932, he was ordained a priest and placed himself canonically under the patriarch of Constantinople.

In 1948, he came to the United States and became a professor of theology at St. Vladimir’s Theological Seminary from 1948 to 1955 and a dean — from 1950. From 1954 to 1965, he was a professor of Eastern Church History at Harvard Divinity School, an associate of the Slavic Department (1962-1965), and an associate professor of theology at Holy Cross Theological School (1955-1959).

"Although Fr. Florovsky’s teaching in the Slavic Department [at Harvard University] was only sporadic, he became a major intellectual influence in the formation of a generation of American specialists in Russian cultural history. His lasting importance in this area derives not from his formal teaching but from the time and a thought he gave to informal "circles" that periodically arose around him in Cambridge among those who had read The Ways of Russian Theology [then only in Russian], for decades — a kind of "underground book" among serious graduate students of Russian intellectual history, and had upon discovering sought him out that he was at the Divinity School. During a portion of his incumbency at Harvard… patristic and Orthodox thought and institutions from antiquity into 20th century Slavdom flourished. In the Church History Department meetings, he spoke up with clarity. In the Faculty meetings, he was remembered as having energetically marked book catalogues on his lap for the greater glory of the Andover Harvard Library! In 1964, Fr. Florovsky was elected a director of the Ecumenical Institute founded by Paul VI near Jerusalem." Active in both the National Council of Churches and the World Council of Churches, Fr. Florovsky was Vice President-at-Large of the National Council of Churches from 1954 to 1957.

"After leaving Harvard, Professor Emeritus Florovsky taught in Slavic from 1965 to 1972 Studies at Princeton University, having begun lecturing there already in 1964; and he was visiting lecturer in patristic at Princeton Theological Seminary as early as 1962 and then again intermittently after retirement from the University. His last teaching was in a fall semester of 1978/79 at Princeton Theological Seminary."

"In the course of his career, Fr. Florovsky was awarded of honorary doctorates by St. Andrew’s University… Boston University, Notre Dame, Princeton University, the University of Thessalonica, St. Vladimir’s Theological Seminary, and Yale. He was a member or honorary member of the Academy of Athens, the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, the British Academy, and the Fellowship of St. Alban and St. Sergius."

Fr. Florovsky personified the cultivated, well-educated Russian of the turn of the century. His penetrating mind grasped both the detail and depth in the unfolding drama of the history of Christianity in both eastern and western forms. He was theologian, church historian, patristic scholar, philosopher, Slavist, and a writer in comparative literature. "Fr. Florovsky sustained his pleasure on reading English novels, the source in part of his extraordinary grasp of the English language, which, polyglot as he was, he came to prefer above any other for theological discourse and general exposition. Thus, when he came to serve in Harvard’s Slavic Department, there was some disappointment that he did not lecture in Russian, especially in his seminars on Dostoyevsky, Soloviev, Tolstoy, and others. It was as if they belonged to a kind of classical age of the Russian tongue and civilization that, having been swept away as in a deluge, he treated as a Latin professor would Terrence or Cicero, not presuming to give lectures in the tonalities of an age that had vanished forever."

Fr. Florovsky’s influence on contemporary church historians and Slavists was vast. The best contemporary multi-volume history of Christian thought pays a special tribute to Fr. Florovsky. Jaroslav Pelikan of Yale University, in the bibliographic section to his first volume in The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine, writes under the reference to Fr. Florovsky’s two works in Russian on the Eastern Fathers: "These two works are basic to our interpretation of Trinitarian and Christological dogmas" (p. 359 from The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition: 100-600). George Huntston Williams, Hollis Professor Emeritus of Harvard Divinity School, wrote: "Faithful priestly son of the Russian Orthodox Church…, Fr. Georges Florovsky — with a career-long involvement in the ecumenical dialogue — is today the most articulate, trenchant and winsome exponent of Orthodox theology and piety in the scholarly world. He is innovative and creative in the sense wholly of being ever prepared to restate the saving truth of Scripture and Tradition in the idiom of our contemporary yearning for the transcendent."

Author’s Preface (1978).

These four volumes on the Eastern Fathers of the fourth century and the Byzantine fathers from the fifth to eighth centuries were originally published in 1931 and 1933 in Russian. They contained my lectures given at the Institute of Orthodox Theology in Paris from 1928 to 1931 and were originally published in Russian more or less in the form in which they were originally delivered. They therefore lacked exact references and appropriate footnotes. Another reason for the omission of reference material in the 1931 and 1933 publications is that the books were originally published at my own expense and strict economy was therefore necessary. In fact, their publication was only the result of the generous cooperation and help of friends. These English publications must be dedicated to their memory. The initiative of the original publication was taken by Mrs. Elizabeth Skobtsov, who became an Orthodox nun and was later known under her monastic name of Mother Maria. It was she who typed the original manuscripts and she who was able to persuade Mr. Iliia Fondaminsky, at that time one of the editors of the renowned Russian review, Sovremennye Zapiski [Annals Contemporariness], to assume financial responsibility. Both these friends perished tragically in German concentration camps. They had been inspired by the conviction that books in Russian on the Fathers of the Church were badly needed, not only by theological students, but also by a much wider circle of those concerned with doctrinal and spiritual vistas and issues of Eastern Orthodox Tradition. Their expectation was fully justified: the volumes in Russian were rapidly sold out and were warmly appreciated in the general press.

When I began teaching at the Paris Institute, as Professor of Petrology, I had to face a preliminary methodological problem. The question of the scope and manner of Patristic studies had been vigorously debated by scholars for a long time. (There is an excellent book written by Fr. J. de Ghellinck, S.J., Patristique et Moyen Age, Volume II, 1947, pp. 1-180.). The prevailing tendency was to treat Petrology as a history of Ancient Christian Literature, and the best modern manuals of Petrology in the West were written precisely in this manner: Bardenhewer, Cayre, Tixeront, Quasten, adherents to this school of thought, made only sporadic reference to certain points of doctrine but their approach was no doubt legitimate and useful. However, another cognate discipline came into existence during the last century, Dogmengeschichte, or the school of the history of doctrine. Here, scholars were not concerned so much with individual writers or thinkers but rather with that can be defined as the "internal dialectics" of the Christian "mind" and with types and trends of Christian thought.

In my opinion, these two approaches to the same material must be combined and correlated. I have tried to do precisely this with the revision of some of the material for the English publications. I have written some new material on the external history and especially on the ecumenical councils. However, in essence Petrology must be more than a kind of literary history. It must be treated rather as a history of Christian doctrine, although the Fathers were first of all testes veritatis, witnesses of truth, of the faith. "Theology" is wider and more comprehensive than "doctrine." It is a kind of Christian Philosophy. Indeed, there is an obvious analogy between the study of Patristic and the study of the history of Philosophy. Historians of Philosophy are as primarily concerned with individual thinkers as they are interested ultimately in the dialectics of ideas. The "essence" of philosophy is exhibited in particular systems. Unity of the historical process is assured because of the identity of themes and problems to which both philosophers and theologians are committed. I would not claim originality for my method, for it has been used occasionally by others. Nevertheless, I would underline the theological character of Petrology.

These books were written many years ago. At certain points, they needed revision or extension. To some extent, this has been done. Recent decades have seen the rapid progress of Patristic studies in many directions. We now have better editions of primary sources than we had forty or even thirty years ago. We now have some new texts of prime importance: for example, the Chapters of Evagrius or the new Sermons of St. John Chrysostom. Many excellent monograph studies have been published in recent years. However, in spite of this progress I do not think that these books, even without the revisions and additions, have been made obsolete. Based on an independent study of primary sources, these works may still be useful to both students and scholars.

Georges Florovsky September 1978.

Chapter one
The Source of Byzantine Theology

It is not at all easy to distinguish the borders between periods in the fluid and unbroken element of human life. Moreover, the incommensurability of successive historical cycles is quite manifestly revealed. New life themes come to light, new forces start to make themselves felt, new spiritual centres form. Someone’s very first impression is that the late fourth century signifies some indisputable boundary in the history of the Church, in the history of Christian culture. Someone may conditionally define this boundary as the beginning of Byzantinism. The Nicene era closes the previous epoch, and a new epoch begins in any case: if not with Constantine (d. 337), then with Theodosius (emperor 379-395). It attains its zenith, its acme under Justinian (emperor 527-563). The failure of Julian the Apostate (332-363, emperor from 361 to 363) testifies to the decline of pagan Hellenism, but only its decline, not its eradication.

The epoch of Christian Hellenism has begun; it is a time when people try to construct Christian culture as a system. And this is a time of painful and intense spiritual struggle. In the disputes and disquiet of earlier Byzantinism, it is not difficult to identify a common fundamental characteristic theme. This is the Christological theme, which is at the same time the theme of a man. Someone can say that what was really being discussed in these Christological disputes was the anthropological problem, for it was a dispute over the Saviour’s humanity and receives human nature over the sense of how the Only-Begotten Son and the Logos [or Word] and thus over the sense and limit of human life and activity. It is perhaps precisely for this reason that Christological disputes attained such an exceptional poignancy and dragged on for three centuries. In them, there were revealed and laid bare, a whole multitude of irreconcilable and mutually exclusive religious ideals. These disputes ended with a great cultural and historical catastrophe — the great defection of the East. Almost all of the non-Greek East broke away, dropped out of the Church, and retired into heresy. If one accepts the late fourth century as a boundary, as the end of one epoch and the beginning of Byzantine theology proper, then more is involved, for Byzantine theology not only cannot be properly understood without understanding the theological controversies of the fourth century, without understanding the legacy of the fourth century. There is more. The legacy, which Byzantine theology was to inherit, cannot be understood properly without an understanding of the entire legacy, which it inherited. And there is a special concern, for Byzantine theology — indeed Byzantium itself — has been understood but little in the West.

For several reasons, Western Christianity somehow keeps pace even if inadequately with some of the Greek or "Byzantine" fathers of the fourth century — in a strictly historical sense Byzantine theology begins in 330, in that year when the city of Byzantium was inaugurated, was christened Constantinople, "New Rome." Those theologians writing in Greek after the year 330 can indeed be considered "Byzantine" theologians. However, as the decades and centuries flow onward the Latin West appears incapable of keeping abreast with the vital work of Byzantine theologians. True is there is usually a small circle of persons in Rome who have contact and some knowledge of Byzantine or Eastern theology but this circle is limited and their knowledge fragmented. It was a sore tragedy for the history of Christianity, for the life of the united Church, that this drift took place. There were certainly political and cultural reasons for the drift, and, often, the blame can be placed on Byzantium. Nevertheless, in the realm of the Church, in the realm of theological thought, in the realm of vital issues, concerning the essence of the faith such a drift should never have occurred. In modern terms, someone could say that Byzantium and Byzantine theology has had — and largely still has — a "bad press" among Western Christians. Moreover, included in this "bad press" is not only an atmosphere of contempt for the Byzantine East but also a grave ignorance and lack of understanding. Byzantine theology was engaged in a struggle for the preservation of the truth — it was engaged in vital theological issues just as St. Athanasius and as the Cappadocian fathers in the fourth century were. Western Christians kept abreast with the thought of St. Athanasius and the Cappadocians, but it must be regrettably acknowledged that even that knowledge is not complete, that somehow ineluctably a curtain partially closes and prevents Western Christians from dealing with and understanding the totality of the thought of St. Athanasius and the Cappadocians.

It is not only a brief survey of the salient elements of fourth century Eastern theology necessary for a proper understanding of Byzantine theology but also necessary an overview of certain patterns of thought in the earlier Patristic era. And it is almost scandalous that even a brief overview of Christological thought in the New Testament is a prerequisite for an understanding of Byzantine theology precisely to demonstrate that Byzantine theology is organically related to the original deposit of the truth of the faith, that Byzantine theology is, as it was, a Biblical theology and not a fabrication of sophistry, that Byzantine theology was dealing with burning issues of the Christian faith and of Christian life. The beginning of Byzantinism is not the beginning of a new Christianity. Rather, it is the legitimate heir of the legacy of the New Testament, of early Christianity, of the Apostolic Fathers, of the Fathers of Church.

The Christological and Trinitarian definitions of the Council of Chalcedony, — moreover, of all the definitions of the seven Ecumenical Councils — are not the result of philosophical intrusions into the Biblical vision of God but rather — and precisely — the explication of what was originally revealed, of what was originally deposited, of what was experienced by the earliest Christians: that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the Living God, that Jesus was both true God and True Man, the God-Man, that God is God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.

The rationalism and, as it was, the arrogance of the eighteenth and nineteenth century scholars of the New Testament created more an exercise in exegesis than exegesis of the New Testament. And it has made the understanding of Byzantine theology even more distant to Western Christians. If the Christ of the New Testament is one and the same with the Christ of Byzantine theology in its ultimate victory over heretical thought and if the Christ of the New Testament has been misrepresented by schools of New Testament thought in the eighteenth and nineteenth century, some carrying over to the twentieth century, then the possibility of misunderstanding Byzantine theology is heightened, is increased. For this reason, it is necessary to present textual material from the New Testament precisely as a legacy inherited by Byzantine theologians, a task that should not be necessary and that would not have been necessary in most periods of the history of Christianity. The twentieth century has witnessed largely a reverse of this position — a considerable body of twentieth century scholarship on the New Testament has again discovered that the definitions of the Ecumenical Councils correspond to that truth present ab initio. There is no intention to present any comprehensive study of the New Testament. Moreover, there is no intention to present an exhaustive and comprehensive analysis of the Christology of the New Testament. Only some texts from various writers of the New Testament will be presented. These texts consist of those, which are explicit, and those, in which many do not discern the Christological implications. It is merely a sampling, merely an overview to set the basis of the background, the core of the foundation, in which and from which Byzantine theology worked. Moreover, it must not be forgotten that the Byzantine theologians were always conscience of being the heirs of the apostolic faith, heirs of the theology of the New Testament and the theology first delivered. They saw a continuous and cohesive link and bond between them and the earliest theology of the Church, between them and the Incarnation, Life, Death, Resurrection and Ascension of Jesus Christ, the eternal Only-Begotten Son of the Father. The very fact of the existence of the Christological controversies in Byzantium testifies that it was a vibrant and creative theological life rather than an ossified one. It is true that they also saw themselves as preservers of that faith once delivered, but in the very process of preserving that original deposit, they are of necessity creative.

Chapter Two.
The Legacy of the New Testament.

The Witness of the New Testament.

The profound existential mystery of the earliest Christians has often been lost sight of- from the womb of Judaism, from a matrix of Hebraic thought whose most sacred principle was the oneness of God, a monotheism distinct from the pagan ethos of polytheism at that timeframe this source of Hebraic monotheism came the Apostles. Yet they could not deny what they had witnessed: they had lived among Jesus and this Jesus was God yet not God the Father, this Jesus was man yet not merely a man. Chalcedonian Christology is present already with the Apostles. Indeed, for the Hebraic Peter, John, and Paul to write as they did about Jesus was blasphemy from the perspective of the strict monotheism of Judaism, from the sacred Hebraic principle of the transcendence of Yahweh.

And what did these sons of Judaism write about Jesus? It is sufficient to recall just a portion of what they wrote. In Philippians 2:6-11 St. Paul writes, "ος εν μορφή θεού υπάρχων ούχ άρπαγμoν ήγήσατο το eιναι ίσα θεώ αλλά εαυτόν έκένωσεν μορφήν δούλου λαβών, εν όμοιώματι ανθρώπων γενόμενος και σχήματι ευρεθείς ώς άνθρωπος έταπείνωσεν εαυτόν γενόμενος υπήκοος μέχρι θανάτου, θανάτου δε σταυρού, διό και ό θεός αυτόν ϋπερύψωσεν καί έχαρισατο αύτω το όνομα το υπέρ πάν δνομα, ίνα εν τω ονόματι Ιησού πάν γόνυ κάμψη επουρανίων και επιγείων καί καταχθόνιων, και πάσα γλώσσα έξομολογήσηται οτι κυρίος Ιησούς Χριστός εις δoξaν θεού πατρός." ["Who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. Moreover, being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. Therefore, God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name, which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father"].

In Colossians 1:15 ff, St. Paul writes that Jesus "εστίν είκών του θεού του αοράτου, πρωτότοκος πάσης κτίσεως, οτι εν αύτω έκτίσθη τα πάντα εν τοις ουρανοίς καί επί της γης, τα ορατά καί τα αόρατα, είτε θρόνοι είτε κυριότητες είτε όρχαί είτε έξουσίαι’ τα πάντα δι αυτού καί εις αυτόν έκτισται καί αυτός εστίν προ πάντων καί τα πάντα εν αύ — τω συνέστηκεν.” ["He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or authorities — all things were created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together"]. This text of course will be used by the Arians, but the point here is to present only some material from the New Testament expressions about Jesus to demonstrate that Patristic and Byzantine theology did not invent the teaching that Jesus was unique — truly God and Truly Man. In Colossians 2:9, St. Paul writes ["in him the whole fullness of the Godhead dwells bodily."] In II Corinthians 4:4, St. Paul writes that Christ ["the image of God."] In I Corinthians 8:6, St. Paul writes that "yet for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord Jesus Christ, through whom all things are and through whom we exist." The author of I Timothy writes (3:16), "Great indeed, we confess, is the mystery of our religion: He was manifested in the flesh…"

In Hebrews (1:2-3), there is explicit language: "God..., who… in these last days has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world." — "He reflects the glory of God and bears the very stamp of his hypostasis, upholding all things by his word of power."

What is noteworthy about the epistles in the New Testament is that even without such explicit texts as those mentioned above the Divinity and Humanity of Christ are present. It comes through clearly in the very use of language, in the very names and titles given by the writers to Jesus Christ, in the very activity of Jesus Christ as Lord, as Redeemer, as the Risen One, as the Judge, as the Creator. It is not an exaggeration to say it is astonishing that any reader can fail to see the picture of Christ as it unfolds in the epistles of the New Testament. The same can be said about the Holy Spirit as the description of the activity and interrelationship of the Spirit and Son with the Father that is impossible to hide.

The same applies to the Synoptic Gospels, although the form and presentation of the portrait of Jesus differs somewhat in each of the Synoptic and from the Gospel of St. John. The very beginning of the Gospel of St. Mark proclaims Jesus as the Christ; some manuscripts contain "the Son of God." The baptism of Jesus proclaims, "Thou art my beloved Son; in thee I was well pleased." Jesus is portrayed as having an authority — hitherto not known, an authority of teaching, which astounds the people. The demonic spirits recognize him: "I know who you are, the Holy One of God." An astonishing feature, one that almost passes us by, one that we pay little attention to, is the fact that Jesus forgives sin: "My son, your sins are forgiven." The spiritual, existential and ontological significance of this text resides in the question: who has the power to forgive the sins of another person, sins not even committed against the one forgiving? Yet there are two reactions to this; the same two reactions we find at many of the "hard sayings" of Jesus: one is that it is great blasphemy; the other is that it somehow belongs to the very character and nature of Jesus, and that leads to the inescapable conclusion that only God can forgive sins. Already, with the act of forgiving sins, we experience, are caught up in, the mystery of Jesus as God — "Why does this man speak thus? It is blasphemy! Who can forgive sins but God alone?" (2:7). He completely violates the law of the Sabbath by healing on the Sabbath, exclaiming, "The Son of man is Lord even of the Sabbath." The implications are theologically significant. Here, as elsewhere, Jesus refers to himself as the "Son of man" and the "Lord," the implications of which, though perhaps lost on modern man, were not lost on those present. The titles "Son of man" and "Lord" had vast theological significance for the Jews. A relationship with God the Father is also expressed: "For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words… of him will the Son of man also be ashamed, when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels" (8:38). The Gospel of St. Mark includes a description of the Transfiguration: "and he was transfigured before them, and his garments became glistening, intensely white, as no fuller on earth could bleach them." And the voice of God the Father is mentioned in this context: "This is my beloved Son." Theologically significant is also the episode of the receiving children: "Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me." By itself, this text places one within the realm and atmosphere of the Councils of Nicaea and Chalcedon. Such texts tend to be overlooked christologically because of the more explicit Christological texts elsewhere in the New Testament. There is a strong statement contained within Jesus’ question to the man who called him "Good Teacher" — "Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone" (10:18). This text does not disclaim Jesus’ Divinity; rather, it affirms it in a most intriguing way. In this same Gospel of St. Mark, Jesus says that "the Son of Man also came… to give his life as a ransom for many." Again, he refers to himself by the theologically meaningful term of "Son of Man" and places the life of the "Son of Man" in a stereological context. With all the references to his Divinity, Jesus responds to the question of which is the greatest commandment by reasserting the monotheism of Judaism: "The first is, ‘Hear, Ο Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one.” The implication is interesting. The Gospel of St. Mark also includes words not uttered by a mere man: "Take, this is my body… This is my blood of the New Covenant, which is poured out for many." When asked by the High Priest if he is the Christ, the Son of the Blessed, Jesus answers with "I am!" In this same Gospel, the centurion proclaims, "Truly this man was the Son of God." It is the Gospel of St. Mark that is usually singled out as the Gospel, which lacks evidence of the Divinity of Christ, as the Gospel in which Jesus is portrayed as a Man — indeed, to some, a great prophet and religious leader; nevertheless, not as God and man. However, the totality of the textual evidence does not lead to that conclusion. The texts quoted above are but examples. It is not to be forgotten that in the Gospel of St. Mark the titles of "Son of Man," "Son of God," "Lord," and "Son of David" are used, the meaning of which was obvious for the Jews of that time.

In the Gospel of St. Matthew, the baptism of Jesus contains the similar account as in the Gospel of St. Mark; that is, a voice from heaven identifies Jesus: "This is my beloved Son, in whom I was well pleased" (3:17). The description of the temptation of Jesus contains interesting elements. The devil addresses Jesus with "If you are the Son of God" (4:3-6). Jesus responds twice with "You shall not tempt the Lord your God" and "You shall worship the Lord your God." The text is, of course, open to more than one interpretation but the fact remains that one interpretation, consistent and contextual, is that Jesus refers to himself as the "Lord your God." One aspect of a text from the Beatitudes is striking (5:11): "Blessed are you when men reproach you and persecute and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely for my sake." The pivotal expression here is for my sake. What person could have the virtue or power or capability of placing another into the category of "blessed" because the evil committed was "for his sake?" It is precisely outside the normal realm of moral and ethical values; it hinges precisely on the unique nature of this person. Hebrew Scripture had a sacred value for the Jews of that time — indeed as it still does. Yet Jesus, knowing that sacred value, speaks with such authority that he is able to reinterpret that Scripture in a rather scathing manner. Repeatedly Jesus exclaims, "You have heard it said… but I say to you." This by itself implies much. Another astonishing example is found in 7:21. In this text Jesus identifies himself as "Lord," asserts his power of judgment over the kingdom of heaven, and explicitly links his judgment with the will of his Father: "Not every one who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven." In this Gospel, as in the Gospel of St. Mark, the demons know who he is: "What have you to do with us, Ο Son of God?” In this Gospel, there is also the striking act of forgiving the sins of others; sins, which would not be His prerogative to forgive if they were not directed against Him: "Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven" (9:2). And what is the reaction? "This man is blaspheming." Had Jesus been a mere man, this accusation would have been accurate according to Hebraic law. In 11:27, we confront a text, which is strikingly similar to the content of the Gospel of St. John: "All things have been delivered to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son." An accusation brought against Jesus at his trial was what he had to say about the Temple, for the Temple was holy. In 12:6, Jesus says that "something greater than the Temple is here," and there is the reference is to himself. In 14:33, "those in the boat" proclaim, "Truly you are the Son of God." The Gospel of St. Matthew is often seen as the "Gospel of the Church," but the very reason for this is not merely the occurrence of the word εκκλησία (16:18; 18:17) but the very ecclesiology is founded upon Christology, upon the confession of St. Peter, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” It is only because of Peter’s confession that Christ utters the famous Petrine statement — the foundation of the Church is an ontological impossibility without this Christological confession. As in the Gospel of St. Mark, so also here there is a description of the Transfiguration (17:2 ff): "And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his garments became white as light… He was still speaking, when lo, a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, ‘This is my beloved Son, in whom I was well pleased’." A hint of Jesus’ consubstantiality with both God and Man is indicated in 18:5 in the text relating to children: "Whoever receives one such child in My Name receives me." This text is impregnated with deep theological meaning. Another text, which is more indicative but still not explicit, though its theological meaning, is clear and found in Jesus’ discourse on "The Great Judgment" (25:31-46). Here, Jesus clearly refers to himself as the "Son of Man" coming in glory. Here, Jesus’ consubstantiality with God the Father and with mankind is the overarching theme. "Come, Ο blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me." In answering, those perplexed because they had never done these things to or for Jesus, Jesus exclaims as "King," "Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me." Judgment and entrance into the kingdom of heaven is predicated on the consubstantiality of Jesus with all humanity — to the "least of my brethren." They are "blessed of the Father" because the Son of the Father judges. Nicaea and Chalcedon are implicit even in such a seemingly remote text. In this Gospel also, there is the description of the institution of the Eucharist (26:26 ff.): "Take, eat; this is my body… Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood of the New Covenant, which is poured out for the forgiveness of sins." Here, the forgiveness of sins is not restricted to Jesus’ forgiveness of one individual’s sins but it is a universal, a cosmic forgiveness through his redemptive and life-giving death and resurrection. As the patristic writers point out again and again, no man is capable of such an ontological and existential redemptive activity — it is can only be accomplished by God. Caiaphas, the High Priest, says to Jesus at his trial, "I adjure you by the living God, tell us if you are the Christ, the Son of God." Skilfully, Jesus acknowledges it and adds, "But I tell you: hereafter you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven." With this "confession," Caiaphas, tearing his clothes, exclaims, "He has uttered blasphemy. Why do we still need witnesses? You have heard his blasphemy" (26:63-65). And what is often forgotten is that Caiaphas was right if Jesus was not God. The final command by Jesus in the Gospel of St. Matthew is explicitly Trinitarian: "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…"

Many of the texts presented above from the Gospel of St. Mark and the Gospel of St. Matthew are repeated in the Gospel of St. Luke. Approximately, 350 of 661 verses are taken from the Gospel of St. Mark; approximately, 325 verses come from the Gospel of St. Matthew. There is no need to repeat these texts. Approximately, 548 of the 1149 verses in the Gospel of St. Luke are Lucan. In the Annunciation in the first chapter, Jesus is called the "Son of the Most High," "holy," and "the Son of God." Simeon refers to Jesus as "salvation" (2:30). There are interesting implications in Jesus’ statement that the "Son of Man is the Lord of the Sabbath" (6:5). There is an identity with the Father in 9:26 and 10:16. In 10:18, Jesus declares that he was present when Satan fell: "I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven."

In the Gospel of St. John, Christ is explicit about his relationship with God the Father. Even here, however, a "high Christology" exists even if the explicit statements were withdrawn, for again, it is the activity of Jesus and the language used to describe this activity, which leads to certain inescapable conclusions. But the explicit texts do exist. In the Prologue we read, English translations do not capture the dynamism of the Greek — especially of the Greek verbal structures and of the dynamic inner relationship between the Father and the Son expressed by the Greek προς τον θεόν, the dynamism of which the Old Slavonic preserved by translating προς by “k"]. "In the beginning was the Logos, and the Logos was with God, and the Logos was God. This one, the Logos, was in the beginning with God. All things became through him; and without him, not one thing became, which has become. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness overtook it not… He was the true light, which enlightens every man coming into the world. He was in the world and the world became through him, and the world knew him not. He came to his own, and his own people received him not… And the Logos became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, the glory as of an Only-Begotten from the Father, full of grace and of truth." In his Prologue St. John mentions both the inner life and nature of God ad se and the οικονομία οf God’s life ad extra, the oikonomic activity of God in relation to the world.

In what can be considered the Prologue to I John we read something characteristic of that which is contained in the Prologue to the Gospel of St. John — "He who was from the beginning, whom we have heard, whom we have seen with our eyes, whom we have looked upon and touched with our hands — concerning the Logos of life. And the life was manifested, and we have seen and we bear witness and we announce to you the life eternal, which was with the Father and was manifested to us — Whom we have seen and we have heard, we announce also to you in order that you also may have fellowship with us. And indeed our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ." In the same Epistle of I John (2:23; 24) the interrelationship and equality of the Father and the Son are linked: "Everyone who is denying the Son has neither the Father; he who is confessing the Son has also the Father. Let remain in you what you heard from the beginning. If what you heard from the beginning remains in you, you will remain in the Son and in the Father." And further in the same Epistle (4:9) the thoughts of the Gospel of St. John echo: "By this the love of God was manifested toward us because God has sent his Only-Begotten Son into the world in order that we might live through him."

The Gospel of St. John is replete with not only explicit statements about the relationship of God the Father and God the Son but also with those interesting formulations of language and usage that often reveal more than the explicit texts. It is sufficient to recall the numerous "I am" — sayings: "I am the bread of life;" "I am the living bread;" "I am from above;" "I am not of this world;" "…you will know that I am;" "before Abraham became I am;" "I am the light of the world;" "I am the door;" "I am the good shepherd;" "I am the Son of God;" "I am the resurrection and the life;" "I am the way, the truth, and the life;" "I am the true vine" — these "I am" sayings are striking.

Striking also are the "I" sayings, the sayings in the first person singular, the "I/verb" sayings of Jesus. A few examples are enough — "I will raise up [the Temple] in three days;" "I shall give water… welling up into eternal life;" "I who speak to you am he [the Messiah];" "I have food to eat of which you know not;" "as I hear, I judge;" "I do not receive glory from men;" "I have come in my Father’s name;" "I have come down from heaven;" "I will raise him up at the last day;" "I shall give bread for the life of the world [and that bread] is my flesh;" "I live because of the Father;" "I testify [of the world] that its works are evil;" "I know him, for I have come from him;" "I shall be with you a little longer, and then I go to him who sent me;" "I know whence I have come and whither I am going;" "I alone do not judge, but I and he who sent me;" "I bear witness to myself, and the Father who sent me bears witness to me;" "You will die in your sins unless you believe that I am he;" "I do nothing on my own authority but speak thus as the Father taught me;" "I speak of what I have seen with my Father;" "I came forth and have come from God;" "I honour my Father, and you dishonour me;" "I do not seek my own glory; there is One seeking and judging;" "I know the Father;" "I lay down my life that I may take it again;" "I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down, and I have authority to take it again; I have received this commandment from my Father;" "I give [my sheep] eternal life;" "I said ‘I am the Son of God;’ " "I am in the Father [and the Father is in me];" "And I if I am lifted up out of the earth, will draw all men to myself; "I have come as light into the world, that everyone believing in me may not remain in darkness;" "I came not that I might judge the world but that I might save the world; he who is rejecting me and not receiving my words has the one judging him — the word, which I spoke, that will judge him in the last day;" "I did not speak on my own authority but the Father who has sent me, he has given me the commandment of what I may say and what I may speak;" "Father, I desire that they also… may… behold my glory, which thou hast given me in thy love for me before the foundation of the world" — "I go to prepare a place for you;" "I will come again and will take you to myself; "I am in the Father and the Father in me;" "I go to the Father;" "I will pray the Father, and he will give you another Counsellor, that he may be with you forever, even the Spirit of Truth;" "I will not leave you desolate;" "because I live, you will live also;" "I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you;" "I came from the Father and have come into the world;" "I am leaving the world and going to the Father;" "I am not alone, for the Father is with me;" "I have overcome the world."

Striking also are the "My/Mine" Sayings — "My hour has not yet come;" "My Father’s house — you shall not make it a house of trade;" "My food is to do the work of him who sent me;" "My Father is working still, and I am working;" "he who is coming to me by no means hungers, and he who is believing in me by no means will ever thirst;" "My Father’s will is that everyone seeing the Son and believing in him may have life eternal;" "he who is eating my flesh and drinking my blood has life eternal;" "My flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink;" "My teaching is not mine, but his who sent me;" "You know neither me nor my Father; if you knew me, you would know my Father also;" "My Father glorifies me, of whom you say that he is your God;" "My sheep hear my voice… my Father has given them to me;" "In my Father’s house are many rooms;" "the Father dwells in me;" "he who loves me will be loved by my Father;" "My peace I give to you;" "My Father is the vinedresser;" "By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit;" "My Father’s commandments I have kept;" "He who hates me, hates my Father also;" "[The Spirit of truth] will glorify me, for he will take what is mine and declare it to you;" "All that the Father has is mine;… he will take what is mine and declare it to you;" "all mine are thine, and thine are mine;" "Thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee;" "My kingship is not of this world;" "I am ascending to my Father."

It is difficult to imagine anything more explicit than what Jesus says in the following texts. In the Gospel of St. John (10:30) he declares that "I and the Father — we are one." The response in verse 33 is clear: "The Jews answered him: we do not stone you because of a good work but because of blasphemy; because you, being a man, make yourself God." The oneness with the Father is explicitly stated again in 17:11: "that they may be one, even as we are one." The thought continues in 17:21: "that they may all be one, even as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that thou has sent me." In 5:18 we read, "This was why the Jews sought all the more to kill him, because he not only broke the Sabbath but also called God his Father, making himself equal with God." In 17:5, Jesus refers to his existence with the Father before the creation of the world: "and now, Father, glorify thou me with thyself with the glory, which I had with thee before the world was."

The personhood of the Holy Spirit is present also throughout the New Testament. It is enough to recall the texts of "the sin against the Holy Spirit," the command to "baptize in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," the "breathing of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles," the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, the conception of Jesus by the power of the Holy Spirit. The nature and work of the Holy Spirit in the theology of St. Paul is indeed extraordinarily deep and rich. It is enough to recall what Christ says of the Holy Spirit. In the Gospel of St. John (16:13 ff), we read, "When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own authority, but whatever he hears he will speak, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. He will glorify me, for he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine; therefore I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you." In 15:26, the inner nature of the Holy Trinity is glimpsed: "But when the Counsellor comes, whom I shall send to you from the Father, who proceeds from the Father, he will bear witness to me." And in 14:26, the Holy Spirit teaches and evokes memory: "But the Counsellor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you."

This brief overview presents Jesus in the fullness of his Divinity. We have — for the purpose at hand — deliberately excluded texts dealing with Messianic prophecies, for the Messiah in Hebraic thought was not necessarily God; excluded also are the numerous miracles because the performance of a miracle does not necessitate the Divinity of the performer. The vast and rich body of material from the parables were of necessity excluded. And further, it was not considered necessary to demonstrate the humanity of Jesus. It is however noteworthy that St. John is very careful to demonstrate both the Humanity and Divinity of Jesus Christ. That is precisely why he emphasizes die flow of water and blood at the crucifixion. Already in the time of the composition of the Gospel of St. John, there were doubters of both the Humanity and the Divinity of Jesus.

Such, however, is the glimpse we gather from a brief presentation of Jesus in the New Testament. This view of Jesus is the same as that of Byzantine theology — it is the same as that of the Council of Nicaea, the same as the Council of Chalcedon. The link is organic and the Byzantine theologians are exceedingly, yet naturally, aware of their inner, organic link with apostolic Christianity, with.the very earliest of Christian thought.

The Source of the New Testament

Thus, far, concentration has been on the New Testament’s image of Jesus but there is something, which precedes something the reality of which is the foundation of the Church: there were no New Testamental writings for the earliest Christians and yet they possessed the fullness of the truth and faith of Christianity. On the day of Pentecost, the Church was born and yet there was no New Testament in a written form. For decades, there were no Gospels, as we know them today. It would not be a theological exaggeration to assert that the Church would be the Church in her fullness even if it did not possess the New Testament. For many raised on the Reformational principal of sola scriptura this may seem a radical — even heretical — statement. But the fact is that we do possess the New Testament and, as such, it is a part of the sacred history of Christianity. But there was a time when the Church did not possess this corpus of inspired writing and yet the Church existed in her fullness, Christians experienced the truth of the faith in all its fullness. The historical fact, the historical reality is that the Church existed before anything was written, that the Church preceded the existence of the New Testament, that it was the Church precisely, which gave birth to the New Testament and it was the Church out of which the New Testamental writings emerged and the Church, which determined ultimately, which of these writings would be accepted as canonical. The authority of the writing and the authority of acceptance was the Church. Christian faith is centred on Christ. The mystery of God become man is the holy truth of the Church. Christianity is Christ — our entire religion stands or falls with belief in Christ. The sermons of Christ and those of the first apostles were the living "word," which first planted the seed of faith — long before a Christian literature existed. Hence, this literature did not produce faith but was the product of faith. As Karl Adam has correctly observed, "It is missionary literature. And thus, the most superior source of Christianity is not the word of the Bible, but the living word of the Church’s proclamation of faith. Even if the Bible did not exist, a Christian religious movement would be conceivable." But without the firm support of the written documents, of the New Testament, the faith would constantly be in danger of obscuring the abundance of concrete detail "in the unique and mighty experience of Christ." But the Church would have been capable of conveying the faith to us even without the written documents, as it did in the beginning. St. Paul writes in I Corinthians 11:23: "For I received from the Lord what I also delivered to you."

The historical reality is the fact that God through the Church provided us with the New Testament and hence there is an obvious and sacred purpose in that gift. The New Testament is the revelation of and about God. But, at the same time, revelation is always a Word addressed to man, a summons and an appeal to man. The highest objectivity in the hearing and understanding of Scripture is achieved through the greatest exertion of the creative personality, through spiritual growth, through the transfiguration of the personality, which overcomes in itself "the wisdom of the flesh," ascending to "the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ" (Ephesians 4:13). From man it is not self-abnegation, which is demanded, but a victorious forward movement, not self-destruction but a rebirth or transformation. Without man, Revelation would be impossible — because no one would be there to hear and God would then not speak. And God created man so that man would hear his words, receive them, and grow in them and through them become a participator of "eternal life." "And the Logos became flesh and dwelt among us… and we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth" (John 1:14). The way of life and light is open. And the human spirit has anew become capable of hearing God completely and of receiving his words.

Revelation and the Language of Dogma

The unalterable truths of experience can be expressed in different ways. Divine reality can be described in images and parables, in the language of devotional poetry and of religious art — the Church preaches this way even now in her liturgical hymns and in the symbolism of her sacramental acts. That is the language of proclamation, the language of prayer and of mystical experience, the language of kerygmatic theology. But there is another language, the language of comprehending thought, the language of dogma. Dogma is a witness of experience. The entire pathos of dogma lies in the fact that it points to Divine Reality, — in this, the witness of dogma is symbolic. Dogma is the testimony of thought about what has been seen and revealed, about what has been contemplated in the experience of faith — and this testimony is expressed in concepts and definitions. Dogma is an "intellectual vision," a truth of perception. One can say that it is the logical image, a "logical icon" of Divine Reality. And at the same time, a dogma is a definition — that is why its logical form is so important for dogma; that "inner word," which acquires force in its external expression. This is why the external aspect of dogma — its wording — is so essential.

Dogma is by no means a new Revelation. Dogma is only a witness. The whole meaning of dogmatic definition consists of testifying to unchanging truth, truth, which was revealed and has been preserved from the beginning. Thus, it is a total misunderstanding to speak of the "development of dogma." Dogmas do not develop; they are unchanging and inviolable, even in their external aspect — their wording. Least of all is it possible to change dogmatic language or terminology. As strange as it may appear, one can indeed say that dogmas arise, dogmas are established, but they do not develop. And once established, a dogma is perennial and already an immutable "rule of faith" — ό κανών της πίστεως. Dogma is an intuitive truth, not a discursive axiom, which is accessible to logical development. The whole meaning of dogma lies in the fact that it is expressed truth. Revelation discloses itself and is received in the silence of faith, in silent vision — this is the first and apophatic step of the knowledge of God. The entire fullness of truth is already contained in this apophatic vision, but truth must be expressed. Man, however, is called not only to be silent but also to speak, to communicate. The silentium mysticum does not exhaust the entire fullness of the religious vocation of man. There is also room for the expression of praise. In her dogmatic confession, the Church expresses herself and proclaims the apophatic truth, which she preserves. The quest for dogmatic definitions is therefore, above all, a quest for terms. Precisely because of this, the doctrinal controversies will be a dispute over terms. One will have to find accurate and clear words to describe and express the experience of the Church.

This is necessary because the truth of faith is also the truth for reason and for thought — this does not mean, however, that it is the truth of thought, the truth of pure reason. The truth of faith is fact, reality — that which is. In this "quest for words" human thought changes, the essence of thought itself is transformed and sanctified. The Church indirectly testifies to this in rejecting the heresy of Apollinarius. Apollinarianism is, in its deepest sense, a false anthropology, it is a false teaching about man, and, therefore, it is also a false teaching about the God-Man Christ. Apollinarianism is the negation of human reason, the fear of thought — "it is impossible that there be no sin in human thoughts" — St. Gregory of Nyssa, Contra Apollinarium II, 6, 8: I, 2. And that means that human reason is incurable — that is, it must be cut off. The rejection of Apollinarianism meant therefore the fundamental justification of reason and thought. Not in the sense, of course, that "natural reason" is sinless and right by itself but in the sense that it is open to transformation, that it can be healed, that it can be renewed. And not only can but also must be healed and renewed. Reason is summoned to the knowledge of God. The "philosophizing" about God is not just a feature of inquisitiveness or a kind of audacious curiosity. On the contrary, it is the fulfilment of man’s religious calling and duty, not an extra-achievement, not a kind of opus supererogatorium but a necessary and organic moment of religious behaviour. And for this reason, the Church "philosophized" about God — "formulated dogmas which fishermen had earlier expounded in simple words" [from the service in honour of the Three Hierarchs]. The "dogmas of the Fathers" again present the unchanging content of "apostolic preaching" in intellectual categories. The experience of truth does not change and does not even grow; indeed, thought penetrates into the "understanding of truth" and transforms itself through the process.

In establishing dogmas, the Church expressed Revelation in the language of Greek philosophy — or if preferable, the Church translated Revelation from the poetic and prophetic language of Hebrew into Greek. That meant, in a certain sense, a "Hellenization" of Revelation. But in reality, it was a "Churchification" of Hellenism. This theme has been discussed and disputed too much already. Here, it is essential to raise only one issue. The Old Covenant has passed. Israel did not accept the Divine Christ, did not recognize him, or confess Him, and "the promise" passed to the Gentiles. We must acknowledge this basic fact of Christian history in humility before the will of God. The "calling of the Gentiles" meant that Hellenism became blessed by God. In this, there was no "historical accident" — no such accident could lie therein. In the religious destiny of man, there are no "accidents." The fact remains that the Gospel is given to us all and for all time in the Greek language. It is in this language that we hear the Gospel in all its entirety and fullness. That does not and cannot of course mean that it is untranslatable — but we always translate it from the Greek. And there was precisely as little "chance" or "accident" in this "selection" of the Greek language — as the unchanging proto-language of the Christian Gospel — as there was in God’s "selection" of the Jewish people — out of all the people of antiquity — as "His" People. There was as little "accident" in the "selection" of the Greek language as there was in the fact that "salvation comes from the Jews" (John 4:22).

We receive the Revelation of God as it occurred. And it would be pointless to ask whether it could have been otherwise. In the selection of the "Hellenes," we must acknowledge the hidden decisions of God’s will. The presentation of Revelation in the language of historical Hellenism in no way restricts Revelation. It rather proves precisely the opposite — that this language possessed certain powers and resources, which aided in expounding and expressing the truth of Revelation.

The words of dogmatic definitions are not "simple words," they are not "accidental" words, which one can replace by other words. They are eternal words, incapable of being replaced. This means that certain words — certain concepts — are eternalized by the very fact that they express divine truth. But this does not mean that there is an "eternalization" of one specific philosophical "system." To state it more correctly — Christian dogmatic itself is the only true philosophical "system." Dogmas are expressed in philosophical language but not at all in the language of a specific philosophical school. Indeed, one can speak of a philosophical "eclecticism" of Christian dogmatic. And this "eclecticism" has a much deeper meaning than one usually assumes. Its entire meaning consists of the fact that particular themes of Hellenic philosophy are received and, through this reception, they change essentially — they change and are no longer recognizable because now, in the terminology of Greek philosophy, a new, a totally new experience is expressed. Although themes and motives of Greek thought are retained, the answers to the problems are quite different, for they are given out of a new experience. Hellenism, for this reason, received Christianity as something foreign and alien, and the Christian Gospel was "foolishness" to the Greeks — έθνεσιν δε μωρίαν (I Corinthians 1:23).

Usually we do not sufficiently perceive the entire significance of this transformation, which Christianity introduced into the realm of thought. Partially, this is because we too often remain ancient Greeks philosophically, not yet having experienced the baptism of thought by fire. And in part, on the contrary, because we are too accustomed to the new world-view, retaining it as an "innate truth" when, in actuality, it was given to us only through Revelation. It is sufficient to point out just a few examples: the idea of the createdness of the world, not only in its transitory and perishable aspect but also in its primordial principles. For Greek thought, the concept of "created ideas" was impossible and offensive. And bound up with this was the Christian intuition of history as a unique — once-occurring — creative fulfilment, the sense of a movement from an actual "beginning" up to a final end, a feeling for history, which in no way at all allows itself to be linked with the static pathos of ancient Greek thought. And the understanding of man as person, the concept of personality, was entirely inaccessible to Hellenism, which considered only the mask as person. And finally, there is the message of Resurrection in glorified but real flesh, a thought, which could only frighten the Greeks who lived in the hope of a future dematerialization of the spirit. These are just some of the new vistas disclosed in the new experience of Christianity. Hellenism, forged in the fire of a new experience and a new faith, is renewed, is transformed. These are the presuppositions and categories of a new Christian philosophy, a new philosophy enclosed in Church dogmatic.

Revelation is not only Revelation about God but also about the world, for the fullness of Revelation is in the image of the God-Man, in the fact of the ineffable union of God and Man, of the Divine and human, of the Creator and the creature — in the indivisible and unmerged union of God and Man in Jesus Christ.

The path to Chalcedon is present in the New Testament. It is precisely the Chalcedonian dogma of the unity of the God-Man — despite what we shall see as great imprecision in the language of the councils and in the language of the "Fathers" —, which is the true, decisive point of Revelation, of the experience of faith and of Christian vision. Modern man is in general very critical of the definition of the Council of Chalcedon. It fails to convey any meaning to him. The "imagery" of the creed is for him nothing more than a piece of poetry if anything at all. The whole approach, I think, is wrong. The "definition" of Chalcedon is a statement of faith and therefore cannot be understood when taken out of the total experience of the Church. It is precisely for that reason that I have included an overview of the statements about Christology in the New Testament and it is precisely for that reason that an overview of the Christological thought of the early centuries must be presented as a background not only for Chalcedon but also for the whole of Byzantine theology.

The definition of the Council of Chalcedon is, in fact, an "existential statement." It is, as it was before, an intellectual contour of the mystery, which is apprehended by faith. Our Redeemer is not a man, but God himself. Here, lies the existential emphasis of the definition of Chalcedon and of the work of Byzantine theology accepted by the Church. Our Redeemer is one who "came down" and who, by "becoming man," identified himself with men in the fellowship of a truly human life and nature. Not only was the initiative Divine but the "captain of our salvation" was a Divine Person. The fullness of the human nature of Christ means, as we shall see, precisely the adequacy and truth of this redeeming identification. God enters human history and becomes an historical person. This sounds paradoxical. Indeed, there is a mystery. But this mystery is a revelation — the true character of God is disclosed in the Incarnation. God was so much and so intimately concerned with he destiny of man — and precisely with the destiny of every one of "the little ones" — as to intervene in person in the chaos and misery of the lost life. God is therefore not merely an omnipotent ruling of the universe from an august distance by divine majesty. Rather, there is the Divine kenosis, a "self-humiliation" of the God of glory. There is a personal relationship between God and Man.

There is an amazing coherence in the body of the traditional doctrine of Christ — from the earliest Christians to the New Testament to the Councils and to the positive contributions of Byzantine theology. True, the definitions of the Council of Nicaea and the Council of Chalcedon will cause a sore disruption in the Church, for not only is truth preserved and defined but also there is an imprecision in the human language used by the councils, an imprecision that gravely wounded the body of the Church. But the truth was there, the truth was defined. It can be apprehended and understood only in the living context of faith, by a personal communion with the personal God. Faith alone makes formulas convincing; faith alone makes formulas live, for Christ is not a text but a living Person and He abides in his body, the Church.

It may seem ridiculous to modern man to suggest that we should accept and preach the doctrine of Chalcedon "in a time such as this." Yet it was precisely that this doctrine, already contained on the pages of the New Testament and could change the whole spiritual outlook of modern man, that reality to which this doctrine bears witness. It brings man a true freedom. The Christological disputes of the past are unfortunately continued and repeated in the controversies of our own age. Modern man, deliberately or subconsciously, is tempted by the Nestorian extreme — modern man does not take the Incarnation in earnest, he does not dare to believe that Christ is a Divine Person; he wants to have a human redeemer, one assisted by God. Modern man is more interested in the human psychology of the Redeemer than in the mystery of Divine love precisely because, in the last resort, he believes optimistically in the dignity of man.

On the other extreme, we have in our age a revival of "Monophysite" tendencies in theology and religion — man is reduced to complete passivity and is allowed only to listen and to hope. The present tension between "liberalism" and "neo-orthodoxy" is in fact a re-enactment of the old Christological struggle, albeit on a new existential level and in a new spiritual guise. Unless a wider vision is acquired, the conflict will never be settled or solved. In the early Church, the preaching was emphatically theological. The New Testament itself is a theological book. Neglect of theology, of the theology of the God-Man, is responsible both for the decay of personal religion and for that sense of frustration which dominates the modern mood. The whole appeal of the "rival gospels" in our time is that they offer some sort of pseudo-theology, a system of pseudo-dogmas. They are gladly accepted by those who cannot find any theology in the reduced Christianity of "modern" style, by those who have been cut off from the organic Christology of the New Testament, of the definitions of the Councils, and of the work of the Eastern and Byzantine Fathers.

I have often a strange feeling. When I read the ancient classics of Christian theology, the fathers of the Church, I find them more relevant to the troubles and problems of my own time than the production of modern theologians. The fathers were wrestling with existential problems, with those revelations of the eternal issues, which were described and recorded in Holy Scripture. It is precisely the Chalcedonian dogma of the unity of the God-Man, which is the true, decisive point of Revelation, of the experience of faith, and of the Christian vision.

A clear knowledge of God — that for which Byzantine theology was striving and striving to protect — is impossible for man if he is committed to vague and false conceptions of the world and of himself. That is precisely why St. Athanasius’ distinction between creation and generation is as important as a prelude to, as a background for, as a legacy received by Byzantine theology. There is nothing surprising about a false conception of the world leading to an unclear knowledge of God, for the world is the creation of God and therefore if one has a false understanding of the world, one attributes to God a work, which God did not create — one therefore casts a distorted judgment on God’s activity and will. In this respect, a true philosophy is necessary for faith. And, on the other hand, faith is committed to specific metaphysical presuppositions. Dogmatic theology, as the explanation of Divinely revealed truth in the realm of thought, is precisely the basis of a Christian philosophy, of a sacred philosophy, of a philosophy of the Holy Spirit.

Dogma, a word disliked by modern man, presupposes experience, and only in the experience of vision and faith, does dogma reach its fullness and come to life. And dogmas do not exhaust this experience, just as Revelation is not exhausted in "words" or in the "letter" of Scripture. The experience and knowledge of the Church are more comprehensive and fuller than her dogmatic pronouncement. The Church witnesses too many things, which are not in "dogmatic" statements but rather in images and symbols. Dogmatic theology can neither dismiss nor replace "kerygmatic" theology. In the Church the fullness of knowledge and understanding is given but this fullness is only gradually and partially disclosed and professed. In general, the knowledge in this world is always only a "partial" knowledge, and the fullness will be revealed only in the Parousia — άρτι γινωσκω εκ μέρονς — "Now I know in part," (I Corinthians 13:12). This "incompleteness" of knowledge results from the fact that the Church is still "in pilgrimage," still in the process of "pilgrimage." The Church witnesses the mystical essence of time, in which the growth of mankind is being accomplished according to the measure of the image of Christ. Nevertheless, this "incompleteness" of our knowledge here and now does not weaken the authentic and apodictic character of the Church. The definition of Chalcedon is precisely a definition of that truth, which we do here and now possess. Without the definitions of the Ecumenical Councils, always following the fathers and Holy Scripture, that truth, which was revealed in the God-Man, Jesus Christ, would be distorted, would threaten our redemption, indeed, would strike at the very core and heart of the ontological reality of redemption. These definitions are a vital part of that truth, which we do possess and Byzantine theology’s contribution to the definitions and to the elucidation of the definitions of the truth of the God-Man is vital to the life of the Christian faith.

Chapter 3
Preservation of the Legacy

If the teaching about Christ in the New Testament is so clear, a fundamental question arises. Why were all the historical struggles over Christology? Why the divisions, why the disruptions, why the apparent damage to the Body of Christ, the Church? Why was such controversy over that which was the cornerstone of our very redemption? It is a legitimate question. It must never be forgotten that we are warned again and again in the New Testament to guard the faith, to beware of false teachers, to hold fast to that which we have received. It is a constant theme expressed in a variety of ways throughout the New Testament. II Timothy 4:3-4 warns that "the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own likings, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander into myths." Colossians 2:8 warns, "See to it that no one makes a prey of you by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the universe, and not according to Christ." In I Timothy 1:3-4; 6-7 we read, "that you may charge certain persons not to teach any different doctrine, nor to occupy themselves with myths and endless genealogies, which promote speculations rather than the divine training that is in faith… certain persons by swerving from these have wandered away into vain discussion, desiring to be teachers of the law, without understanding either what they are saying or the things about, which they make assertions." In I Timothy 6:3 ff. we read, "If any one teaches otherwise and does not agree with the sound words of our Lord Jesus Christ and the teaching, which accords with godliness, he is puffed up with conceit, he knows nothing; he has a morbid craving for controversy and for disputes about words…" In the same chapter, Timothy is exhorted, "O Timothy, guard what has been entrusted to you. Avoid the godless chatter and contradictions of what is falsely called knowledge, for by professing it some have missed the mark as regards the faith." In II Peter 2:1 ff. we read, "There will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies, even denying the Master." Similar warnings occur in the epistles and the Gospels of the New Testament. It is clear that already in the earliest days of the Christian Church there were divisions that the truth had to be preserved and guarded from the very beginning.

Christ encourages his disciples that the Holy Spirit will guide them into all truth (John 16:13), and the implication is that, though truth is present, though truth has been revealed and given, "all" aspects of truth will be explicated under the guidance of the Holy Spirit in the Church.

And the very created nature of man allows for the possibility of corrupting that which has been revealed. But the promise that the truth shall be preserved by the Holy Spirit reveals that, despite controversy and dispute already present within the early life of the Church, theological work is still to be active in the ongoing life of the Church — the explication and definition of the redemptive activity of the God-Man.

The Church is "Apostolic" indeed. But the Church is also "Patristic." She is intrinsically "the Church of the Fathers." There are, as it was before, two basic stages in the proclamation of the Christian faith. "Our simple faith had to acquire composition." There was an inner urge, an inner logic, an internal necessity, in this transition from kerygma to dogma. Indeed, the teaching of the Fathers and the dogma of the Church are still the same "simple message," which has been once delivered and deposited, once forever. But now it is, as it was before, necessary for this "simple message" to be in order properly and fully articulated.

The main distinctive mark of Patristic and Byzantine theology is its "existential" character if we may borrow this current neologism. The Fathers theologized, as St. Gregory of Nazianzus puts it, "in the manner of the Apostles, not in that of Aristotle" — αλιευτικώς ουκ αριστοτελικως (Homily 23, 12). Their theology is still a "message," a kerygma. Their theology is still "kerygmatic theology" even if it is often logically arranged and supplied with intellectual arguments. The ultimate reference is still to the vision of faith, to spiritual knowledge and experience. Apart from life in Christ, theology carries no conviction and if separated from the life of faith, theology may degenerate into empty dialectics, a vain polylogia, without any spiritual consequence. Patristic and Byzantine theology is existentially rooted in the decisive commitment of faith. It is not a self-explanatory "discipline," which could be presented argumentatively, that is αριστοτελικως, without any prior spiritual engagement. In the age of the theological strife and incessant debates, which we will be discussing, the Fathers — especially the Cappadocian Fathers — formally protested against the use of dialectics, of "Aristotelian syllogisms," and endeavoured to refer theology back to the vision of faith. Patristic and Byzantine theology could be only "preached" or "proclaimed" — preached from the pulpit, proclaimed also in the words of prayer and in sacred rites, and indeed manifested in the total structure of Christian life. Theology of this kind can never be separated from the life of prayer and from the exercise of virtue. "The climax of purity is the beginning of theology," as St. John Klimakos puts its — τέλος· δε αγνειας ύπόθεσις θεολογίας (Scala Parodist, grade 30).

On the other hand, Patristic and Byzantine theology is always, as it was, "propaedeutic," since its ultimate aim and purpose is to ascertain and to acknowledge the Mystery of the Living God, to bear witness to it, in word and deed. "Theology" is not an end in itself. It is always but a way. Theology, and even the "dogmas," presents no more than an "intellectual contour" of the revealed truth, and a "noetic" testimony to it. Only in the act of faith is this "contour" filled with content. Christological formulas are fully meaningful only for those who have encountered the Living Christ, and have received and acknowledged Him as God and Saviour, and are dwelling by faith in Him, in His body, the Church. In this sense, theology is never a self-explanatory discipline. It is constantly appealing to the vision of faith. "What we have seen and heard we announce to you." Without this "announcement" theological formulas are empty and of no consequence. For the same reason these formulas can never be taken "abstractly," that is, out of total context of belief. It is misleading to single out particular statements of the Fathers and to detach them from the total perspective in which they have been actually uttered, just as it is misleading to manipulate with detached quotations from the Scripture. A dangerous habit "to quote" the Fathers; is, to quote their isolated sayings and phrases outside of that concrete setting in which only they have their full and proper meaning and are truly alive. "To follow" does not mean just "to quote" the Fathers. "To follow" the Fathers means to acquire their "mind," their phronema.

The name of "the Fathers of the Church" is usually restricted to the teachers of the ancient Church. And it is currently assumed that their authority depends upon their antiquity, upon their comparative nearness to the "primitive Church," to the initial age of the Church. Already St. Jerome had to contest this idea. Indeed, there was no decrease of "authority" and no decrease in the immediacy of spiritual competence and knowledge in the course of Christian history. In fact, however, this idea of "decrease" has strongly affected our modern theological thinking. In fact, it is too often assumed, consciously or unconsciously, that the Early Church was, as it was, closer to the spring of truth. As an admission of our own failure and inadequacy, as an act of humble self-criticism, such an assumption is sound and helpful. But it is dangerous to make of it the starting point or basis of our "theology of Church history," or even of our theology of the Church. Indeed, the Age of the Apostles should retain its unique position. Yet it was just a beginning. It is widely assumed that the "Age of the Fathers" has ended. Accordingly, it is regarded just as an ancient formation, "antiquated" in a sense and "archaic."

The limit of the "Patristic Age" is variously defined. It is usual to regard St. John of Damascus as the "last Father" in the East and St. Gregory the Dialogos or Isidore of Seville as "the last" in the West. This periodization has been justly contested in recent times. Should not, for example, St. Theodore of Studium be at least included among "the Fathers?" Mabillon has suggested that Bernard of Clairvaux, the Doctor Mellifluous, was "the last of the Fathers, and surely not unequal to the earlier ones."

Actually, it is more than a question of periodization. From the Western point of view, "the Age of the Fathers" has been succeeded and indeed superseded by "the Age of the Schoolmen," which was an essential step forward. Since the rise of Scholasticism, "Patristic theology" has been antiquated, has become actually a "past age," a kind of archaic prelude. This point of view, which is legitimate for the West, has been most unfortunately accepted also by many in the East, blindly and uncritically. Accordingly, one has to face the alternative. Either one has to regret the "backwardness" of the East, which never developed any "Scholasticism" of its own. Or one should retire into the "Ancient Age," in a more or less archaeological manner, and practice what has been wittily described recently as a "theology of repetition." The latter, in fact, is just a peculiar form of imitative "scholasticism."

And often it is suggested that the "Age of the Fathers" has ended much earlier than St. John of Damascus. Very often one does not proceed further than the Age of Justinian or the Council of Chalcedon. Was not Leontius of Byzantium already "the first of the Scholastics?" Psychologically, this attitude is quite comprehensible, although it cannot be theologically justified. Indeed, the Fathers of the Fourth century are impressive and their unique greatness cannot be denied. Yet the Church remained fully alive also after Nicaea and Chalcedon. The current overemphasis on the "first five centuries" dangerously distorts theological vision and prevents the right understanding of the Chalcedonian dogma itself. The decree of the Sixth Ecumenical Council is often regarded as a kind of an "appendix" to Chalcedon, interesting only for theological specialists, and the great figure of St. Maximus the Confessor is almost completely ignored. Accordingly, the theological significance of the Seventh Ecumenical Council is dangerously obscured and one is left to wonder why the Feast of Orthodoxy should be related to the commemoration of the Church’s victory over the Iconoclasts. Was it not just a "ritualistic controversy?" We often forget that the famous formula of the Consensus quinquesaecularis [Agreement of Five Centuries], that is, actually, up to Chalcedon, was a Protestant formula, and reflected a peculiar Protestant "theology of history." This restrictive formula was too inclusive to those who wanted to be secluded in the Apostolic Age as much as it seemed to be. The point is, however, that the current Eastern formula of the "Seven Ecumenical Councils" is hardly much better if it tends, as it usually does, to restrict or to limit the Church’s spiritual authority to the first eight centuries, as if "the Golden Age" of Christianity has already passed and we are now, probably, already in an Iron Age, much lower on the scale of spiritual vigour and authority. Our theological thinking has been dangerously affected by the pattern of decay, adopted for the interpretation of Christian history in the West since the Reformation. The fullness of the Church was then interpreted in a static manner, and the attitude to Antiquity has been accordingly distorted and misconstrued. After all, it does not make much difference whether we restrict the normative authority of the Church to one century, or to five, or to eight. There should be no restriction at all. Consequently, there is no room for any "theology of repetition." The Church is still fully authoritative as she has been in the ages past, since the Spirit of Truth quickens her now no less effectively than in the ancient times.

One of the immediate results of our careless periodization is that we simply ignore the legacy of Byzantine theology. We are prepared, now more than only a few decades ago, to admit the perennial authority of "the Fathers," especially since the revival of Patristic studies in the West. But we still tend to limit the scope of admission, and obviously "Byzantine theologians" are not readily counted among the "Fathers." We are inclined to discriminate rather rigidly between "Patristic" — in a more or less narrow sense — and "Byzantinism." We are still inclined to regard "Byzantinism" as an inferior sequel to the Patristic Age. We have still doubts about its normative relevance for theological thinking. Now, Byzantine theology was much more than just a "repetition" of Patristic theology. Neither was that which was new in it of an inferior quality in comparison with "Christian Antiquity." Indeed, Byzantine theology was an organic continuation of the Patristic Age. Was there any break? Has the ethos of the Eastern Orthodox Church been ever changed at a certain historic point or date, which, however, has never been unanimously identified so that the "later" development was of lesser authority and importance if of any?

Chapter 4.
The Earliest Christian Writers.

The Church’s Struggle with two Extreme Views of Jesus.

One of the earliest confrontations over the nature of Christ was the Church’s encounter with two extreme views, two very different views, two views, which Gregory Dix refers to as the Syrian and Hellenistic. There were points of agreement even with these two groups — they believed that God was one and that Jesus was God’s Messiah. We witness this encounter already in the Gospel of St. John, for there we are aware that the author is fighting on two fronts. One group is not convinced that Christ is in the full sense Divine. The other group cannot grasp the full humanity of Christ. For one group Jesus is a mere man; for the other Jesus the Christ is a divine apparition. Against the former the Gospel of St. John addresses the words: "but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in his name" (20:31). Against the other group, believing that God appeared on earth in human form but without any actual flesh and blood, the Gospel of St. John directs these words: "But one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and at once there came out blood and water. He who saw it has borne witness — his testimony is true, and he knows that he tells the truth — that you also may believe" (19:34-35).

There exists independent knowledge of these two heretical schools of thought. One is represented by a Jewish-Christian sect known as the Ebonite. In short, they taught that Jesus was a mere man who scrupulously observed the Law of Judaism and became the Messiah. The opposite extreme was represented by the Docetists. The term comes from the Greek δοκειν [to seem]. Serapion of Antioch (fl. 200) was the first to mention the Docetists by name — δοκηται. Docetism is much more a tendency, an attitude, than a unified doctrine or a unified group. The numerous Gnostic sects will all contain within their system the Docetist heretical tendency. In brief, the Docetists viewed the humanity and the sufferings of the earthly Christ as apparent rather than real. St. Justin Martyr refers to them as those "who claim that Jesus Christ did not come in flesh but only as spirit, and revealed an appearance — φαντασίαν — of flesh.” What is significant is that these two heretical schools of thought embrace two different views of Christology and these two different views are pointedly challenged already by the Christology of the Church as evidenced in the Gospel of St. John. One overemphasizes the manhood of Christ; the other overemphasizes the Divinity of Christ. Here, already, we see, though in a different historical context and in a different doctrinal context, the two emphases, which will be present later in a more sophisticated form in Nestorianism and Monophysitism — in terms of emphases, not of doctrinal content. No one but Harnack applied the term Adoptionists to the Ebonite and the term "Pneumatic" to the Docetists. The early Christian writers are constantly challenging these two tendencies.

The early Christian writers have the tendency to explicate God in His οικονομία, ad extra, in his revelatory self-disclosure and not to reflect at length on the nature of God in and of itself — ad se. To understand God in his revelatory self-disclosure is not incorrect but it is one-sided and ultimately inadequate. The understanding of the inner life of God is not only also necessary but it must presuppose the explication of God’s self-revelation, of God’s relation to the created world. From an historical perspective, from an understanding of the living reality in which the early Christian writers found themselves, their oikonomic approach is understandable. But because of this tendency, because of the lack of balance between a theology of God in himself and a theology of God in his relation to created existence, and because of imprecision in terminology certain problems inevitably occur — conflicting tendencies of Christological and Trinitarian thought arise already in the late second and third century. The theological breakthrough comes in a forceful presentation only with St. Athanasius. It is sufficient to call attention to that aspect of the early Christian writers, which reflects the understanding of Christ as God and hence provides the common ground for the definitions of the Ecumenical Councils, especially the Council of Chalcedon — Jesus Christ as fully God and fully Man.

St. Clement of Rome

St. Clement of Rome’s First Letter to the Corinthians is one of the oldest extra-Biblical documents of the Church. It was probably written in 96 or 97. The letter is primarily a pragmatic document, an exhortation to the Corinthian Church to obey the "rule of tradition," the deposit, which the apostles received from the Lord Jesus Christ — oι απόστολοι ήμιν ενηγγελισθησαν από τον κνρίον Ιησον Χριστον, Ιησους ό χριστός από τον θεον έξεπέμφθη. ό Χριστός ουν από τον Θeov, και oι απόστολοι από του Χριστου έγένοντο ουν άμφότερα εντάκτώς εκ θελήματος θεου (42). But it is clear that the entire pragmatic exhortation of this letter is based upon, assumes, the Divinity of Christ. This is all the more significant when one considers the "Judaistic and Stoic tone" of his letter. He writes (7): "We ought to… turn to the glorious and sacred rule of our tradition. Let us observe that which is good, that which is pleasing and acceptable to Him who made us. Let us fasten our eyes on the blood of Christ and let us realize how precious it is to his Father because it was shed for our salvation and it brought the grace of repentance to the whole world." This text speaks of cosmic redemption and connects the redemptive work of Christ to his Father. Implicit in this text is the fact that "his Father" refers to a unique relationship between Father and Son and not a general Fatherhood of God with all men, precisely because no man is capable of shedding blood that will redeem and bring the "grace of repentance" to the entire world. In chapter 21, St. Clement repeats the same idea: "Let us reverence the Lord Jesus Christ whose blood was given for us." In chapter 12, he writes similarly, "By the blood of the Lord, redemption was going to come to all who believed and hoped…" In chapter 49, the same idea is expressed but this time with an emphasis that may have reference to the Docetists: "Jesus Christ, our Lord, gave his blood for us, his flesh for our flesh, and his life for ours."

In chapter 16, St. Clement refers to "the Lord Jesus Christ" as "the sceptre of God’s majesty." Referring to God as Father, Creator, and Master of the universe, St. Clement writes, "He poured forth his gifts on them all but most abundantly on us who have taken refuge in his compassion through our Lord Jesus Christ, to who be glory and majesty forever and ever." Again, there is the connection between God the Father and Creator and "our Lord Jesus Christ." He then attributes eternal glory and majesty to "our Lord Jesus Christ," something that does not cohere if Jesus is not Divine — indeed, it would be bordering on blasphemy. In general, throughout the letter, St. Clement centres everything on Christ — the expression εν Χριστώ and the expression δια Ιησού Χρίστου are repeated often in the letter.

St. Clement refers to Christ as the image or mirror or reflection of God the Father: "This is how… we found our salvation, Jesus Christ, the high priest of our offerings… Through him we fix our gaze on the heights of heaven. In him, we see the mirror of God’s pure and transcendent face. Through him, the eyes of our hearts are opened. Through him, our foolish and darkened comprehension wells up to the light. Through him, the Master has willed that we should taste immortal knowledge." In this chapter (36), St. Clement continues with explicit thought: "For, because he reflects the splendour of God, he is as superior to the angels as his title is more distinguished than theirs... But of his Son, this is what the Master said: "You are my Son: today I have begotten you." Here, St. Clement clearly states that Christ is not of the an