A friend got the ball rolling on Facebook concerning the important question of missiology and theology, and that we should have theology that is intrinsically linked with mission. I was reminded of this piece of mine from a couple of years ago.
These are musings brought upon me by my friend Rick (who blogs over here) in an e-mail today as I plan some seminars on the Fathers. One of the hard sells these days can be the deep theology of the Church Fathers. What does homoousios have to do with me? I already know why Jehovah’s Witnesses are wrong; why discuss the patristic discussions of Christology? Isn’t it more important just to accept Jesus in your heart? This is all so impractical.
But Rick just sent me an e-mail challenging all of that. Where do we evangelicals tend to get our vision of mission? The Great Commission. What do we see happening there?
Then the eleven disciples went away into Galilee, into a mountain where Jesus has appointed them. And when they saw him, they worshipped him: but some doubted. And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, All…
I have been reading Origen’s On First Principles recently, and a thought came to me which had come to me before (you can thank me for being suitably vague later). This newly-recurring thought is that Origen and “Origenism” are the formative source and root for Christian controversy and Orthodoxy.
Now, you’re probably going to tell me that it’s actually biblical interpretation, such as the interrelation of Proverbs 8:22 with John 1. And you’d be right. But whose biblical interpretation do you think everyone was arguing about?
Case One: Arianism. Origen’s Christology, as represented both in On First Principles and his Commentary on John is subordinationist, and, although he does not believe, “There was when he was not,” he at times calls Christ “created” and could be read through an Arian viewpoint, especially given the lack of homoousios theology. However, in On First Principles, Origen is also fond of the image of the Son being like the rays of light from the sun — this is an image favoured by Athanasius, the great opponent of Arianism. Hm…
Case Two: Pneumatomachianism (aka Macedonianism, literally “Spirit-fighter-ism“). Origen’s theology of the Holy Spirit is relatively undeveloped, in my opinion. When, in On First Principles, he comes to discussing the Spirit, he gets himself sidetracked with a discussion about spirit more broadly. He once again has a subordinationist view, saying that the Father’s being overflows into the Son who overflows into the Spirit. The Spirit at times feels more like a personification of spirit, not necessarily a self-subsisting person or hypostasis.
This ambiguity of the treatment of the Third Person of the Holy Trinity ended up with Origenists such as the Pneumatomachians arguing against the Spirit’s divinity and other Origenists such as Didymus the Blind in On the Holy Spirit arguing for the Spirit’s divinity.
Case Three: The First Origenist Controversy. This controversy was specifically about Origen and some of his less … mainline … teachings and his approach to Sacred Scripture; some people (Epiphanius of Salamis, Jerome) were certain that he was an out-and-out heretic and deserved condemnation, and that his allegorical interpretations went too far. Others (John Chrysostom, John Cassian, Rufinus of Aquileia) argued that Origen was largely orthodox. In the heat of it all, Chrysostom ended up dead, Rufinus and Jerome ruined their friendship, and the golden age of Egyptian monasticism was gone forever.
His defenders found precisely where he was worth fighting for, and his opponents found the places where he was worth attacking. What constitutes orthodoxy was, as a result, more clearly defined, but, thanks, in the West at least, largely to Rufinus’ translations of Origen and John Cassian’s work in Gaul, allegorical readings of Scripture were never fully lost.
Case Four: The Cappadocian Fathers. Gregory Thaumaturgus was a student of Origen, and the Cappadocians (Basil the Great, Gregory of Nazianzus, and Gregory of Nyssa) were students of Thaumaturgus. They were also involved in the later stages of both the Arian and Pneumatomachian Controversies. Gregory of Nyssa was able to produce theological writings after the triumph of Nicene Orthodoxy in 381.
Within the bounds of the Niceno-Constantinopolitan understanding of the Trinity, these three Orthodox Fathers par excellence produced Trinitarian theology that follows the trajectory set out by Origen. Origen, unlike his Platonist predecessors, rooted the being of God (His ontology) in being a Father, not in being a Creator. This meant that there never was a time when the Father lacked the Son. It also meant that the Godhead is a distinct being from creation who depends not at all upon the created order. It also means that the very root and source of the universe is rooted in communion (see John Zizioulas, Being As Communion to have your mind blown on this count). These were points taken up by Athanasius, but their nuances were really explored and set forth for us by the Cappadocians.
Case Five: The Second Origenist Controversy. This was a controversy about a number of Origen’s cosmological statements that were being espoused by a group of “fanatical” Palestinian monks. In 553, in meetings before the Fifth Ecumenical Council (Constantinople II), Justinian and the Fathers determined that certain Origenist statements were outside the bounds of orthodoxy, and in the Acts of the Council itself, Origen and Evagrius are condemned outright as heretics.
This meant that such teachings as celestial bodies having souls or apocatastasis (seriously, get into Patristics for the awesome terminology) which teaches that at the end of all things God will reconcile all rational beings to Himself (presumably the Devil as well — Evagrius certainly thinks so) — such teachings are officially outside of orthodoxy. It also means that very few of Origen’s writings survive, and far fewer of Evagrius Ponticus’ — although one of his writings survived under St. Basil the Great’s name, another under Nilus. People will circulate what they wish, no matter how many books you burn.
In the end, so many of the big controversies of the early centuries of Christianity revolved around Origen, his understanding of Scripture and of God, and the Church’s understanding of Origen. He’s not exactly one of the early Christian theologians for one to start with, but he’s definitely worth reading, and certainly important.
I just returned from Cyprus, and one of the saints who figures largely in the church dedications of the island is St. Spyridon, one of the Fathers who made the journey to Nicaea in 325.
You can always tell St. Spyridon when you see him on a church wall (as on the exterior of St. Sozomen’s Church in Galata, Cyprus [my photo to the left]) because of his beehive hat. Spyridon was a literal shepherd before he became a spiritual shepherd (in Latin, that would be pastor). As a sign of his humble origins, he is always shown wearing this traditional Cypriot headgear.
The image to the left is from a large fresco of the Council of Nicaea (the whole thing is viewable here). It’s hard to tell because I didn’t have a good angle to take the photo (I took it from a good distance below the image), but Spyridon is pictured performing a miracle that tradition relates concerning his actions at Nicaea.
He is clutching in his fist a tile. Out of the top of the tile comes a flame, from the bottom drips water, and soil remains in his hand. This threefold nature of the tile was a refutation of Arius, showing how three things could share a single essence, an object lesson in the Holy Trinity.
Because what we have from the histories is brief, allow me to quote Socrates Scholasticus in full (from CCEL):
With respect to Spyridon, so great was his sanctity while a shepherd, that he was thought worthy of being made a Pastor of men: and having been assigned the bishopric of one of the cities in Cyprus named Trimithus, on account of his extreme humility he continued to feed his sheep during his incumbency of the bishopric. Many extraordinary things are related of him: I shall however record but one or two, lest I should seem to wander from my subject. Once about midnight, thieves having clandestinely entered his sheepfold attempted to carry off some of the sheep. But God who protected the shepherd preserved his sheep also; for the thieves were by an invisible power bound to the folds. At daybreak, when he came to the sheep and found the men with their hands tied behind them, he understood what was done: and after having prayed he liberated the thieves, earnestly admonishing and exhorting them to support themselves by honest labor, and not to take anything unjustly. He then gave them a ram, and sent them away, humorously adding, ‘that ye may not appear to have watched all night in vain.’ This is one of the miracles in connection with Spyridon. Another was of this kind. He had a virgin daughter named Irene, who was a partaker of her father’s piety. An acquaintance entrusted to her keeping an ornament of considerable value: she, to guard it more securely, hid what had been deposited with her in the ground, and not long afterwards died. Subsequently the owner of the property came to claim it; and not finding the virgin, he began an excited conversation with the father, at times accusing him of an attempt to defraud him, and then again beseeching him to restore the deposit. The old man, regarding this person’s loss as his own misfortune, went to the tomb of his daughter, and called upon God to show him before its proper season the promised resurrection. Nor was he disappointed in his hope: for the virgin again reviving appeared to her father, and having pointed out to him the spot where she had hidden the ornament, she once more departed. Such characters as these adorned the churches in the time of the emperor Constantine. These details I obtained from many inhabitants of Cyprus. I have also found a treatise composed in Latin by the presbyter Rufinus, from which I have collected these and some other things which will be hereafter adduced.
What I like about the story of St. Spyridon is the fact that he was made a presbyter for all the right reasons — it wasn’t because he had a clear singing voice for the liturgy, or because he was the only literate man in the village, or because he had the right educational credentials but because of holiness of life. He was so holy and had such spiritual authority that, although a simple shepherd, the people knew that he was the right man for the job.
This is a stark contrast with the lawyers and aristocrats who fill the clergy elsewhere in fourth century! It is a stark contrast to today where we are more concerned with one having the right training than we are with whether one is actually a spiritual leader. Perhaps seminaries and bishops should take the life of St. Spyridon to heart when they are seeking out and evaluating postulants for ordination. Imagine if we had a whole generation of clergy chosen for the holiness of their lives! We might even see spiritual fruit as a result!
Remember as well: God chooses the simple. Few of us are Origens — and he was branded a heretic post-mortem — but by the grace of Christ, many can be Spyridons.
The gospel is first and foremost about Jesus. Or, to put it theologically, it’s about Christology. Behind or underneath both kingdom and justification is the gospel, and the gospel is the saving story of Jesus that completes Israel’s story. “To gospel” is to tell a story about Jesus as the Messiah, as the Lord, as the Son of God, as the Savior.
2. My brother has been blogging about Renewal. He has evaluated several approaches taken by churches when they see their need for Renewal and is making a call (plea?) for Christocentric Renewal — that we will be renewed and grow spiritually only when we come nearer to Jesus and hold Jesus out for others.
3. Pope St. Leo Great’s Tome. I’m thick into a paper about St. Leo’s use of classical rhetoric in the Tome. I have thus been reading a lot about Christology. And rhetoric.
So the intersecting things are all about this two-natured God-man:
To be a Christian is to be focussed on Jesus and how he revolutionised the world. Through this attention turned to him and with faithful reading of Scripture and prayer, we are drawn nearer to him and the most holy and glorious Trinity. Our thought patterns change. We raise up holy hands in prayer and worship. We seek to live lives according that highest Good he set out for us in his life and in the pages of Scripture.
This inevitable fact of Christocentrism helps explain why the Christological debates of the fourth and fifth centuries could at times be acrimonious. It also reminds us that the questions they raise are important for our lives.
When we turn to the classics of Christianity — to great theological works such as the Tome of Leo or St. Cyril of Alexandria’s letters to Nestorius or to the great devotional and mystical works such as St. Thomas a Kempis’ Imitation of Christ or Lady Julian of Norwich’s Showings or to the great tradition of Christian prayer such as the hymns of Charles Wesley or the 1662 BCP — we are drawn towards Christ.
Hold onto him for dear life.
May this blog and the people and books it points to draw you ever closer to the living reality that is the risen, ascended Christ.
Pictured to the left is a giant icon of St. Mary “the Virgin” placed at the entrance to the Old City in Nicosia, Cyprus. Framing this image of the Mother of Our Lord are the words, “Iperayia Theotoke, soson imas“, which I like to translate as, “Supersaint Mother of God, save us.” This sort of behaviour on the part of the Church of Cyprus is the sort of thing that led one young Chinese man with whom I led Bible studies to say that the major religions of the world were Buddhism, people who believe the Bible, Islamists (his word, not mine), and people who worship Mary. It is also the sort of thing that makes me more, not less, comfortable with my Protestantism.
What bothers me with that icon is not that it exists at all — I see no reason why one ought not to put up a giant icon of St. Mary if one so wishes. I would rather it be one of the glorious icons of the crucifixion or resurrection, but, hey, that’s why I’m a Prot. Nor am I bothered by the word Theotokos, literally “God-bearer”, usually translated as “Mother of God.” I think that word is very important in our understanding of Who Jesus Is. I am bothered by the words “soson imas” — save us. Now, the devout, informed Orthodox will tell that it doesn’t mean the same thing as when they say “Kyrie Khriste, soson imas“, but the words are still the same.
Most Protestants, however, would have been stopped short at the word Theotokos, if not by Iperayia. It is impious, they will fervently tell you, to call Mary the “Mother of God.” Did the creator of the starry height have a mother? Was the originator of all that is, all that was, all that ever shall be begotten of a woman? Dare we to say that God, whom we all know to be the uncaused cause thanks to St. Thomas Aquinas, was begotten of a human being within time? Would it not be better to say that Mary was “Christotokos”?
Thank you for showing up, Nestorius. Of course, in real life, if you were named Nestorius and were saying those same things in the late 420’s in Constantinople, your sermon would have been shouted down somewhere around the word “impious”, and an angry mob would cry out for your deposition (in a mere twenty years, such angry mobs are calling out for blood, so Nestorius got it easy).
Question: Is Jesus Christ fully God?
Question: Seeing as how He is fully God, is He therefore creator of the starry height, the originator of all that is, all that was, all that ever shall be, the uncaused cause?
Question: Does Jesus Christ have a mother?
And you will say, “I know all this. But Christ Our Lord was born of Mary only of His human nature, not of His divine nature. As God, He was/is/is being/will be eternally begotten of the Father before all worlds.”
Indeed, God the Son only partook of the Blessed Virgin for His human nature. To say that she in any way imparted divinity unto Him is blasphemy. However, was the child born to her God? Yes, yes He was. And this is the scandal of the Incarnation.
You see, by limiting the role of Mary as Jesus’ mother to Christotokos, we limit His Incarnation. We confuse the question. There are and have been many heretics running about, some of whom imagine that divinity only came upon Jesus at His baptism in the Jordan or in the Transfiguration. There were and are others who believe that He grew into being God’s son and that he was just a dude upon whom the Logos of God descended. Others seem to think that He was/is St. Michael the Archangel. Others think He was just another one of God’s spirit babies up in heaven and that He lived a pure, spotless life but is not identical in substance with God.
Yet St. John of Damascus teaches us that Jesus is of the same essence as God the Father as well as of God the Holy Spirit. When Jesus was born, God was a man.
The fullness of the Godhead dwelt in Jesus. He was, by nature, God. He is, by nature, God. The child whom St. Mary carried in her womb was God. He took from her His humanity and became consubstantial with us thereby. He already had His divinity, already was consubstantial with the Father and the Holy Spirit.
Since God the Creator of the Universe was born as a child, she who bore Him in her womb is rightly called Theotokos, God-bearer, the Mother of God. It is a safeguard for the full divinity of Christ, a safeguard for the Incarnation. It is not a point of Mariology but a point of Christology.
Here are some highlights from St. John of Damascus’ On the Orthodox Faith, 1.8 (read it here for yourself!). Each paragraph is a separate quotation.
In treating, then, of the generation of the Son, it is an act of impiety to say that time comes into play and that the existence of the Son is of later origin than the Father. For we hold that it is from Him, that is, from the Father’s nature, that the Son is generated. And unless we grant that the Son co-existed from the beginning with the Father, by Whom He was begotten, we introduce change into the Father’s subsistence, because, not being the Father, He subsequently became the Father. For the creation, even though it originated later, is nevertheless not derived from the essence of God, but is brought into existence out of nothing by His will and power, and change does not touch God’s nature. For generation means that the begetter produces out of his essence offspring similar in essence. But creation and making mean that the creator and maker produces from that which is external, and not out of his own essence, a creation of an absolutely dissimilar nature.
But if we say that the Father is the origin of the Son and greater than the Son, we do not suggest any precedence in time or superiority in nature of the Father over the Son (for through His agency He made the ages), or superiority in any other respect save causation. And we mean by this, that the Son is begotten of the Father and not the Father of the Son, and that the Father naturally is the cause of the Son: just as we say in the same way not that fire proceedeth from light, but rather light from fire.
it is quite impossible to find in creation an image that will illustrate in itself exactly in all details the nature of the Holy Trinity. For how could that which is create and compound, subject to flux and change, circumscribed, formed and corruptible, clearly shew forth the super-essential divine essence, unaffected as it is in any of these ways? Now it is evident that all creation is liable to most of these affections, and all from its very nature is subject to corruption.
But the Son is derived from the Father after the manner of generation, and the Holy Spirit likewise is derived from the Father, yet not after the manner of generation, but after that of procession. And we have learned that there is a difference between generation and procession, but the nature of that difference we in no wise understand. Further, the generation of the Son from the Father and the procession of the Holy Spirit are simultaneous.
The subsistences then we say are perfect, that we may not conceive of the divine nature as compound. For compoundness is the beginning of separation. And again we speak of the three subsistences as being in each other, that we may not introduce a crowd and multitude of Gods. Owing to the three subsistences, there is no compoundness or confusion: while, owing to their having the same essence and dwelling in one another, and being the same in will, and energy, and power, and authority, and movement, so to speak, we recognise the indivisibility and the unity of God. For verily there is one God, and His word and Spirit.
For there is one essence, one goodness, one power, one will, one energy, one authority, one and the same, I repeat, not three resembling each other. But the three subsistences have one and the same movement.
the subsistences dwell in one another, in no wise confused but cleaving together, according to the word of the Lord, I am in the father, and the father in Me: nor can one admit difference in will or judgment or energy or power or anything else whatsoever which may produce actual and absolute separation in our case. Wherefore we do not speak of three Gods, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, but rather of one God, the holy Trinity, the Son and Spirit being referred to one cause, and not compounded or coalesced according to the synæresis of Sabellius.
Somehow, poor John Calvin has his name associated with a certain breed of hardheaded, argumentative, internet-addicted, theological-nitpicking jerk. This is really too bad because John Calvin (though I personally would not go so far as to say that he completed the Reformation that Martin Luther started) was a brilliant man who wrote insightful Bible commentaries and sound, orthodox theology. Besides that, lots of people of the Reformed/Calvinist position aren’t jerks and are open to thoughtful discussion of their beliefs, including things besides predestination again.
I’m not saying I agree with everything John Calvin ever wrote, especially regarding icons, and I’m not overly committed to the mechanics of predestination, but he is worth reading. And worth reading for more than predestination.
So if all you think of when you hear, “John Calvin,” are those hardheaded jerks and endless arguments about predestination, please read his words on the Holy Trinity here (for those with their own print copies of The Institutes of the Christian Religion, it’s Book I, Chapter 13).
There you will find defense of the word “person” as well as a very brief history of it and its use (nothing as mind-crushing as Zizioulas’ in Being As Communion), a defense of the divinity of both the Son and the Holy Spirit, and a discussion of how the Unity in Trinity runs down the middle course between Arianism on the one hand (only the Father is God) and Sabellianism on the other (all three are different “modes” of God’s being).
For those who are thinking, “You say The Shack isn’t really theology, but where do I turn?” Turn here! It is briefer than Augustine’s On the Trinity, more modern than Boethius. Here you will find the true, orthodox doctrine of the Most Holy Trinity expounded. It is honey and sweetness to your ears, balm to your soul! Read it and praise the Father, praise the Son, praise the Spirit — Three in One!
My musings upon the impact of the Desert Fathers are a reminder that the Mediterranean world of Late Antiquity is a very connected place, and thus patristic writers and thinkers do not operate in vacuums. There is, indeed, a fundamental interconnectedness of all things (to quote Dirk Gently as well as recall Robert E Webber, Ancient-Future Faith).
The ascetic world produces some of the interconnectedness, as seen in yesterday’s post. St. Athanasius and the Desert Fathers knew one another. He was not only the biographer of St. Antony, but a great theologian who lived with the abbas and ammas whilst in exile. Evagrius Ponticus came to the Desert from the court in Constantinople. He brought with him the teachings of Origen, and although he had to learn humility, there is no doubt that Origen and other non-monastic teachers had an impact upon the thoughts and lives of the abbas and ammas.
St. Basil the Great spent time with the monks of Egypt, after which he decided that coenobitic (or cenobitic) monasticism was the way forward, for how can you love your neighbour or be the servant of all if you live alone? Thus he wrote his Asketikon which influences Eastern Orthodox monasticism today. He was also a brilliant theologian, whose work On the Holy Spirit I have blogged about here. The relationship between Egyptian monasticism and St. Basil’s ascetic writings is worth exploring.
St. Basil wrote/edited a/the Divine Liturgy, the Eucharistic liturgy in Caesarea, Cappadocia. This work resounds with words, images, and ideas found in the later and more commonly used Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom in Constantinople. Both of them demonstrate that they are of the same lineage as the 1st-century Didache and second-century Apostolic Constitutions of St. Hippolytus in Rome. They are also clearly related to the liturgy of St. Gregory of the Great in the sixth century.
The liturgical world of worship was very much rooted in the same tradition, as we see in Taft’s work The Liturgy of the Hours in East and West where we see the daily office’s similarities in the Spanish, Celtic, and Roman traditions of the West, as well as of the Byzantine, Egyptian, Ethiopian, Assyrian, Indian traditions of the East. There is a common ancestry amongst all the historic churches of the world, and we see it in the fundamental interconnectedness of their worship.
It is present as well in the world of theology, although cultural and linguistic differences begin fraying the fabric of the Church Catholic by the fifth century at latest. St. Augustine’s teaching on the Trinity does not differ from the Cappadocians‘. The doctrine of impassibility — troubling to moderns — was held by so many so strongly that St. Cyril of Alexandria had to defend himself from accusations surrounding the alleged heresy of “theopaschism,” the idea that God can suffer.
The core of the faith, the rule of faith, is subscribed to by Justin, Tertullian, Irenaeus, and all the Fathers after Nicaea. There is one faith, one hope, one baptism, one God and Father of all.
I’m running out of specifics from my mind itself; I’ll write more on this later when I have my notes on hand. Keep a lookout! The tag will be interconnectedness.
Since I posted about his thoughts on the Holy Spirit this past Sunday, and since Sunday was also his feast by the old BCP calendar,* I’ve decided for this Doctor of the Church to be this week’s saint.
St. Basil the Great was born c. 329 in Caesarea Mazaca, Cappadocia, and fell asleep on January 1, 379, in Caesarea, Cappadocia.** He was born of a Christian family, with a grandmother who was a saint (St. Macrina the Elder) and a grandfather who was a martyr. His elder sister, St. Macrina the Elder, became a nun, and two of his brothers, Sts. Gregory of Nyssa and Paul of Sebaste became bishops. (They’re worse than my family!) For a brief note about St. Gregory of Nyssa and the Cappadocians, read my page here.
He studied as a young man at Caesarea, Constantinople, and Athens. He befriended St. Gregory of Nazianzus (also to become a bishop) during this time. He and Sts. Gregory of Nazianzus and of Nyssa are collectively known as the Cappadocian Fathers for their fundamental work combatting Arianism and articulating the Trinitarian faith.
Basil felt the allure of the monastic life, which was just taking off at this time, and spent time in Syria and Egypt, the home of the monastic movement (read about the Desert Fathers here). Thence he settled as an anchorite near Neo-Caesarea (c. 358). He left the life of solitude and anachoresis in 364 when Eusebius of Caesarea,*** his bishop, summoned him to defend orthodoxy against Arianism under the Arian emperor Valens.
In 370, he became Bishop of Caesarea upon Eusebius’ death. He spent the last nine years of his life preaching, teaching, writing, and shepherding his flock in Cappadocia, where he was not only a champion of orthodoxy but of orthopraxy as well, reaching out in ministries to the poor, such as a soup kitchen. He also wrote a Eucharistic liturgy, a form of which is used to this day by Eastern Orthodox Christians on January 1, when they celebrate his feast day, and during Lent. In 378, the orthodox Gratian became emperor, providing a foundation for the survival of Basil’s great work in defence of the orthodox faith.
On January 1, 379, “worn out by austerities, hard work, and disease,” (Oxford Dictionary of Saints) St. Basil the Great went to be with the most glorious Trinity.
I can only recommend, in all honesty, On the Holy Spirit and The Divine Liturgy out of his works, although they also include many letters and two so-called “regulae.” On the Holy Spirit gives a spirited defense of the orthodox faith that we have received from the days of the Apostles and is well worth reading. Using his keen intellect, and no doubt aided by that selfsame Spirit, he unlocks the mysteries of the Divine Three as he analyses both Scripture and Tradition. This is one of his most well-known and influential works. It is also not very difficult to read, is short, and won’t bore you. If you want help in understanding the Trinity and the Person of the Holy Spirit, I highly recommend this book. If you wish to be transported to heights of worship and praise of the One Who created and sustains us, I highly recommend this book.
If your worship and praise is seeking expression, I further recommend to you his Divine Liturgy, not to be confused with that of St. John Chrysostom, although both are worth reading. I read the edition published by Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese of North America. Although a Eucharistic liturgy, many of the prayers could be used by any Christian at any time. It also helps cast light on the prayer life of the Christian East and causes one to consider how exactly to approach Almighty God.
Although I have not read his “monastic” writings, I am interested to. This is in part due to my unflagging interest in monasticism, but also to the fact that, contrary to popular belief, these writings, Regulae Fusius Tractatae and Regulae Brevius Tractatae, or The Longer Rule and Shorter Rule, are not the rule of Eastern Orthodox monasticism; they no doubt influence, but the Eastern Orthodox are not divided into rules as the West was following Benedict. Each monastery establishes its own rule, and there are variations from place to place.
More to my interest regarding these monastic writings is the fact that Richard J Goodrich, in Contextualizing Cassian, observes that these Rules never use the word “monk” but always refer to “Christians.” Thus, he contends that the works were written by St. Basil for the use of the Christians in his diocese who were seeking a mode of life. These rules are theoretically for all Christians if Goodrich is right. I am not a monk; thus, these interest me.
How to Honour This Saint
I recommend that we honour this saint first and foremost by reading his works and learning more thoroughly about his life than I could provide here. We should emulate that life. We should try to grasp, as far as human minds are capable, the glory of the most holy Trinity; in so doing, we will undoubtedly see the incomprehensible Mystery at hand and be drawn to worship. This, indeed, St. Basil would approve. We should read his liturgy and try to make his prayers our own. Read his Rules and take their lessons to heart. In so doing, we will honour St. Basil the Great as well as Christ, and be conformed in the likeness of the spotless Lamb of God.
*Under the new calendar, he’s been moved to January 2. His death was January 1, but I think the feast is delayed a day so as not to share with the Naming of Jesus. The Eastern Orthodox celebrate his feast on the first, though.
**I am clueless as to whether these are the same city, and the brief articles on him seem to assume we all know which Caesarea everyone’s talking about. Help requested.
***Different Eusebius, different Caesarea. That one, writer of an Ecclesiastical History, died in 339.