Prayer and the Transformation of the Self in Early Christian Mystagogy (Late Antique History and Religion) 9789042936119, 9789042937772, 9042936118

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LATE ANTIQUE HISTORY AND RELIGION 18

PRAYER AND THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE SELF IN EARLY CHRISTIAN MYSTAGOGY edited by

Hans van Loon, Giselle de Nie, Michiel Op de Coul, and Peter van Egmond

foreword by

Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony

PEETERS

PRAYER AND THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE SELF IN EARLY CHRISTIAN MYSTAGOGY

Late Antique History and Religion General Editor Hagit Amirav (Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam) Series Editors Paul van Geest (Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam and Tilburg), Bas ter Haar Romeny (Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam), Gavin Kelly (Edinburgh) Advisory Board Averil Cameron (Oxford), Evangelos Chrysos (Athens), Elizabeth A. Clark (Durham, NC), Nina Garsoïan (New York), Christoph Markschies (Berlin), Fergus Millar (Oxford), Lorenzo Perrone (Bologna)

LAHR Volume 18 The Mystagogy of the Church Fathers Volume 5

Late Antique History and Religion is a peer-reviewed series.

PRAYER AND THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE SELF IN EARLY CHRISTIAN MYSTAGOGY edited by

Hans van Loon, Giselle de Nie, Michiel Op de Coul, and Peter van Egmond

foreword by

Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony

PEETERS leuven – paris – bristol, ct 2018

ISBN 978-90-429-3611-9 eISBN 978-90-429-3777-2 D/2018/0602/99 A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. © 2018, Peeters, Bondgenotenlaan 153, B-3000 Leuven, Belgium No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval devices or systems, without prior written permission from the publisher, except the quotation of brief passages for review purposes.

TABLE OF CONTENTS Acknowledgements ..................................................................................

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Foreword by Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony: Discerning Mystagogia and Pedagogia: Prayer and the Transformation of the Self in Early Christian Mystagogy...............................................................

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List of Contributors ................................................................................. xXIII Abbreviations ............................................................................................ xxv Introduction 1. In oratione forma est desideriorum. The Transformation of the Self and the Practice of Prayer in Early Christian Mystagogy: An Introduction................................................................................. Paul van Geest and Giselle de Nie 2. From Sacrificial Reciprocity to Mystagogy: Communal and Individual Initiation through Prayer .............................................. Gerard Rouwhorst

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Part 1: Beginnings 3. ‘So on Earth’: Liturgy from Heaven ............................................... Henk Bakker 4. Scripture as Initiator, Standard, and Prototype of Prayer in Clement of Rome’s First Letter to the Corinthians ...................... Benno Zuiddam 5. Prayer and Participation in the Eucharist in the Work of Ignatius of Antioch ........................................................................................... Peter-Ben Smit

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Part : Eastern Fathers 6. Origen on Parables and Prayer: Tensions between the Esoteric and the Universal............................................................................... 95 Marcel Poorthuis 7. Remembering God: Basil the Great’s Mystagogy of Prayer........ 111 Michel Van Parys OSB 8. Gregory of Nyssa as a Mystagogue: Macrina’s Final Prayer in Context ................................................................................................ 131 Nienke Vos

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9. Descending to Ascend: Prayer as Initiation into Divine Judgement in the Apophthegmata Patrum............................................... Joseph Lucas 10. John Chrysostom on Prayer, Song, Music, and Dance ............... Henk van Vreeswijk 11. ‘In the Posture of One Who Prays’: The Orans Position in Theodore of Mopsuestia’s Baptismal Rite ...................................... Nathan Witkamp 12. Prayer and Fasting in Cyril of Alexandria’s Festal Letters .......... Hans van Loon

157 173

191 209

Part : Western Fathers 13. The Concluding Prayers in Ambrose’s De institutione virginis and Exhortatio virginitatis ................................................................ Metha Hokke 14. ‘Ergo sic time Dominum, ut speres in misericordia eius’ (En. in ps. 146.20): Augustine on the Relationship between the Fear of God and Personal Prayer ................................................................. Paul van Geest 15. Spiritui requies adquirenda est: Augustine and the Prayer for the Deceased ............................................................................................. Paula Rose 16. Prayer, Desire, and the Image of God: Augustine’s Longing for God in His ‘Prayer to the Holy Trinity’ ......................................... Laela Zwollo

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Part : Comparisons 17. The Lord’s Prayer as Mystagogy from Origen to Maximus ........ 303 Andrew Louth 18. West and East: Prayer and Cosmos in Augustine and Maximus Confessor ............................................................................................ 319 Willemien Otten 19. The Mystagogical Psychology of the Greek Fathers and Prayer: A Diachronic Study ........................................................................... 339 Michael Bakker Part : Reception 20. Prayer Images as Transformers in Gregory of Tours: Desert and Relic Cult Traditions ......................................................................... 367 Giselle de Nie

table of contents

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21. ‘The Desert’, Sensory Delight, and Prayer in the Augustinian Renewal of the Twelfth Century ..................................................... 393 Mary Carruthers Bibliography ..............................................................................................

409

Index of Biblical References ...................................................................

447

Index of Names and Writings ................................................................

455

Index of Modern Authors .......................................................................

463

Index of Subjects ......................................................................................

473

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Most articles in this volume were originally presented as papers at the Second International Congress of the Netherlands Centre for Patristic Research, held in Utrecht on 26–29 August 2014 under the title ‘The Early Christian Mystagogy of Prayer’. We would like to thank the following organizations for making this conference possible by their financial support: the School of Catholic Theology at Tilburg University, the Theological Faculty at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, the Dutch Province of the Augustinian Order, and the Stichting Adrianus Fonds, Utrecht. We are also grateful to the Stichting Oudchristelijke Studiën and the Van Coeverden Adriani Foundation for their financial contributions to the publication of this book. Finally, we would like to express our thanks to Paul van Geest, who, as Director of the Centre for Patristic Research, initiated the series of international conferences on the theme of mystagogy, and has been a source of constant encouragement throughout the project. Hans van Loon, Giselle de Nie, Michiel Op de Coul, and Peter van Egmond Utrecht, April 2017

FOREWORD

DISCERNING MYSTAGOGIA AND PEDAGOGIA PRAYER AND THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE SELF IN EARLY CHRISTIAN MYSTAGOGY Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony

In his Homily on the Lord’s Prayer, Gregory of Nyssa lamented: The divine Word teaches us the science of prayer… Now, I make bold to add a little to what Scripture says; for the present congregation needs instruction not so much on how to pray, as on the necessity of praying at all, a necessity that has perhaps not yet been grasped by most people.1

Gregory was confronting a problem that was not unique to his community, and certainly his congregation was not less pietistic than others in Cappadocia. The palpable distress expressed in the Homily reflects the substantial task of a bishop in the second half of the fourth century to exercise his role as a mystagogue and to orient his congregation toward the divine. Gregory’s tension was that of a teacher who lived at a time when debates about the necessity of prayer, engaged in by Christians and non-Christians alike, had a direct bearing on the religious identity of society.2 For Gregory, prayer was the major mechanism of becoming a Christian in its most profound sense of the term, equal in importance to the performance of the liturgy, Eucharist and baptismal rite. The effect of prayer, which, like his predecessors, he conceptualized as a ‘conversation with God and contemplation of the invisible’, is ‘union with God’. Yet, as a bishop who felt the need to educate his flock, Gregory did not restrict his exhortation to such an elevated experience of God. Thus, in 1. Gregory of Nyssa, The Lord’s Prayer, Sermon 1, in Johannes F. Callahan (ed.), Gregorii Nysseni De Oratione Dominica, De beatitudinibus (GNO 7.2; Leiden, 1992), p. 5; ET: Hilda C. Graef, Gregory of Nyssa: The Lord’s Prayer; The Beatitudes (ACW 18; Westminster, MD–London, 1954), p. 21. 2. For comprehensive recent studies on this debate, see John Dillon and Andrei Timotin (eds.), Platonic Theories of Prayer (Leiden, 2016), and my essay ‘Theories of Prayer in Late Antiquity: Doubts and Practices from Maximos of Tyre to Isaac of Nineveh’, in Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony and Derek Krueger (eds.), Prayer and Worship in Eastern Christianities, 5th to 11th Centuries (London, 2017), pp. 10–33.

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his five homilies on the Lord’s Prayer, he signals the earthly benefits of prayer as well: ‘We obtain physical well-being, a happy home, and a strong, well-ordered society.’3 In a discourse laced with pedagogical tone and terminology, Gregory explained how to achieve the inner pure and virtuous disposition and the didaskalia of prayer. Arriving at the end of his fifth homily on the Lord’s Prayer, he asks pointedly: ‘What, therefore, does the exhortation of the prayer teach us?’ The essays in this volume reflect the efforts of Christian thinkers from ancient Christianity until today to answer this question. This perennial exertion meets the past decade’s remarkable surge of interest in aspects of religious life in Late Antiquity that concern becoming a Christian.4 Leaving aside the category of conversion, this volume suggests one direction, among many, for understanding the mechanism of being Christian, namely, the notion and praxis of mystagogy.5 The heads of the project define ‘mystagogy’ as follows: Mystagogy is regarded as a guided process of transformation, in which believers acquire an inner balance by a certain order of life, in that they become more receptive to God’s being and operation, without losing touch with everyday life and the community of faith.6

Such a broad definition invites theological and social discussions from various Christianities over a long period. The wide chronological span of the volume—from the end of the first century’s Clement of Rome up to the twenty-first century’s enthralling Oxfordian teacher and Metropolitan, Kallistos Ware—attests that the question of the necessity of prayer and its mystagogical role with regard to self-transformation continues to stimulate different answers to the very question of being Christian. Taken in its broadest sense, mystagogy is a pedagogical approach and tool that wields much influence on religious vitality and Christian culture. Mystagogy has served as a central concept to understand the new theological 3. Gregory of Nyssa, The Lord’s Prayer, in GNO 7.2, p. 8; ET: ACW 18, p. 24. 4. For what it was to ‘be Christian’, from multiple perspectives, see the volume edited by Carol Harrison, Caroline Humfress, and Isabella Sandwell, Being Christian in Late Antiquity: A Festschrift for Gillian Clark (Oxford, 2014). 5. For a fresh approach to what is conversion in Late Antiquity, see Averil Cameron, ‘Christian Conversion in Late Antiquity: Some Issues’, in Arietta Papaconstantinou, Neil McLynn, and Daniel L. Schwartz (eds.), Conversion in Late Antiquity: Christianity, Islam, and Beyond (Farnham, 2015), pp. 3–21. 6. Hans van Loon, Living in the Light of Christ: Mystagogy in Cyril of Alexandria’s Festal Letters (LAHR 15; The Mystagogy of the Church Fathers 4; Leuven, 2017), pp. 2 (n. 7) and 23. This definition is elaborated in Paul van Geest, ‘Studying the Mystagogy of the Fathers: An Introduction’, in Paul van Geest (ed.), Seeing through the Eyes of Faith: New Approaches to the Mystagogy of the Church Fathers (LAHR 11; The Mystagogy of the Church Fathers 3; Leuven, 2016), pp. 3–22, esp. pp. 6 and 20.

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discourse on prayer in early Christianity, extended by some authors to include later periods. The contributors here nevertheless agree about the flexible nature and different meanings implied in the concept of mystagogy. Moreover, they seek to inscribe the experience of mystagogy in quotidian life, to ground it in the performance of prayer and symbolic rituals, thus distinguishing their approach from ecstatic and transcendence piety. In combining prayer, mystagogy and self-transformation, many of the ideas and practices discussed here appear in light of Catherine Bell’s performance theory, according to which ritual is understood as ‘a set of activities that does not simply express cultural values or enact symbolic scripts, but actually effects changes in people’s perceptions and interpretations.’ According to her, ‘performance models suggest active rather than passive roles for ritual participants, who reinterpret value-laden symbols as they communicate them.’ Hence ‘ritual as a performative medium for social change emphasizes human creativity and physicality.’7 The perspective of mystagogy—which implies the creation of a formation process and symbolic systems—is identified as the heart of Christian experience in Christ, a continuous process of encountering the divine and even self-offering. Reading this volume through the lens of Bell’s insights helps us to discern the dynamic aspect of the ritual, the active imagery of performance, and the appropriation of symbols in different ways. These components seem of crucial importance to me in any attempt to understand the process of shaping the Christian praying self, in addition, of course, to the articulation of a formal system or a set of symbolic codes. Prayer and the Transformation of the Self in Early Christian Mystagogy is characterized by an un-phenomenological approach and thus leaves aside both literary patterns of prayer and well-defined sorts of prayer. Indeed, to a large extent, this volume represents the opposite demarche of the phenomenology of prayer as understood by Friedrich Heiler in the 1920s. In his attempt to classify prayers into categories, Heiler deliberately ignored treatises on prayer as well as hagiographic writings, leading to a discounting of the discourse on prayer in rich Late Antique corpora.8 The reduction of prayer to literary patterns of prayer blurs the psychological personal dimension of the topic as well as the particular voice of several patristic authors. Conversely, a glance at this volume reveals 7. Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (Oxford, 1997), pp. 73–74. 8. Friedrich Heiler, Das Gebet. Eine religionsgeschichtliche und religionspsychologische Untersuchung (Munich, 1921), English trans. by Samuel McComb, Prayer: A Study in the History and Psychology of Religion (Oxford–New York, 1932; reprinted 1997).

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the varied literary genres treated and the complexity of the subject. By dealing with the performative aspects of prayer rather than with its phenomenology, Prayer and the Transformation of the Self in Early Christian Mystagogy denotes an important move in the study of prayer. This shift in methodology, consciously or unconsciously promoted, marks a shift of interest. The essays in this volume engage in a new conversation that links two major subjects relating to change and continuity in Late Antique Christian history, namely, the transformation of the self and prayer.9 The definition of mystagogy in this volume is openly challenged in the essays of Nienke Vos and Andrew Louth, while other authors stick to it, pointing to the wide range of mystagogical teachings in Patristic literature through the performance of fasting, prayer, symbolic sacrifices and bodily movements. Andrew Louth ponders how the Christian practice of mystagogia developed in response to the changing social and political situation of the Early Church. He distinguishes three periods in which the meaning and function of mystagogy has changed, and discerns the centrality of the Our Father in the Church’s catechesis. First is the period of persecution up to the beginning of the fourth century and what he terms ‘the sudden change in the condition of the Church in the Roman Empire with the conversion of Constantine.’ Although I do not share the narrative of ‘sudden change’, nor do I conceptualize Constantine’s Church policy in terms of ‘revolution’, I do agree that we can detect the exclusive components of mystagogical discourse in the early days of Christianity. I prefer to approach the role of the mystagogue in the first period, as Richard Gordon has termed it in another context, as ‘a mediator of religious options’.10 For example, Ignatius of Antioch and Clement of Rome (discussed in part I), perceived themselves as pedagogues engaged in Christian education of their communities and were active in a world that had vast and competing religious systems. The second period, according to Louth’s chronological division of mystagogy, was the transitional 9. The bibliography on both topics is enormous. An excellent orientation in prayer in Eastern and Western Late Antique Christian culture is provided by Lorenzo Perrone, La preghiera secondo Origene: L’impossibilità donata (Brescia, 2011). In order to discern the changes with regard to the subject of the self, Christopher Gill’s study is indispensable, The Structured Self in Hellenistic and Roman Thought (Oxford, 2006). See also David Brakke, Michael L. Satlow, and Steven Weitzman (eds.), Religion and the Self in Antiquity (Bloomington, 2005), in which the subject of the self is problematized from different perspectives and current trends are examined. 10. Richard Gordon, ‘Individuality, Selfhood and Power in the Second Century: The Mystagogue as a Mediator of Religious Options’, in Jörg Rüpke and Greg Woolf (eds.), Religious Dimensions of the Self in the Second Century CE (Tübingen, 2013), pp. 146–72.

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period of the fourth century—about which we know from the catechetical homilies of Cyril of Jerusalem, and many leading figures, for instance, John Chrysostom, Ambrose, Theodore of Mopsuestia and Augustine, and with which some papers in this volume deal. The third stage, which Louth marks with Maximus the Confessor’s Mystagogia, stressing that ‘from being the process of becoming a Christian’, it came to refer to the continuous process of being/becoming a Christian, focused on participation in the Eucharist and the transmutation of the participation in the Eucharist. Louth explains that Maximus—who addressed ‘an apparently highranking devout Christian’—presents the Lord’s Prayer as an epitome of the whole theology, aiming for prayer to be the ‘mystery of deification’. When Maximus wrote in the seventh century, the theology of the Lord’s Prayer and the discourse on personal prayers were well integrated in the religious life of Christians. However, Christian thinkers in the first and the second periods were troubled by the question of what it means to be a Christian. From Prayer and the Transformation of the Self in Early Christian Mystagogy the answer is clear: rather than theological investigation about and utterance of the Creed, being Christian entails the performance of a set of rites of passage in which prayer is central. This historical picture is well traced and known. What, then, is the contribution of the present work? Before answering this question, I wish to note that this volume continues from the point at which the first volume of the research project stopped. The proceedings of the first conference, Seeing through the Eyes of Faith,11 conceptualize the Church Fathers as mystagogues and treat classic texts and subjects in which the concept of mystagogy is conspicuous. Taking a different tack, in the present volume the notion of mystagogy is not always explicit. Reading this book through the lens of Bell’s synthesis of performance theories discloses the sophisticated approach embedded in several essays and their contribution to unveiling the pedagogical and transformative dimensions of texts in which those topics are not obvious. Indeed, the centrality of prayer in ascetic literature—or as Gregory of Nyssa has articulated, ‘Prayer is the seal of virginity’12—is apparent, but the study of prayer has long been a subject of theological deliberations, mainly in the liturgical context, and not treated as part of the formation of ascetic culture and the discourse on Late Antique spiritual exercise.13 11. See n. 6. 12. Gregory of Nyssa, The Lord’s Prayer, in GNO 7.2, p. 8; ET: ACW 18, p. 24. 13. For instance, prayer was not included in P. Hadot’s model of spiritual exercises; see my article ‘Demons and Prayers: Spiritual Exercises in the Monastic Community of Gaza in the Fifth and Sixth Centuries’, Vigiliae Christianae 57 (2003), pp. 200–207.

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As Columba Stewart wrote in his article ‘Prayer’, ‘Even the recent strong interest in early Christian asceticism has focused more on sexuality, diet, gender, and questions of authority than on the devotional practices of ascetic men and women.’14 He traces this reticence to the elusiveness of the subject of prayer and the paucity of traditional kinds of scholarly evidence. This volume contributes precisely in this direction. Mystagogy and personal prayer are not always easily discerned in the extant patristic texts of the fourth-fifth centuries. This is not the case, however, in early Christian writings, for instance, in Ignatius of Antioch’s letters (see Peter-Ben Smit’s essay on ‘Prayer and Participation in the Eucharist’) and the letters of Clement of Rome. Discerning mystagogy in later periods demands a nuanced reading of the sources. Nienke Vos offers such a treatment, exploring the multifaceted conception of mystagogy through the lens of prayer in the Life of Macrina, mainly in chapter 24, and applying the notion of prayer in a wider sense. Following Derek Krueger—who in Writing and Holiness understands Macrina’s prayer and life as essentially equivalent, thus applying the notion of prayer in a broader sense to a life of holiness and its narrative—Vos merges the notions of mystagogy and prayer, all the while distinguishing various forms of prayer. In combining the insight of writing as holiness in hagiographies with the mystagogical perspective, Vos launches a conversation with Paul van Geest’s essay ‘Athanasius as Mystagogue in his Vita Antonii’, with which she has been able to find some shared terminology.15 Moreover, building on Krueger’s insights, namely, that the act of writing of the Vita is liturgical in nature and that the Life of Macrina is a sort of offering, and drawing on Pierre Maraval’s recognition of reminiscences of liturgical formulae and biblical texts in prayers in the Life of Macrina,16 Vos claims that this is a way to see Gregory the mystagogue at work: ‘He teaches his readers to pray, thereby guiding them to the core of Christianity…’ In addition, Vos notices that the Psalms ‘punctuate the rhythm of her [Macrina] life as she recites them at the proper times of the day.’ That the discourse on prayer interweaves biblical passages is well traced in patristic and monastic literature. As Benno Zuiddam argues in his 14. Columba Stewart, ‘Prayer’, in Susan Ashbrook Harvey and David G. Hunter (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies (Oxford, 2008), pp. 744–63. 15. Paul van Geest, ‘Athanasius as Mystagogue in his Vita Antonii’, in Paul van Geest (ed.), Athanasius of Alexandria: New Perspectives on his Theology and Asceticism (Leiden, 2010), pp. 199–221. 16. As has been demonstrated by Pierre Maraval, Grégoire de Nysse: Vie de sainte Macrine (SC 178; Paris, 1971), pp. 68–77.

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chapter on ‘Scripture as Initiator’, Christian prayer was not an independent phenomenon but in many ways a response to Scripture. It is in Scripture that Clement of Rome, in his First Letter to the Corinthians, discerns the voice of God, and in prayer that he responds. Zuiddam demonstrates that the topics, contents and words for his prayers are largely derived from Scripture, which is particularly evidenced by numerous literal quotes. In line with studies that confirm the centrality of the Scriptures in the formation of monastic praxis and the construction of the ascetic self, Joseph Lucas unfolds the interplay between scriptural exegesis and the mystagogy of prayer in the Apophthegmata patrum and later Byzantine monastic literature from Gaza and Sinai.17 Psalms, however, clearly provided the language of prayer in ascetic culture, as attested in the Life of Macrina, and seems to have been the norm in Late Antiquity.18 Indeed, it is quite striking that epigraphic prayers from fifth-sixth century Palestine and Arabia, in the public and private spheres, are taken verbatim from Psalms.19 Much scholarly interest in the past decades concerning the function of Psalms has been discussed in relation to Evagrius Ponticus’s prayer theory and the formation of the ascetic self in the desert tradition.20 Thus, in his essay on ‘Remembering God’, Michel Van Parys enlarges the scope of this ongoing discussion about the affinity of prayer and Psalms by including Basil’s way of weaving Psalms into his discourse on prayer. Basil, he explains, ‘regarded the Psalms as the school of prayer for everyone’, and his own homilies on the Psalms are his mystagogical voice. Basil in Homily on Psalm 1 claims that praying by singing psalms soothes the passions, brings about harmonious love in the Church, and chases away the Devil. Basil’s words here seem to anticipate what will be in a few 17. Lorenzo Perrone, ‘Scripture for a Life of Perfection. The Bible in Late Antique Monasticism: The Case of Palestine’, in Lorenzo DiTommaso and Lucian Turcescu (eds.), The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity. Proceedings of the Montréal Colloquium in Honour of Charles Kannengiesser, 11–13 October 2006 (Bible in Ancient Christianity 6; Leiden–Boston, 2008), pp. 393–417; David Brakke, ‘Reading the New Testament and Transforming the Self in Evagrius of Pontus’, in Hans-Ulrich Weidemann (ed.), Asceticism and Exegesis in Early Christianity: The Reception of New Testament Texts in Ancient Ascetic Discourses (Göttingen, 2013), pp. 284–99. 18. Columba Stewart, ‘The Use of Biblical Texts in Prayer and the Formation of Early Monastic Culture’, American Benedictine Review 61 (2011), pp. 193–206. 19. Leah Di Segni, ‘Expressions of Prayer in Late Antique Inscriptions in the Provinces of Palestina and Arabia’, in Bitton-Ashkelony and Krueger, Prayer and Worship in Eastern Christianities, pp. 63–88. 20. Luke Dysinger, Psalmody and Prayer in the Writings of Evagrius Ponticus (Oxford, 2005); Columba Stewart, ‘Psalms and Prayer in Syriac Monasticism: Clues from Psalter Prefaces and their Greek Sources’, in Bitton-Ashkelony and Krueger, Prayer and Worship in Eastern Christianities, pp. 44–62.

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years a major theme in Evagrius Ponticus’s ascetic theory. Evagrius perceives the performance of Psalms as the very essence of the ascetic and contemplative life, during which the monk purifies his soul from evil thoughts and passions, seeking to reach harmony in his inner self (for example, Scholia on Psalms 150:3–6). In his treatise On Prayer (83) Evagrius epitomizes: ‘Psalmody calms the passions and puts to rest the body’s disharmony’,21 a subject that is deeply discussed by Luke Dysinger, Psalmody and Prayer, and in the specific context of Evagrius’s Antirrhêtikos by David Brakke.22 Despite his Cappadocian origins and his relationship with Gregory of Nazianzus and Basil, the probable impact of Basil on Evagrius’s theory has not yet been seriously considered. From this point of view Van Parys’s essay, though not discussing Evagrius, could stimulate a new line in the study of the origins of Evagrius’s theory and the function of the Psalms in ascetic culture. Moreover, despite Basil’s undeniable and abiding influence on the formation of ascetic culture and monasticism in the Eastern and Western part of the Empire, his thoughts on the practice of prayer and psalmody have not yet gained sufficient scholarly attention, and the recent vogue of prayer studies seems to skip him.23 We might account for this by the fact, as already mentioned by Jean Gribomont in the 1960s, that unlike his brother Gregory of Nyssa and other Late Antique Christian writers, Basil did not write a treatise on prayer or homilies on the Lord’s Prayer. Van Parys’s contribution goes a step further in filling this gap, despite his hesitance about studying patristic literature on the Psalms: ‘The literature of the Church Fathers on the Psalms should not be treated as scholarly or academic’, he asserts. I do not share his view, but recall to the reader Christoph Markschies’s essay, ‘Patristics and Theology: From Concordance and Conflict to Competition and Collaboration?’, in a volume on Patristic Studies in the Twenty-First Century. Markschies suggests reconciling theologia patristica and patristic studies instead of separating the two by embracing ‘a new approach based on hermeneutics and philosophy’.24 21. Evagrius Ponticus, De oratione 83, in PG 79, col. 1185B; ET: my own. 22. Luke Dysinger, Psalmody and Prayer; regarding On Prayer 83, see his comments, pp. 88–96. David Brakke, Evagrius of Pontus. Talking Back: A Monastic Handbook for Combating Demons (Cistercian Studies 229; Collegeville, MN, 2009), pp. 1–40. 23. To the bibliography on Basil’s prayer provided by Van Parys we can suggest also Filoramo who deals precisely with the prayer of remembrance of God, G. Filoramo, ‘Mneme Theou e preghiera continua in Basilio’, in La preghiera nel tardo antico, dalle origini ad Agostino (Rome, 1999), pp. 179–87. 24. Christoph Markschies, ‘Patristics and Theology: From Concordance and Conflict to Competition and Collaboration?’, in Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony, Carol Harrison, and

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One of the intriguing issues with regard to prayer and self-transformation invoked in Giselle de Nie’s chapter on ‘Prayer Images as Transformers in Gregory of Tours’ is: How can a mental image effect a transformation? This question becomes acute when we bear in mind the famous new category of imageless prayer developed by Evagrius Ponticus, and the fiery prayer associated with Cassian. More precisely, de Nie looks at prayer in the fifth-century hagiographic and monastic repertoire, the Apophthegmata patrum, Cassian’s writings and the Historia monachorum. All are recommended readings by Gregory of Tours for his monks, as he attempts to explain the mechanism of prayer in the monastic culture. Though it is easy to share the view that prayer is ‘a mirror of monastic culture’,25 her investigation foregrounds the active role of symbols, and not only words and texts. Scholars have long recognized that the performance of bodily gestures in prayer are not merely physical movements, but carry deep symbolic theological meaning.26 Thus, an essay on bodily postures is especially welcome in a volume on prayer and the transformation of the self. Nathan Witkamp treats Theodore of Mopsuestia’s theory of bodily posture in the baptismal rite, and construes it as a harmonious movement that involves the soul and the right disposition of the heart as well. It is worth noting that already Origen’s theory of prayer includes both an interior and a bodily state. The exterior disposition of the body is part of the spiritual exercise of prayer that unifies body, soul, and spirit.27 Witkamp demonstrates that the performance of the orans position in Theodore of Mopsuestia’s baptismal homilies does not always carry the traditional interpretation of the gesture as a sign of the cross. To become initiated into the Church, the candidate participates in an exorcism rite conducted by a particularly appointed exorcist ¿çÚãÎã), who plays the role of ‘advocate’ and defends the baptismal candidate against the Devil. Theodore describes the posture taken by the baptized during Theodore De Bruyn (eds.), Patristic Studies in the Twenty-First Century: Proceedings of an International Conference to Mark the 50th Anniversary of the International Association of Patristic Studies (Turnhout, 2015), pp. 367–88 (p. 388). 25. Lorenzo Perrone, ‘Prayer as a Mirror of Monastic Culture in Byzantine Palestine: The Letters of the Hesychast Euthymius to Barsanuphius’, Proche-Orient Chrétien 60 (2011), pp. 257–90. 26. See, for example, Uri Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer: A New Approach to Jewish Liturgy (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism Series; Tübingen, 2004); Gabriel Bunge, Earthen Vessels: The Practice of Personal Prayer According to the Patristic Tradition, trans. Michael J. Miller (San Francisco, 2002), pp. 138–86; Sabino Chialà, ‘Prayer and the Body according to Isaac of Nineveh’, in Bitton-Ashkelony and Krueger, Prayer and Worship in Eastern Christianities, pp. 34–43. 27. Perrone, La preghiera secondo Origene, pp. 458–63.

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this rite, a scene symbolizing a sinful state and evoking penitence. The candidate who stands naked ‘with outstretched arms in the posture of one who prays’ enacts the symbol. Broadening the spectrum and going beyond the explicit mystagogical elements, Metha Hokke considers how images function in a performative public context by examining Ambrose’s prayers in De institutione virginis and Exhortatio virginitatis. Exploring various imageries of virginity, such as wedding, sacrifice or living spiritual temple, Hokke argues that Ambrose transcends the conventional virginity metaphor and uses those prayers ‘to present his life’s work to God in a prayer: the building up of a Nicene Church, and, in this context, his contribution to the propagation and institutionalization of virginity as his episcopal sacrifice that purifies the Church.’ A further performative approach is taken by Henk Bakker with regard to the heavenly liturgy in the Book of Revelation, chapters 4–5. Bakker analyzes the liturgical context and the function of the symbols, reading the prayer in Rev. 5:9–10 as a means of mystagogical involvement. By participation in the performance of the celestial liturgy, John shapes his role on earth. Bakker understands the dramatic performative event of ‘the enthronement ceremony, the atmosphere of prayer, adoration and bliss’ as a transformative scene in which John is transformed into a prophet. The singing, proclaiming, and outbursts of adoration, together with the visions ‘turn the heavenly sanctuary into an instrument of mystagogical formation’. The issues pursued in Bakker’s and Witkamp’s essays exemplify the active and transformative power of symbols in prayer and mystagogical discourse. In the same vein of mystagogical performance, Hans van Loon concentrates on a festal letter of Cyril of Alexandria in which prayer and fasting are linked to the point of simultaneous activity. Fasting, he explains, is a precondition for entering the Holy of Holies, ‘the modes of mystical perfection’. Van Loon contextualizes the letter in the period of dogmatic controversies, written at the end of 429, in the midst of the Nestorian controversy, all the while explaining why Cyril here—but not elsewhere—relates the two practices. From van Loon’s investigation, it emerges that Cyril used the performative linkage of prayer and fasting as a rhetorical device to capture the attention of his readers in a period of storming theological controversies. The paradox of desire, fear and love of God pithily emerges from the essays of Paul van Geest and Laela Zwollo on Augustine. Van Geest interrogates prayer and the inner interaction with God, focusing on the ways Augustine relates fear (timor, metus) and prayer. He perceives

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Augustine as an ‘extraordinary mystagogue’ who attempted to orient the emotions of his readers, ‘as a mystagogue, who wants to take along his reader and transform him in his dialogue with God.’ Van Geest argues that Augustine strove to cultivate not fear of God and punishment as such, but fear of God as the initial stage of man’s spiritual development; for van Geest, Augustine seeks to downplay fear in spiritual life. He traces the sophisticated exegetical approach of Augustine, who sought to direct the feeling of believers toward hope. Laela Zwollo, for her part, analyzes Augustine’s last words in De Trinitate, namely, ‘Prayer to the Holy Trinity’. Leaving aside the important question of why Augustine chose this form of articulation to top off his trinitarian ruminations, this prayer articulates an ardent desire for God, as do many of Augustine’s prayers. Zwollo convincingly argues that Augustine identifies three elements—mind, knowledge and love—as a kind of mental trinity in which he engages in his prayer. In my view, this ‘mental trinity’ reflects the spiritual exercise of prayer as a trinitarian ontology in which prayer becomes a sort of cogitatio Dei, and prayer itself an endless desire for and journey toward God. Augustine’s theory of prayer raises linguistic problems, or as Gérald Antoni puts it: ‘La prière: Une aventure du langage’ or rather ‘une course au silence’.28 In both essays, however, Augustine appears not only as an ‘extraordinary mystagogue’ for his readers and community, but as a highly sophisticated self-mystagogue, who guided himself through prayer and fervent love in an inner and introspective journey, willing himself away from fatigue. Taken as a whole, the volume brings greater clarity to the question of how Christian thinkers understood the role of prayer in being Christian and in a process of renewal of the self. While in the past decades the subject of the self and its transformation has become rather fashionable in Late Antique studies, it is only recently that scholars have begun to appreciate prayer as a major mechanism for shaping the self and identities in Late Antiquity.29 From this viewpoint, the contribution of Prayer and the Transformation of the Self in Early Christian Mystagogy to our understanding of the topic is notable. The multiplicity of perspectives on mystagogy and prayer in this volume reveal leading Christian thinkers and the texts they produced in a less theoretical and more educative and performative light, despite their decided theological tone. This brings to my mind Mark Vessey’s essay ‘La patristique, c’est autre 28. Gérald Antoni, La prière chez saint Augustin: D’une philosophie du langage à la théologie du Verbe (Collection philologie et mercure; Paris, 1997), pp. 9 and 49. 29. Lorenzo Perrone, ‘Prayer and the Construction of Religious Identity in Early Christianity’, Proche-Orient Chrétien 53 (2003), pp. 260–88.

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chose’.30 Vessey traces with great finesse, while discussing the methodological positions of André Mondouze and Peter Brown, the ‘ambivalence of patristics between literary/textual and historical/documentary regimes of philology’, the tension between literary and theological vocations, and the role of philology. The literary ‘effects’ of early Christian texts are not confined to a single academic discipline: there is always ‘something else’.

30. Mark Vessey, ‘“La patristique, c’est autre chose”: André Mondouze, Peter Brown, and the Avocations of Patristics as a Philological Science’, in Bitton-Ashkelony, Harrison, and De Bruyn, Patristic Studies in the Twenty-First Century, pp. 443–72.

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Henk Bakker is Extraordinary Professor of Baptist History, Identity, and Theology at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam and a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Michael Bakker is Director of the Amsterdam Centre for Orthodox Theology (ACOT), a research fellow at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, and a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony is Associate Professor at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, where she holds the Martin Buber Chair in Comparative Religion. From 2010 to 2017 she was also the Director of the Center for the Study of Christianity at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Mary Carruthers is Remarque Professor Emeritus of Literature, New York University, and Fellow (Quondam) of All Souls College, Oxford. Giselle de Nie is Associate Professor Emeritus of Medieval History at Utrecht University and a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Metha Hokke is a PhD student at the School of Catholic Theology at Tilburg University and a junior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Rev. Andrew Louth is Professor Emeritus of Patristic and Byzantine Studies at Durham University. Rev. Joseph Lucas is a PhD student at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. Michiel Op de Coul is a lecturer in Classics at Tilburg University and a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Willemien Otten is Professor of Theology and the History of Christianity at the University of Chicago Divinity School. Marcel Poorthuis is Professor of Interreligious Dialogue at Tilburg University and a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU).

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Paula Rose teaches Classics at St. Bonifatiuscollege in Utrecht and is a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Gerard Rouwhorst is Professor Emeritus of Liturgical Studies at Tilburg University and a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Peter-Ben Smit is Professor of Contextual Biblical Interpretation in the Dom Helder Camara Chair at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, and Extraordinary Professor of Ecclesiology of the Early Church (as well as for the history and doctrine of Old Catholicism) on behalf of the Old Catholic Seminary at Utrecht University. Peter van Egmond is a researcher at the Protestant Theological University (Amsterdam/Groningen), and a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Paul van Geest is Professor of Church History and the History of Theology at Tilburg University and Endowed Professor of Augustinian Studies at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. He is the Director of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Hans van Loon is a senior researcher at the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU), and at the Tilburg School of Catholic Theology. Dom Michel Van Parys OSB is Abbot Emeritus of the Monastery of Chevetogne and editor-in-chief of Irénikon.  Rev. Henk van Vreeswijk is a PhD student at Tilburg University and a junior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Nienke Vos is Associate Professor of Early Christian Greek and Latin at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam and a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Nathan Witkamp is the Academic Coordinator and a Lecturer at the Evangelical Theological Academy, the Netherlands, and a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU). Benno Zuiddam is associated with North West University, South Africa. Laela Zwollo specializes in Early Christianity and Greek Philosophy in the field of Ancient History Studies, and is a senior research associate of the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO; TiU-VU).

ABBREVIATIONS 1 Cl. ACO ACW Adv. Haer. ANF ANRW Asc. magn. Cat. ad ill. CCCM CCSG CCSL Conf. CPG CPO CSCO CSEL CSS De ador. De civ. De cura Doctr. chr. DOML EF En. in ps. Enchiridion Eph. ep(p). Ep. ex. ET Exh. Exp. in ps. Exp. Ps. 118 FC FOTC GCS Gen. litt.

Clement of Rome, Epistula ad Corinthios Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Ancient Christian Writers Irenaeus, Adversus Haereses Ante-Nicene Fathers Hildegard Temporini and Wolfgang Haase (eds.), Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt Basil the Great, Asceticon magnum (CPG 2875) John Chrysostom, Catecheses ad illuminandos (CPG 4465–72) Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis Corpus Christianorum Series Graeca Corpus Christianorum Series Latina Augustine, Confessiones Clavis Patrum Graecorum Centrum voor Patristisch Onderzoek = Netherlands Centre for Patristic Research Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum Cistercian Studies Series Cyril of Alexandria, De adoratione et cultu in spiritu et veritate (CPG 5200) Augustine, De civitate Dei Augustine, De cura pro mortuis gerenda Augustine, De doctrina christiana Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library Cyril of Alexandria, Epistula festalis Augustine, Enarrationes in psalmos Augustine, Enchiridion ad Laurentium, seu de fide, spe et caritate Ignatius of Antioch, Epistula ad Ephesios epistula(e) Ambrose, Epistulae extra collectionem English translation Ambrose, Exhortatio Virginitatis John Chrysostom, Expositiones in psalmos (CPG 4413) Ambrose, Expositio Psalmi 118 Fontes Christiani Fathers of the Church Die Griechischen Christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram l. xii

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GNO HE Historiae Hom. Hom. cat. Hom. in ps. In 1 Cor. hom. In 1 Tim. hom. In Col. hom. In Eph. hom. In Isaiam In Jo. In Joh. hom. In Matt. hom. In ps. In xii proph. Inst. Instituta JAC JThS KAV LAHR LCL LLT LQF Magn. MGH SSrM Nestle28 NHC NICNT NPNF Odes Sol. PG Phil. PL

abbreviations Gregorii Nysseni Opera Eusebius of Caesarea, Historia ecclesiastica (CPG 3495) Gregory of Tours, Historiarum libri x Homilia(e) Theodore of Mopsuestia, Homiliae catecheticae (Liber ad baptizandos) Basil of Caesarea, Homilia in psalmum (Homiliae super psalmos) (CPG 2836) John Chrysostom, In epistulam i ad Corinthios homiliae (CPG 4428) John Chrysostom, In epistulam i ad Timotheum homiliae (CPG 4436) John Chrysostom, In epistulam ad Colossenses homiliae (CPG 4433) John Chrysostom, In epistulam ad Ephesios homiliae (CPG 4431) Cyril of Alexandria, Commentarius in Isaiam prophetam (CPG 5203) Cyril of Alexandria, Commentarii in Johannem (CPG 5208) John Chrysostom, In Johannem homiliae (CPG 4425) John Chrysostom, In Matthaeum homiliae (CPG 4424) In psalmum Cyril of Alexandria, Commentarius in xii prophetas minores (CPG 5204) Ambrose, De institutione virginis John Cassian, De institutis coenobiorum et de octo principalibus vitiorum remediis Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum Journal of Theological Studies Kommentar zu den Apostolischen Vätern Late Antique History and Religion Loeb Classical Library Library of Latin Texts Liturgiegeschichtliche Quellen und Forschungen Ignatius of Antioch, Epistula ad Magnesios Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores rerum Merovingicarum Barbara Aland et al. (eds.), Novum Testamentum Graece (28th ed.; Stuttgart, 2012) Nag Hammadi Codex New International Commentary on the New Testament Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers Odes of Solomon J.-P. Migne (ed.), Patrologiae cursus completus, Series Graeca Ignatius of Antioch, Epistula ad Philadelphienses J.-P. Migne (ed.), Patrologiae cursus completus, Series Latina

abbreviations PPS PTS Q.Thal. Reg. brev. tract. Reg. fus. tract. Rom. SAEMO SC SEA SH Smyrn. ST SVChr Test. Jos. TiU TLG Trin. TTH TU Virg. Vid. VMc Vrgt. VU WBC WS WSA WUNT ZAC

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Popular Patristics Series Patristische Texte und Studien Maximus the Confessor, Quaestiones ad Thalassium (CPG 7688) Basil the Great, [Asceticon magnum:] Regulae brevius tractatae (CPG 2875) Basil the Great, [Asceticon magnum:] Regulae fusius tractatae (CPG 2875) Ignatius of Antioch, Epistula ad Romanos Sancti Ambrosii Episcopi Mediolanensis Opera Sources chrétiennes Studia ephemeridis Augustinianum Subsidia hagiographica Ignatius of Antioch, Epistula ad Smyrnaeos Studi e Testi Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae Testament of Joseph Tilburg University Thesaurus Linguae Graecae Augustine, De Trinitate Translated Texts for Historians Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur Ambrose, De Virginibus Ambrose, De Viduis Gregory of Nyssa, Vita Macrinae, in Pierre Maraval (ed.), Grégoire de Nysse: Vie de Sainte Macrine (SC 178; Paris, 1971). Ambrose, De Virginitate Vrije Universiteit (Amsterdam) Word Biblical Commentary Woodbrooke Studies The Works of Saint Augustine. A Translation for the 21st Century Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum / Journal of Ancient Christianity

Introduction

Chapter One

IN ORATIONE FORMA EST DESIDERIORUM. THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE SELF AND THE PRACTICE OF PRAYER IN EARLY CHRISTIAN MYSTAGOGY: AN INTRODUCTION Paul van Geest and Giselle de Nie

In sermo 80, Augustine tells the members of his audience that they must long ardently for the eternal benefits, such as eternal life, immortality of the body and the soul, the heavenly city, eternal dignity, the Father and the fatherland: benefits that can be anticipated on earth through longing. At the same time, he assumes that this longing is a form of constant prayer, even if the tongue is silent: ‘desiderium semper orat, etsi lingua taceat’.1 Augustine thus conceives of this emotional ground force as a form of prayer: he regards the longing for higher things – the aeterna beneficia – as a continuous prayer, which moreover creates within humans the ability to be receptive to this prayer and to be completely filled by it.2 Similarly, in sermo 56, a sermon on the Our Father preached to catechumens who had been admitted to the final stage of preparation for baptism, he assigns a lower status to vocal prayer when he indicates that God granted this desire to human beings so that they might long for what is articulated in the Our Father.3 His advice is to use as few words 1. Sermo 80.7, in PL 38, cols. 493–98, esp. col. 497: ‘Aeterna vero beneficia sunt, primum ipsa vita aeterna, incorruptio et immortalitas carnis et animae, … civitas coelestis, dignitas indeficiens, Pater et patria, …. Haec beneficia toto ardore desideremus, omni perseverantia petamus, non sermone longo, sed teste gemitu. Desiderium semper orat, etsi lingua taceat. Si semper desideras, semper oras’. 2. Augustinus, In epistulam Ioannis ad Parthos IV.6. For the interrelationship of desire and prayer in Augustine’s thought see also P. van Geest, ‘Order, Desire and Grace: Thomas à Kempis’ Indebtedness to St. Augustine’, in N. Staubach and U. Bodemann (eds.), Aus dem Winkel in die Welt. Die Bücher des Thomas von Kempen und ihre Schicksale (Tradition – Reform – Innovation. Studien zur Modernität des Mittelalters 8; Frankfurt am Main, 2006), pp. 139–57. 3. Sermo 56.3.4 (… De oratione dominica ad competentes), in Patrick Verbraken, ‘Les sermons ccxv et lvi de Saint Augustin: De symbolo et De oratione dominica’, Revue Bénédictine 68 (1958), pp. 26–40, on p. 27: ‘Sed ideo voluit ut ores, ut desideranti det, ne

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as possible: God already knows what is necessary for humankind.4 However, in one of his Enarrationes in psalmos, Augustine emphasizes that praying the Psalms verbatim means that the person who prays makes the words of Christ into his own words. In this case, Augustine assumes that Christ, in whom all of time and space is contained, himself already prays, laments, and exults in the Psalms, even before humanity does so: ‘His voice, which in all psalms either exults or laments or rejoices in hope or sighs because of the presence of the longed-for, should be familiar to us, as if it were our own voice.’5 Words are necessary here to be able to pray properly and reach God with certainty. Whether a human being prays by becoming aware of the longing for the aeterna beneficia that is created within himself, or by praying the Psalms, thus inserting himself into Christ’s prayer of all times by using the words of Christ: in both cases Augustine heightens the consciousness that prayer possesses a transformative power. He also assumes that the practice of prayer, whether it is vocalized or not, implies or even requires a transformation. The two forms of transformation are therefore connected. Developing a practice of prayer is thus an essential part of mystagogy in the wider sense of the word: a transformative process that ‘suspends the boundaries of human existence and transforms it into an expectant openness to the divine mystery’.6 But Augustine’s sermo 56 (De oratione dominica ad competentes) also shows that learning how to pray was regarded as an indispensable part of mystagogy in the stricter sense of the word – the initiation of catechumens – during the first centuries of Christianity. This sermon shows that in the Early Church, as the Didache taught, initiation itself through the rites of baptism and the Eucharist was preceded by a period of learning and practice, a period during which the mystagogue taught the catechumens how to pray.7 vilescat quod dederit: quia et ipsum desiderium ipse insinuavit. Verba ergo quae docuit Dominus noster Iesus Christus in oratione, forma est desideriorum’. See also Enarrationes in psalmos 144.1. 4. Sermo 56.3.4, in Verbraken, ‘Les sermons ccxv et lvi de Saint Augustin’, p. 27: ‘Nolite ergo multum loqui: quia novit quid vobis necessarium sit’. 5. Enarrationes in psalmos 42.1, in E. Dekkers and J. Fraipont (eds.), Enarrationes in Psalmos I-L (CCSL 38; Turnhout, 1956), pp. 474–81, on p. 474; ET: my own; see also Enarrationes in psalmos 86.1, in E. Dekkers and J. Fraipont (eds.), Enarrationes in Psalmos LI-C (CCSL 39; Turnhout, 1956), pp. 1198–1207, on p. 1198. 6. K. Waaijman, Spirituality: Forms, Foundations, Methods (Studies in Spirituality, Supplement 18; Leuven, 2002), p. 870. 7. See Th.M. Finn, From Death to Rebirth: Ritual and Conversion in Antiquity (Mahwah, 1997), p. 189, for references. See also: A. Triacca and A. Pistoia (eds.), Mystagogie: Pensée liturgique d’aujourd’hui et liturgie ancienne. Conférences Saint-Serge. XXXIXe semaine d’ études liturgiques. Paris, 30 juin – 3 juillet 1993 (Rome, 1993); Enrico Mazza, La

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The explanation of the Our Father belonged to the final stage of the initiation into the mysteries of the faith, just before the catechumen was accepted into the community.8 Fully in line with Hellenistic, Jewish, and Christian tradition, Ambrose, Augustine’s own mentor, attached great importance to keeping the Our Father and the Creed secret in order to prevent desecration.9 It is likely that Augustine as a mystagogue also observed this secrecy. Be this as it may, the practice of prayer and mystagogy are inseparably linked, whether mystagogy is understood in its wider or its stricter sense. This is why the second International Patristics Conference organized by the Centre for Patristic Research (CPO) at Tilburg University and Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam focused on early Christian mystagogy in relation to prayer and learning how to pray. The Centre for Patristic Research’s first international conference initiated the study of the Church Fathers as mystagogues, because this approach does more justice to the Fathers’ own intention in writing their works or sermons than regarding them as theologians avant la lettre does. Early Christian writers did not primarily seek to offer rational reflection on the faith as an objective in its own right. The short statement that Cyril of Jerusalem makes before the first of his mystagogical catechetical lectures shows that his primary aim was not so much to inform neophytes of the doctrines that were being developed in Christianity at the time. His main objective was to clarify the spiritual significance of the sacraments (mysteria) which they had received during the Easter vigil.10 In the Early Church, the mystagogue’s objective was first and foremost to initiate a process intended to effect an existential transformation through rituals, the explanation of stories and images from biblical traditions, and catechesis.11 Furthermore, personal development in early Christian mystagogy went hand in hand with the introduction of the initiate into the community, and his or her taking on of a new

mistagogia. Le catechesi liturgiche della fine del quarto secolo e il loro metodo (Bibliotheca Ephemerides Liturgicae, Subsidia 46; Rome, 19962). 8. Cf. Finn, From Death to Rebirth, p. 244; A. de Jong-van Campen, Mystagogie in werking. Hoe menswording en gemeenschapsvorming gebeuren in christelijke inwijding (Zoetermeer, 2009), p. 51. 9. Ambrosius De Cain et Abel, I.9.35 (Our Father); Explanatio Symboli ad Initiandos 12.26–27. Cf. De mysteriis I.2. 10. Cyril of Jerusalem, Catéchèses mystagogiques 1.1. 11. See Paul van Geest, ‘Studying the Mystagogy of the Church Fathers. An Introduction’, in: Paul van Geest (ed.), Seeing through the Eyes of Faith: New Approaches to the Mystagogy of the Church Fathers (LAHR 11; The Mystagogy of the Church Fathers 3; Leuven, 2016), pp. 3–22, esp. p. 17.

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identity, either in the group of beginners or in the group of advanced students.12 Wilhelm Dilthey (1833–1911) unintentionally provided the hermeneutical basis for this understanding of the Church Fathers as primarily mystagogues. Dilthey assumed that there was a connection between experience (Erlebnis), expression (Ausdruck), and understanding (Verstehen).13 The experience of the apostles who followed Christ is an experience that the mystagogue has also had himself through some form of expression, such as a treatise, a dialogue, a sermon or a colloquy, a prayer or a song. By expressing it himself, he attempts to give his audience the same experience in turn. He is not concerned with explaining (erklären) Christ’s human nature, as a doctor might do, but with charting a path of formation along which the mystagogue realizes the ‘reproduction’ of ‘extraordinary life’, in this case: the life of Christ.14 Precisely because the Ausdruck is realized in mystagogy in its wider as well as in its strict sense, through historical forms and linguistic means, insights from anthropology, literary studies, psychology, history or theology can serve to gain insight into the ‘methods’ that the mystagogue uses. It was for this reason that the previous volume, a general introduction entitled Seeing through the Eyes of Faith: New Approaches to the Mystagogy of the Church Fathers, studied the Church Fathers from an interdisciplinary perspective. The first part of this book presented research of the interaction between rhetorical, polemical, and apologetic strategies on the one hand, and the existential transformation-focused mystagogy of the East and the West on the other. The second part considered the intertwining of catechetical and polemical purposes in 12. See for the interaction between Jewish and Christian traditions in the first centuries of Christianity with respect to the practice of prayer and its community-building aspect: A. Gerhards, A. Doeker, and P. Ebenbauer (eds.), Identität durch Gebet. Zur gemeinschaftsbildenden Funktion institutionalisierten Betens in Judentum und Christentum (Studien zu Judentum und Christentum; Paderborn–Munich–Vienna–Zürich, 2003), pp. 13–19, and G. Rouwhorst, ‘The Roots of the Early Christian Eucharist: Jewish Blessings or Hellenistic Symposia?’, in A. Gerhards and C. Leonard (eds.), Jewish and Christian Liturgy and Worship. New Insights into Its History and Interaction (Jewish and Christian Perspectives 15; Leiden–Boston 2007), pp. 295–308. 13. See for the explanation of Dilthey’s concepts of Erlebnis, Ausdruck, Verstehen, van Geest, ‘Studying the Mystagogy’, pp. 13–15 (‘mystagogy, hermeneutics, spirituality, pedagogy and psychagogy’). This introduction also explains the roots of Christian mystagogy in Judaism, Hellenistic mystery religions, and in philosophical schools, and gives a historical overview of the first developments in Christian initiation. It also considers the confidentiality aspect, the phasing of the process of mystagogy, and the rediscovery of mystagogy in the second half of the twentieth century. 14. See for the expression ‘reproduction of strange life’: W. Dilthey, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 7 (Stuttgart–Göttingen, 19582), pp. 329–30.

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explaining the Creed as a mystagogical exercise, and the third charted the function of images and of the visual symbolism of the mystagogy of the first centuries. Philological, art historical, and theological research converged in these sections. The fourth part also took literary historical, philological, liturgical, and theological perspectives to examine the function of initiation rituals such as baptism and the Eucharist, and the specifically liturgical aspects of the transformation process: ‘mystagogy’ in the formal sense of the word. The fifth part looked at the wider meaning of ‘mystagogy’ as a starting-point, and identified phases in more existential processes of transformation. The sixth and final part developed this further by looking at works in which martyrdom is presented as a path of formation. This volume thus sketched the first outlines and focuses of the emerging field of research of the mystagogy of the Church Fathers.15 The present volume contains the papers of a second, more specialized, congress, entitled ‘The Early Christian Mystagogy of Prayer’, held in Utrecht on 26–29 August 2014. It focused on how the Church Fathers conceived prayer as an aspect of a process of progressive transformation, and as a means to achieve an awareness of God as Mystery, with whom one could, paradoxically, communicate in prayer. In the essays collected here many aspects and dimensions of the mystagogy of early Christian prayer are examined: different kinds of prayer, their antecedents and their development over time; their historical, theoretical, and ritual contexts and meanings; and their noetic, imaginative, and physical strategies. Gerard Rouwhorst’s introductory overview of the phenomenon of Christian prayer deserves a more detailed summary. He contends that Christians transformed the prayer patterns they inherited from both Judaism and the Greco-Roman religions. The prayers of the Greeks and the Romans were based on the idea of reciprocity, were connected with sacrifices, and did not aim at the inner transformation of the praying subject. In addition, the Greeks and the Romans did not have regular prayer times. Jewish sacrifice had become restricted to the Temple, and its destruction by the Roman army in 70 ce therefore meant that prayer gradually became dissociated from animal sacrifice – although the concept of sacrifice continued as a metaphor. This process resulted in practices which had a crucial influence on the development of Christian 15. Cf. within this context also the Dutch Annual Lectures in Patristics, which increasingly focus on aspects of the mystagogy of the Church Fathers: Guy G. Stroumsa, The New Self and Reading Practices in Late Antique Christianity (Dutch Lectures in Patristics 3; Leiden, 2015).

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prayer: a new type of prayer arose, longer and more institutionalized, more or less fixed in form and content, and recited at fixed times during the day or week. Standardization and the emergence of daily and weekly prayer rhythms offered new possibilities for initiating individuals and communities into central religious concepts and practices. Christian prayer developed from this and also built on Greco-Roman patterns, but at the same time practices were created that had no direct parallels in the ancient world. There was an emphasis on the spirituality of prayer, including on the importance of the right inner attitude. And, in line with Paul’s injunction to ‘pray without ceasing’ (1 Thess. 5:17), the theme of ‘continuous prayer’ recurs in many early Christian authors. In addition, the changing historical situation of the Church influenced the character of prayer. During the first three centuries, when Christians formed a minority in society, it tended to be improvised, taking place primarily in private surroundings; the imperial favour shown to Christianity from the fourth century onwards permitted it to become more ritualized, while publicly accessible Church buildings became the new setting for prayer. Rouwhorst pays special attention to the monastic concept of prayer as found in the works of Evagrius Ponticus (346–99) and John Cassian (c. 360–435), which he regards as specifically mystagogical. Prayer is embedded in the monk’s spiritual journey to his ultimate destination, that is, communion with God, and the transformation he undergoes during this journey. Central elements are the struggle against the passions evoked by demons; an intense interplay between prayer and meditation on biblical texts, especially the Psalms; the notion of unceasing prayer; and that of contemplation beyond words, thoughts and images. In order to discuss the mystagogical aspects of the prayers of the Christian community, Rouwhorst offers a comparison of Eucharistic prayers in the West and the East. Whereas the emphasis in the Roman Canon lies on the sacrifice of thanksgiving, a number of Eastern anaphoras contain a larger anamnetic part, which recounts the history of salvation, and an epiclesis, an invocation of the Holy Spirit upon the gifts and upon the faithful. He concludes that Eastern Eucharistic prayers focus more on the transformation of the faithful and are, therefore, more mystagogical than their Western counterparts. Examining the evidence in chronological order, Part I begins with the highly symbolic testimony of the Book of Revelation, written probably around 95 ce in and for a Christian community in Asia Minor, which is among the earliest instances of Christian notions and images of prayer. Henk Bakker describes how, in the Book of Revelation, the author was

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initiated, as it were, into a state conducive to communication with the divine by being brought to a realm of prayer and adoration, and by being asked to ‘eat’ or take to heart a scroll, a symbol of the divine text. This prepared him mystagogically to see the heavenly events, represented in symbols, as the ultimate reality of creation and of history, and to prophesy about them as a warning to the people in the world to prepare themselves for the imminent Last Day. The divine message is the reassurance that prayers are indeed heard in heaven, and that the mystagogical experience of imitating on earth the worship and prayers of the heavenly liturgy will transform a person’s heart and save them from the imminent violence of the End. This mystagogical theme returns in later writings and also appears to have played a significant role in popular piety. Towards the close of the first century, Clement of Rome, an associate of the apostle Paul, contended in his first letter to the Corinthians that divine revelation in Scripture is the catalyst that induces the response of human prayer. Benno Zuiddam describes how, in Clement’s view, Scripture is where God speaks to men through the Holy Spirit. Its oracles elicit and require the response of the human prayer of repentance, in similar words and with similar content, and with the confidence that these prayers will be heard. By acquiring thorough knowledge of the Bible, which significantly included the Psalms and the prophets, and by continuing to respond in this way, the praying subject was able to internalize its content and wording, and would thus be gradually conformed to the divine precepts and standards to which he was responding. The underlying notion is that this kind of imitation accumulatively creates an inner resemblance to the original that is being imitated, and thus in turn causes a receptivity to it, foreshadowing the later mystagogical monastic practice of almost or totally continuous prayer and prayerful meditation. Peter-Ben Smit analyses the Eucharistic prayer described in the letters of Ignatius of Antioch († c. 108) as mystagogy. Ignatius writes that the inner experience of the event expressed in this embodied prayer effects communion not only with God but also with the other participants through the fact that everyone is in Christ. It deepens and confirms the individual’s Christian identity as a member of a unified community under the bishop. Part II examines the contribution of the Eastern Fathers. For Origen of Alexandria (c. 185–254), prayer was primarily the asking for spiritual insight and spiritual growth, and was therefore intrinsically mystagogical. As Marcel Poorthuis shows, Origen regarded it, together with baptism

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and the Eucharist, as an indispensable visible communal activity of human beings, in harmony with the invisible assistance of the angels. However, in his view true spiritual growth is inseparable from having a deeper understanding of the hidden wisdom of Scripture – something that can be acquired only through assiduous effort, even though it is also a gift of grace. It was therefore reserved for what he regarded as the true Church: those Christians who are able to devote themselves to this. There is an obvious tension here between two views: that of a church that is egalitarian through prayer, and that of a church that is elitist because membership requires sustained effort and deeper understanding. Origen’s view of the parables illustrates this problematic standpoint. Whereas rabbinic literature regarded parables as tools to clarify the Torah, Origen saw them as veiled references to a mystery that was not directly accessible to the masses. Nevertheless, he did point to prayer as an important means of spiritual growth, as a way, open to everyone, into the manifold mysteries of the faith. Ironically, Origen’s systematic allegorical method of explaining biblical texts was later used by Church Fathers as a prime preaching strategy to make the mysteries of Scripture comprehensible to the uneducated masses. Michel Van Parys OSB describes the singing of the Psalms and the constant remembrance of God, both traditions from ‘the desert’, as the two most important aspects of Basil the Great’s (329/330–378) mystagogy of prayer. Basil teaches that the Holy Spirit works through the singing of the Psalms to initiate us into the mysteries of salvation, and to lead us to a life of virtue. For Basil, the Apostle Paul’s injunction to ‘pray without ceasing’ means that human beings, whether they are part of an ascetic community or live in the world, should remember God in all that they do and think. This remembrance of God is our natural response to God’s revelation of himself through creation and through Scripture. This brings together many  themes treated in this  volume.  Basil not only taught others how to pray, but also lived what he taught, as a living example. Nienke Vos analyses the mystagogical dimension of Gregory of Nyssa’s spiritual biography of his sister, the Life of Macrina (written c. 381). In this work, he refers to different kinds of prayer, and constructs various levels of mystagogy: the angel of light who leads the saint, the woman herself who guides her brother, and the author who instructs his readership. He presented the narrative of his sister’s holy life as a model to be imitated and internalized by Christians who wished to lead an ascetic life. The focal point of the treatise, and the most audacious mystagogical step that Gregory takes in the Vita Macrinae, is her final prayer, presented in the first person, as an example intended to be repeated, appropriated,

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and personalized by the reader. By inviting the reader to identify with the saint as well as with Christ on the cross, Gregory offers a double mystagogical movement: one that leads into the practice of prayer and one that leads into the framework of his beliefs. In Late Antique Christian monasticism there was an interplay between scriptural exegesis and the mystagogy of prayer. Joseph Lucas notes that for the fourth- and fifth-century Desert Fathers, a particular kind of prayer could also effect an initiation into the divine Judgement. In the late fourth-century Apophthegmata patrum: Alphabetical Collection Luke’s parable of the publican’s humble prayer and the Pharisee’s self-righteous prayer (Luke 18:9–14) presents a model of how God will judge his servants. For the monks, it becomes a mystagogical pattern which informs all aspects of their spiritual life. Interpretation and application of this biblical passage caused the monks to envisage prayer and asceticism as simultaneously a descent to humility and an ascent to God. Whereas self-exaltation will incur condemnation, voluntary self-condemnation or humility in prayer and in life in general – a descending inner movement with a constant awareness of the impending Judgement – will deserve the vindication that is ascent into heaven. The spiritual dynamic here is inversion. At the same time, it was a strategy for purifying and transforming the heart. A number of later ascetic writers continued to use this theme. But although the teachings of the Desert Fathers laid the foundation of ascetic literature in general, the principle of vindication by self-condemnation eventually almost disappeared. Only in the Eastern Orthodox Church did it survive through Byzantine hagiography, and it can still be found in present-day Eastern Orthodox ascetic writers. Henk van Vreeswijk asserts that the gift of inner transformation and renewal of the image of God received at baptism is the foundation of John Chrysostom’s (c. 347–407) preaching. Christ and the Holy Spirit are the authors of the actual transformation, but human worship also plays an important part. He visualized choirs of angels and other heavenly inhabitants singing the Sanctus along with the present earthly community ‘in an act of mystagogy’, especially in the monastic sphere. The image of singing together with the angels in heaven returns prominently in later authors. Chrysostom’s references to musical instruments, which had negative associations with paganism at the time, are only as metaphors of body parts; the body itself thus also almost becomes a metaphor. And instead of dancing, which was prominent in licentious pagan wedding celebrations, Chrysostom insists on striving for silent reverence. Starting from this, he writes, the community’s singing in unison with the angelic choirs also becomes mystagogy: a transforming experience.

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Nathan Witkamp argues in his examination of the baptismal homilies by the West-Syrian mystagogue Bishop Theodore of Mopsuestia (c. 350– 428) that bodily postures during the prayers of the baptismal rite may themselves have had a mystagogical function. Early Christian praying had been practised either standing (in church) or kneeling (expressing humility when asking for forgiveness). Origen, among others, regarded standing with elevated arms and eyes as the most appropriate posture to be in harmony with the praying subject’s inner disposition. Although this posture was essentially the same as that used in Greco-Roman religion and in Judaism, Christians gave it their own interpretation: as symbolizing the subject’s belief in the cross of Christ. Theodore’s description of the different prayer postures as expressions of the initiand’s successive inner dispositions during the various parts of the baptismal rite does not, however, mention this symbolism explicitly. The author suggests that Theodore’s omission of the cross symbolism may reflect the replacement of a focus on Christ by an impersonally worded Trinitarian confession. The last Eastern Father discussed here is Cyril of Alexandria (c. 378– 444). Hans van Loon shows how his festal letters guided the faithful in respect of prayer and fasting. These letters mention various kinds of prayer, but not very frequently, simply because it presupposes them. Cyril encourages his addressees to pray in praise and thanksgiving, and sometimes also to pray by way of supplication or to confess their sins. Prayer and fasting are complementary, as fasting is not only a physical practice but a spiritual one that, with divine help, can overcome evil passions. As a gesture of purification and humility, fasting also strengthens the prayer of supplication. If you are obedient to God, Cyril writes, you can expect your prayers to be heard. The Lord’s Prayer is not mentioned in these letters, however. A prolific writer of biblical commentaries, Cyril relies on the authority of Scripture for his spiritual advice, but also uses examples from daily life – for instance that growth follows toil – to motivate his readers to pray and fast. Although he refers to reward and retribution, his emphasis is on the grace of God. Part III, about the Western Fathers, begins with Metha Hokke’s discussion of the mystagogical function of virginity imagery in the closing prayers of Ambrose’s (c. 339–97) treatises on virginity. The images he uses there are those of a wedding and a sacrifice – both images of transformational religious experiences with ancient precedents. Ambrose intended the internalization of these prayers to lead, at some level, to an imaginative or emotional experience of these transformations that would

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open the heart to Christ. Today this kind of process is known to psychologists as involuntary mimesis, but it can be enhanced through conscious intentionality. On the one hand, Ambrose’s advice was intended to be an incentive for male and female virgins, on the other, a stimulating example of religious experience for all the baptized. Thus he also narrowed the gap between these groups and the Church as a whole. The next four essays examine that inexhaustible treasure of Christian thought, the writings of Augustine of Hippo (354–430), focusing in particular on his views on prayer as mystagogy. Paul van Geest’s essay enquires into the relationship that this Church Father may have seen between fear and prayer. Augustine does not refer to fear in the letter to Proba. In the Confessions, which are a continuous dialogue with God, he does not portray God as fearsome; on the contrary, his attempt to make his own confession of imperfection and sinfulness coincide with God’s greatness points to the opposite. When the Church Father is forced to speak of the fear that the Psalms mention, he describes it, together with despair, as feelings that lead to perdition, and stresses hope of mercy. The only function of fear, he writes, is to safeguard man from pride; it is the beginning of love and desire for God, and it points ahead to joy. The ‘conversational prayer’ that Augustine has with his tremendous yet intimate God in the Confessions, a God in whom he wishes to abandon himself, is a form of mystagogy that is far removed from the self-condemnations that certain Desert Fathers pronounce before the fearsome divine Judge of their imagination. As Paula Rose shows, several of Augustine’s writings attempt to redirect his readers’ attention from external means of commemoration of the dead, such as burial near the saints and meals on their grave sites, to more spiritual ones. In Augustine’s view, intercessory prayer, the celebration of the Eucharist, and giving alms to the poor are the true rituals of commemoration. Only these rituals – celebrated as they are within the Church’s liturgical framework – have an effect on the repose of the deceased, to the extent that they had earned enough merit during their lives. Augustine’s promotion of the practice of praying for the deceased instead of burying them near the graves of saints is not only intended for people who cannot afford such burials, but it also constitutes a mystagogical approach. Its aim is to effect a subject’s inner contemplation of the fate of the deceased, still part of the Church of Christ, as their own future state. Laela Zwollo analyses the mystagogical dimension of a fragment of prayer at the end of Augustine’s De Trinitate (XV.28.51) which refers to the image of God in man. A central focus here are the themes of love and

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longing or desire treated in books VIII–XIII, which are also at the heart of his general teaching on prayer. For him, they are both gifts from God. Prayer is an act of desire and of love, and love is the compelling force behind all spiritual development and fulfilment. In this prayer he asks God to ensure that he will keep searching; the continuous ‘finding of God’ is the increasing awareness of his love and his presence, an awareness which increases the praying subject’s self-knowledge and renews his internal image of the divinity. Part IV of this volume compares the views of the Eastern and Western Fathers on certain subjects and/or their development over time. Andrew Louth shows how changing historical circumstances influenced the experience and meaning of the Lord’s Prayer, which, together with the Eucharist, was central to the Church’s catechetical instruction or mystagogy from the beginning. He examines three different periods in this essay: the era of the persecution through Origen’s third-century Treatise on Prayer, which deals with individual prayer in a private setting; the fourth century as a period of peace and imperial favour through Gregory of Nyssa’s (c. 335–95) Homilies on the Lord’s Prayer – these homilies address a congregation that was less than vigilant about the faith, and discusses the conditions that constitute a just society; and the seventh century, when baptismal catechesis had lapsed due to infant baptism. Maximus the Confessor’s (c. 580–662) mystagogical instructions to a devout layman, On the Lord’s Prayer, present the Lord’s Prayer as the epitome of the whole mystery of theology, understood as assimilation to God in the ongoing restoration of God’s likeness through its pattern. Willemien Otten’s essay challenges the conventional view that Augustine expresses the Western, anthropological, approach to mystagogy, and Maximus the Confessor the Eastern, cosmological, approach. Her scrutiny of a number of passages in the Confessions shows that the cosmological tropes it contains, some of which arise from Augustine’s meditation on Ambrosian hymns, give a voice to creation as it is. And Maximus, whose overt focus is on creation’s exitus and reditus, subtly includes an emphasis not just on Christology but also on anthropology: humankind’s present state is not what it once was and can once again become. Both Augustine’s and Maximus’ mystagogical focus is on the return to God, but the way they use prayer to achieve this differs significantly. Augustine wants to make the voice of creation-as-it-is heard, but his prayer remains focused on the Creator alone; creation is a conduit not for mystagogy but for doxology. For Maximus, who assigns an almost theurgical role to the liturgy, prayer builds on cosmic mystagogy,

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although it ultimately surpasses this with a Christocentric double vision of how things could have been and how they ought once again to become. Michael Bakker describes how the Greek Fathers’ views of the mystagogical psychology of prayer developed and changed over time. Whereas the Psalms see the ‘heart’ (kardia) as the human organ that prays, the monastic theologian Evagrius Ponticus describes prayer as ‘a conversation of the intellect (nous) with God’. ‘Noetic’ psychology, based on Greek philosophy, replaces the Pauline triad of body, soul, and spirit (pneuma) with a triad of body, soul, and (spiritual) intellect (nous). But the psychology of the heart continued to be present alongside the noetic one, through the liturgical use of the psalms. This essay describes the development of both currents within the Greek patristic tradition, and also compares patristic terminology with equivalents in modern terminology. Part V considers the reception of patristic views about the mystagogical dimension of prayer in later times. In Bishop Gregory of Tours’ (c. 538– 94) war-ravaged sixth-century Francia, two prayer traditions existed side by side: that of a desert spirituality modelled either on the History of the Monks or on Cassian’s writings, flourishing especially but not exclusively in educated circles, and that of the more popular cult of the saints as mediators to God, for those who remained in the world. Giselle de Nie describes two traditions in early monastic prayer: one using biblical and other imagery, and the other, Evagrian, view rejecting all imagery as unworthy of an invisible and formless Deity. The prayer practices in Gregory of Tours’ saints’ lives most resemble those in the popular stories about the Desert Fathers, showing that meditative prayer and the prayer of compunction were experienced as capable of clearing up mental obstructions to open up an awareness of illuminating divine intuitions. New elements that appear are the role of the dead saint (instead of an older, more experienced, monk or hermit) as a spiritual guide, and instead of imaging an imperial Christ, there was meditation on the crucified Christ. For readers living in the world, Gregory’s miracle stories reflect the prayer traditions in the cult of saints: they could be envisioned as human persons, touched through their remains, experienced through visionary phenomena, and made actively present by pronouncing their names. Because the stories show how addressing the saints and praying to them in these ways could effect a mental and physical transformation, they functioned not only as models of the reality of the Christian faith, but also as models of how to attempt to experience this reality oneself. In the twelfth century, which saw the rise of European cities, largerscale government, and intellectual centres, the individual ‘cell’ came to

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subsume the notion of ‘desert’. It meant solitude, silence, literary study, confined space, night-time. Mary Carruthers’ essay concentrates on two closely connected practices in the new monastic movement that evidently had their source in rhetoric: monastic reading or lectio divina, and meditational prayer. She compares what a representative of the twelfth-century Augustinian revival, Peter of Celle (c. 1115–82), wrote about monastic reading with Augustine’s rendering of his conversion through the reading of a biblical passage (Confessions 8.10). This demonstrates that well-known practices in the Latin rhetorical process of ‘invention’ are significant to understanding the mystagogy of a meditative, prayerful reading of the sacra pagina in the West. This book surely does not exhaust the subject of the transformation of self and the practice of prayer in early Christian mystagogy. However, the essays contained in this volume demonstrate plausibly and clearly that the Church Fathers developed a variety of methods, techniques, and practices of prayer to intensify the awareness of God as invisible yet near. Prayer is an essential component in the transformational processes, in the broad and formal sense of this word that they intended, in their mystagogy. The essays in this book are an invitation to further study of the transforming power of prayer, in its wordless form or otherwise.

Chapter Two

FROM SACRIFICIAL RECIPROCITY TO MYSTAGOGY: COMMUNAL AND INDIVIDUAL INITIATION THROUGH PRAYER Gerard Rouwhorst

The conference at which the papers in this volume were delivered was devoted to a clearly demarcated central question which was formulated concisely in the congress programme: what effects did the Church Fathers want to achieve in the sphere of knowledge, the affective life, and behaviour when they spoke and wrote about prayer? At first sight this question is admirably clear and simple. However, after a few moments of reflection the impression of apparent simplicity disappears and even gives way to a degree of confusion. The cause of this is the definition of the key concept of ‘prayer’. Two observations are in order here. It suffices to glance through an authoritative monograph on prayer, for instance Friedrich Heiler’s classical work,1 or one of the many outdated, but nonetheless instructive introductions to the phenomenology of religion,2 to realize that prayer is a very complex phenomenon which appears in practically all religious traditions, but takes various shapes, and fulfils different functions. It also emerges from these monographs that some of the questions that are raised in the programme do not make much sense in the case of certain traditions. The programme views prayer from a mystagogical perspective. It assumes that prayer is part of a process of initiation and transformation, the ultimate aim of which is communication with the divine. Moreover, prayer is supposedly a means of transmitting information, and of influencing the affective life and behaviour of the believer. This concept of prayer perfectly matches what can be found in many Christian works that deal with the religious life and with 1. Friedrich Heiler, Das Gebet. Eine religionsgeschichtliche und religionspsychologische Untersuchung (Munich–Basel, 1918; unveränderter Nachdruck nach der 5. Auflage (1921) mit Literaturergänzungen, 1969). 2. I mention here only Gerardus van der Leeuw, Phänomenologie der Religion (2nd ed.; Tübingen, 1956), pp. 480–88; Friedrich Heiler, Erscheinungsform und Wesen der Religion (Die Religionen der Menschheit 1; Stuttgart, 1961), pp. 306–39.

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meditation, and in many modern Christian and non-Christian publications about spirituality. The varieties of this concept of prayer that can be found in Eastern and Western religious traditions are the result of specific historical religious and cultural developments. The origins of the Christian forms are closely connected with the religious transformations that occurred in Classical and Late Antiquity, in which emerging Christianity itself – including the Church Fathers – played a pivotal rule. To obtain insight into the effects these transformations had on the concept of prayer, it is best to start by presenting a picture of the traditional common prayer practices of Classical Antiquity as they existed in the Mediterranean world, more specifically in Greek and Roman religions.

Prayer in Greek and Roman Religions In a monograph on this subject which draws on the leading and most authoritative studies in this field, Simon Pulleyn highlights a number of features that are characteristic of traditional Greek prayer.3 I will mention those here that are most directly relevant for present purposes. 1) Greek prayer was primarily connected with the idea of reciprocity with the gods, of establishing a relationship with them by giving and taking.4 More specifically, for the Greeks, prayer first and foremost meant asking the gods for something, and this implied that they should try to ensure that the gods were well-disposed to them. 2) In itself, prayer was not an autonomous mode of religious action.5 It was intimately associated with, and relied upon the ritual act of sacrifice, that is the offering of a gift to the god. Even if prayers were not always accompanied by sacrifice, they nevertheless often contained some reference to some past or future sacrifice.6 3) There were no regular prayer times during the day in Greek religion as there are in Judaism, Islam, and Christianity (especially in monasteries). There was nothing comparable to the Christian ‘liturgy of the hours’. Greek prayers could be said at any time of the day or the night, as the necessity to make a request to the gods arose.7

3. Simon Pulleyn, Prayer in Greek Religion (Oxford Classical Monographs; Oxford, 1997). 4. Pulleyn, Prayer, pp. 12–38, esp. pp. 12–15. 5. Pulleyn, Prayer, p. 15. 6. Pulleyn, Prayer, pp. 8–15, 158–59, 165–68. 7. Pulleyn, Prayer, pp. 156–58.

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In addition to these aspects that Pulleyn highlights, some observations must be made concerning the composition and formulation of the text of prayers.8 It is important to emphasize, first of all, that the vast majority of the prayers that have been preserved were said by individuals, and were formulated freely and more or less spontaneously. There is very little evidence of standardized or prescribed prayer formulas. It is nonetheless possible to discern certain common elements and patterns, which are even more conspicuous in texts that belong to a genre closely related to prayer: hymns.9 A tripartite structure which includes the following parts was quite common in prayers and hymns.10 a) An invocation of the deity who is called by name. This part is sometimes brief, but could also be more elaborate, including for instance extensive series of names, titles, and epithets, especially in the case of hymns. b) A ‘justification’, in which the praying person explains why he is calling on the gods – mostly a particular god – for help, and presents arguments why the god or gods addressed should be propitious, answer his prayer and grant his demand. Since C. Ausfeld, this part has often been designated as the pars epica. c) A request for a particular favour from the deity. The observations that Pulleyn has made on prayer do not apply only to Greek religion: the same basic features are also present in Roman prayers.11 8. Cf. for the formulation and composition of these prayers: Danièle Aubriot-Sévin, Prière et conceptions religieuses en Grèce ancienne jusqu’à la fin du Ve siècle avant J.-C. (Collection de la Maison de l’Orient méditerranéen ancien, Série littéraire et philosophique; Lyons, 1992), esp. pp. 194–291. 9. Cf. William D. Furley and Jan Maarten Bremer, Greek Hymns: Selected Cult Songs from the Archaic to the Hellenistic Period, vol. 1, The Texts in Translation (Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 9; Tübingen, 2001), pp. 50–63. Cf. for the complicated and much-debated question of the relationship between prayers and hymns: Pulleyn, Prayer, pp. 43–55; Furley and Bremer, Greek Hymns, vol. 1, pp. 3–4. 10. The existence of the tripartite structure of Greek prayer was first highlighted by C. Ausfeld in his seminal and influential article, ʻDe Graecorum Precationibus Quaestionesʼ, Jahrbücher für classische Philologie. Supplementband 28 (Leipzig, 1903), pp. 505–47. Its general predominance has been questioned by Aubriot-Sévin, who has criticized the rigidity with which Ausfeld’s scheme has been applied (see in particular Aubriot-Sévin, Prière et conceptions religieuses, pp. 213–38, 503). This does not alter the fact that the tripartite structure as a rather loosely employed pattern stands at the basis of many Greek prayers. 11. Cf. for the characteristics and development of Roman prayer: Hendrik Versnel, ʻReligious Mentality in Ancient Prayerʼ, in idem, Faith, Hope and Worship: Aspects of Religious Mentality in the Ancient World (Leiden, 1981), pp. 1–64; Gérard Freyburger, ʻRecherches récentes sur la prière romaineʼ, in Jean-François Cottier (ed.), La prière en latin, de l’antiquité au XVIe siècle. Formes, évolutions, significations (Turnhout, 2006), pp. 85–94.

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In Roman religion, prayer was very closely linked to ritual,12 and especially to the most frequently performed ritual, sacrifice. The tripartite structure culminating in a request is also widely attested in Roman prayers.13 To present an adequate picture of prayer in Greek and Roman religions, and to avoid creating false contrasts between Christianity and the Greco-Roman world on this point, it should be added that the meaning and efficacy of prayer were matters for debate in philosophical circles,14 which also discussed, criticized, and sometimes ridiculed the closely connected ritual of sacrifice.15 Philosophers criticized existing prayer practices, especially the custom of asking for material instead of spiritual goods. Some philosophers – particularly the Stoics – even question the very meaning of supplication prayer itself, arguing that it was incompatible with divine Providence. This critical attitude towards this aspect of traditional prayer is also reflected in prayers that exude a more philosophical spirit, and that ask for spiritual qualities such as wisdom or virtue, or are just expressions of worship and thanksgiving, with the element of supplication reduced to a minimum.16 Nonetheless, by far the majority of the people maintained their traditional prayer practices and also continued offering sacrifices, which were closely related to these practices.

Transformations of Prayer in Biblical and Post-Biblical Judaism Philosophical debates only had a limited impact on the Greeks’ and Romans’ actual prayer practices, and only few direct traces of these debates can be identified in the further development of prayer in early Christianity. The transformations that were taking place in Judaism at 12. Cf. for instance John Scheid, An Introduction to Roman Religion (Edinburgh, 2003), pp. 197–99; Jörg Rüpke, The Religion of the Romans (Cambridge, 2007), pp. 103–104. 13. Cf. for instance Mark Kiley et al., Prayer from Alexander to Constantine: A Critical Anthology (London–New York, 1997), pp. 123–64. However, Charles Guittard has pointed to the complexity of the structure of many Roman prayers: ʻInvocations et structures théologiques dans la prière à Romeʼ, Revue des études latines 76 (1998), pp. 71–92. 14. Cf. for in instance Gilles Dorival, ʻPaïens en prièreʼ, in Gilles Dorival and Didier Pralon (eds.), Prières méditerranéennes (Aix-en-Provence, 2000), pp. 87–101. 15. Cf. for instance Frances Young, The Use of Sacrificial Ideas in Greek Christian Writers from the New Testament to John Chrysostom (Patristic Monographs Series 5; Eugene, OR, 2004), pp. 15–34. 16. Cf. for instance the prayer of the Stoic philosopher Cleanthes (331–232 bce) addressed to Zeus, in Hans von Arnim, Stoicorum veterum fragmenta, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1903), No. 537; ET: Kiley, Prayer, pp. 133–38.

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roughly the same time – the period of the Second Temple and the aftermath of its destruction in 70 ce – had much more immediate implications for the development of Jewish prayer practices, and they also had a deeper and more lasting effect on the evolution of prayer in Christianity, and via Christianity in Antiquity in general. I will therefore discuss these processes of transformation more extensively. Prayer and the Transformation of Sacrifice One of the factors which had a decisive impact on the development of prayer in Judaism and in early Christianity, was that it was gradually dissociated from sacrifice. Two factors played a major role in this process: a) the centralization of the sacrificial cult in the temple in Jerusalem, and b) the destruction of this temple in 70 ce. After the religious reforms of Josiah in the 7th century bce, and definitely in the Second Temple period, the offering of sacrifices was limited to the temple in Jerusalem, and this had a strong effect on forms of worship – including prayer – elsewhere. On the one hand, the sacrificial cult continued to have a substantial impact on how prayer was performed. It is interesting to note that prayers were frequently recited to coincide in time with the daily sacrifices that were offered in the temple.17 Yet it is striking that the Hebrew Bible contains numerous prayers which do not relate to that cult. The dissociation of prayer from the sacrificial cult in Jerusalem perhaps also sheds light on another remarkable phenomenon. Moshe Greenberg particularly has pointed to the improvised character of the substantial majority of the prayers found in the Hebrew Bible.18 Most of these prayers follow a very simple pattern that leaves much freedom to add and omit elements, and their content is tailored to the circumstances in which they were said. Moreover, they have parallels in commonly used speech forms. It is only in the later books of the Bible (Ezra, Nehemiah, 1 and 2 Maccabees), in intertestamental literature, and in Qumran texts that more lengthy, expansive and formalized prayers make their appearance. They show features and contain motifs that are characteristic of later rabbinic prayers (I will return to this later). This fact as such is not without parallels in Antiquity. As I have already indicated, spontaneous prayers were very common in Greek religion, and 17. Jeremy Penner, Patterns of Daily Prayer in Second Temple Period Judaism (Leiden– Boston, 2012), pp. 37–45. 18. Moshe Greenberg, Biblical Prose Prayer as a Window to the Popular Religion of Ancient Israel (Berkeley, 1983). Cf. Stefan Reif, Judaism and Hebrew Prayer: New Perspectives on Jewish Liturgical History (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 37–38.

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sacrifices and freely formulated prayers were not mutually exclusive.19 It may be asked, however, as Moshe Greenberg and Stefan Reif have done, if there is not a connection between the improvised character of the prayers in question and the fact that they were not embedded in the institutionalized form of worship linked to the sacrificial cult in the temple in Jerusalem.20 It is not unlikely, for instance, that the dissociation between prayer and sacrifice contributed to freeing prayer from its focus on offering and request/supplication, so that it could become a vehicle for communication with God in the broadest sense of the word, for instance, for the expression of human emotions like thanksgiving, guilt, repentance, and distress, and equally for transmitting knowledge about God, about the relationship between God and Israel, the covenant, the Torah, redemption and other concepts that were of crucial importance for Jewish religion. In any case, the dissociation between prayer and sacrifice received an even stronger, in a sense final, impetus from the destruction of the Second Temple, which marked, to use an expression by Guy Stroumsa, the ‘end of sacrifice’.21 This term should be used with great prudence. It would be a simplification to claim that the ritual of sacrifice disappeared entirely in Judaism and Christianity.22 It survived as a rich metaphor referring to a variety of religious themes and realities (especially in Christianity).23 It was transformed into new ritual practices (especially the Christian celebration of the Eucharist), and in Judaism, at least the memory of biblical sacrifice was kept alive in the liturgical services of the synagogue and in the major rabbinic writings (Mishna, Talmud). Nor was the umbilical cord between prayer and sacrifice ever totally cut, either in Judaism or in Christianity. Statutory prayers functioned as alternatives to the sacrificial cult, and many Jewish and Christian prayers of later times included sacrificial themes and motifs. Moreover, through the centuries Jews have prayed for the restoration of the Temple cult and 19. Cf. for the correlation between sacrifice and spontaneous prayer in Judaism (in the Second Temple period) also Penner, Prayers, pp. 37–48. 20. Greenberg, Biblical Prose Prayer, p. 17; Reif, Judaism, p. 37. 21. Guy Stroumsa, La fin du sacrifice (Paris, 2005); English translation: The End of Sacrifice (Chicago, 2009). 22. Cf. the comments I made on this term and Stroumsa’s book in my article ʻWhich Religion is Most Sacrificial? Reflections on the Transformations of Sacrifice in Early Christianity and Rabbinic Judaismʼ, in Alberdina Houtman et al. (eds.), The Actuality of Sacrifice: Past and Present (Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series 28; Leiden–Boston, 2014), pp. 261–74. 23. See in particular Robert Daly, The Christian Idea of Sacrifice (Washington, 1977); Everett Ferguson, ʻSpiritual Sacrifice in Early Christianity and its Environmentʼ, in ANRW II.23/2 (Berlin–New York, 1980), pp. 1151–89; Young, The Use of Sacrificial Ideas.

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the sacrifices.24 Nonetheless, the immediate effect of the destruction of the Second Temple was that Jews and Christians both stopped offering sacrifices, at least of animals, and developed alternative forms to replace this practice. The Institutionalization of Prayer A second remarkable development that should be mentioned here is the institutionalization, or at least the accelerated institutionalization, of prayer, which first took place in Judaism and was later developed further in Christianity. The question of the origins of this process has been much disputed, and the debate continues.25 Thus, in a seminal study of the history of rabbinic prayers, Joseph Heinemann has argued that the process had reached its consolidation in the generation following the destruction of the Temple, but that it had started a hundred years before that.26 On the other hand, the prominence given to so-called statutory prayers in Judaism has been attributed to a radical innovation introduced in reaction to the destruction of the Second Temple which made it impossible in Judaism to offer sacrifices. The most outspoken and influential representative of this view was Ezra Fleischer, who claimed that fixed and institutionalized prayer, in particular the obligation to recite a fixed version of the Amidah, the Eighteen Benedictions, three times a day as a replacement of the sacrificial cult, was instituted at the rabbinic ‘synod’ of Yavneh (90 ce).27 Although this last theory at least has been disproven, given the great number of prayers that have been preserved in the Dead

24. Particularly in the Musaf or Additional services recited on Shabbat and Festivals. Cf. for the varying interpretations of these prayers in different streams within present-day Judaism: David Golinkin, ʻThe Restoration of Sacrifices in Modern Jewish Liturgyʼ, in Houtman et al., The Actuality of Sacrifice, pp. 275–83. 25. For a brief review of the various hypotheses and trends in scholarship see Penner, Prayers, pp. 3–24. 26. See especially Joseph Heinemann, Prayer in the Talmud: Forms and Patterns (Studia Judaica IX; Berlin–New York, 1977), p. 13. Cf. for Heinemann’s view of the development of the fixed prayers: ibid., pp. 13–76. Cf. Daniel Falk, Daily, Sabbath, and Festival Prayers in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 27; Leiden– Boston–Cologne, 1998), who argues that the fixed prayers found in the Qumran scrolls originated in priestly and Levitical circles connected with the Temple. For the development of fixed prayer in Qumran and in ‘mainstream’ Judaism during the Second Temple period see also: Bilhah Nitzan, Qumran Prayer and Religious Poetry (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 12; Leiden–New York–Cologne, 1994), esp. pp. 35–116; Penner, Patterns of Daily Prayer. 27 Cf. for a summary of the views of the scholars involved and in particular of Fleischer, who published only in modern Hebrew: Penner, Patterns of Prayer, pp. 19–24.

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Sea Scrolls28 and that date to before the fall of the Temple, the early history of Jewish statutory prayers, and the degree to which their importance and their structure and wording were affected by the destruction of the temple of Jerusalem, remains the subject of debate. Whatever position one takes with regard to these questions, it is undisputed that the process involved two aspects that would also prove to be crucially important for the history of early Christian prayer. First of all, this process implied the emergence of a new type of prayer: prayers whose structure and content were more or less fixed, and that enjoyed an official and normative status in the community (even if there remained room for improvisation within the statutory prayers, and believers continued to say extemporaneous prayers). Second, it also involved the introduction of new prayer rhythms, which meant that these prayers were said at fixed times during the day or week, not just on annual festivals. Thus it became obligatory to say29 the Amidah three times a day and the Shema and its blessings two times a day (in the morning and in the evening), and there were weekly prayers for the Sabbath.30 The introduction of these two prayer practices, the standardization of prayer texts, and daily and weekly prayer rhythms – and particularly the combination of these three – offered new possibilities for initiating individual members of communities, and for inculcating their basic tenets and beliefs, their value concepts, and the community’s collective memory, not once in a while, during a random occasion or sacrifice, or during a festival celebrated only once a year, but on a much more regular basis. By praying, the members of the communities interiorized these concepts, made them their own, programmed and reprogrammed their brains more regularly and intensely than had been the case in Antiquity outside Judaism.

28. See especially the Daily Prayers (4Q503), the Festival Prayers (1Q34; 4Q507–509; 4Q409) and further the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice (4Q400–405; 11Q17) and the Words of the Luminaries (4Q504). Edition of the Hebrew texts and English translations: Florentino García Martínez and Eibert Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls: Study Edition (Leiden–Boston–Cologne, 2000); see further for the background and content of these texts: Nitzan, Qumran Prayer; Falk, Daily, Sabbath and Festival Prayers; Penner, Patterns of Prayer. 29. Cf. for instance Heinemann, Prayer in the Talmud, pp. 33–36. 30. For Jewish prayer as it developed from the rabbinic period onwards, see for instance, Reuven Hammer, Entering Jewish Prayer: A Guide to Personal Devotion and Worship Service (New York, 1994). For questions as to its origins and historical development through the centuries, see in particular Reif, Judaism.

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Prayer in Early Christianity In order to grasp the development of prayer in early Christianity and situate it in its proper historical perspective, it is important to be aware of the persistence of traditional basic patterns that are very common in Greek and Roman prayer (as well as in many Jewish prayers). For example, it is not difficult to recognize traces of the tripartite structure characteristic of many Greek and Roman prayers (and hymns) in Christian prayer texts which contain an invocation followed by an anamnetic and an epicletic part.31 This more or less matches the scheme of invocation, pars epica (Ausfeld), and request. Further, it is important to realize that the prayer practices of Christians with a ‘pagan’ (Greek or Roman) background will have very much resembled those of their ancestors, and that many of them will not, for instance, have been troubled by difficulties that non-Christian philosophers or Christian theologians saw in asking God for material rather than spiritual goods. Furthermore, it should also be kept in mind that the processes of transformation that took place in biblical and post-biblical Judaism had a marked impact upon the development of early Christian prayer, and it is even impossible to properly understand early Christian prayer forms and practices without having a knowledge of these processes. Nonetheless, it is of crucial importance to emphasize that early Christian communities (and individual believers) adapted and transformed the prayer patterns they had inherited from both biblical and post-biblical Judaism and Greco-Roman religions in their own specifically Christian ways. This resulted in the creation of prayer practices that had no precise parallels in Antiquity, neither in the Jewish nor in the Greco-Roman world, but can be considered specifically Christian. Remarkably, it is in these practices and their underlying concept that we can recognize a number of features that might appropriately be called ‘mystagogical’. It is impossible here to present a comprehensive picture of the development of early Christian prayer concepts and practices. To do so, it 31. See Keith F. Pecklers, Worship (London–New York, 2003), pp. 25–28; Albert Gerhards and Benedikt Kranemann, Einführung in die Liturgiewissenschaft (3rd ed.; Darmstadt, 2013), pp. 170–76. While searching for the pre-Christian roots of early Christian prayer patterns, liturgical scholars have mostly focused on Jewish (biblical and/or postbiblical) traditions. See for instance the influential book of Cesare Giraudo, La struttura letteraria della preghiera eucharistica (Analecta biblica 92; Rome, 1981). This approach runs the risk of ignoring the structural features that both early Christian and Jewish prayers have in common with other prayers from Antiquity (even if Judaism and early Christianity elaborated and reshaped them in their own specific ways).

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would be necessary to take into account the relevant passages of the New Testament, in the first place the two versions of the Our Father (Matt. 6:9–13; Luke 11:1–4), but also other passages that refer to prayer (some of which played an important role in the formation of early Christian prayer traditions). It would also be necessary to deal with all of the relevant early Christian source material, including the numerous brief and allusive references found in a great variety of texts. Suffice it here to focus on some major trends. I will first sketch a brief picture of the prayer customs, both liturgical and non-liturgical, of various groups of Christians (monastic and non-monastic). Then I will deal with the formation of what Lorenzo Perrone has called a specific ‘Christian prayer model’,32 the contours of which become visible in the treatises of a number of prominent theologians of the third and fourth centuries. Next, I will illustrate on the basis of a number of examples how the basic concepts of this ‘discourse’ functioned in fourth- and fifth-century monasticism and what impact they had on monastic prayer practices. Finally, I will make some observations about prayers that occupied a central place in the liturgical celebrations of entire Christian congregations and in which the mystagogical dimension features in a different way. Early Christian Prayer Practices: Ritual Settings and Structures33 The earliest Christians were familiar with and continued the Jewish custom of praying several times a day. According to the Didache, the Our Father should be recited three times a day (ch. 8). Sources that date to a somewhat later period are more specific about the times, indicating that Christians prayed or had to pray several times a day, in the morning, around noon, and in the evening.34 Moreover, several sources attest the custom of praying during the night.35 Monastic influences played a 32. Lorenzo Perrone, La preghiera secondo Origene. L’impossibilità donata (Letteratura cristiana antica, Nuova serie 24; Brescia, 2011), pp. 511–644. 33. More detailed information about the prayer customs of early Christianity can be found in Paul Bradshaw, Daily Prayer in the Early Church (Alcuin Club Collections 63; London, 1981); idem, Reconstructing Early Christian Worship (London, 2009), pp. 102– 106; Robert Taft, The Liturgy of the Hours in East and West: The Origins of the Divine Office and its Meaning for Today (Collegeville, MN, 1986), esp. pp. 3–213; Andrew McGowan, Ancient Christian Worship: Early Church Practices in Social, Historical, and Theological Perspective (Grand Rapids, MI, 2014), pp. 183–203. 34. Cf. Origen, De oratione 12.2; Tertullian, De oratione 25; Cyprian, De dominica oratione 34–36. Cf. Bradshaw, Daily Prayer, pp. 48–55; Taft, The Liturgy of the Hours, pp. 16–21. 35. Origen, De oratione 12.2; Cyprian, De dominica oratione 36. Tertullian refers to this practice in Ad uxorem II.5.2 and in his Apologeticum 39.18. Cf. for the last-mentioned passages Taft, The Liturgy of the Hours, pp. 18–19; Bradshaw, Daily Prayer, p. 51.

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central role in the institutionalization and further development of this cycle of fixed prayer times from the fourth century onwards, leading to the formation of the versions of the Liturgy of the Hours that exist in the various Eastern and Western liturgical traditions.36 Prayers also occupied an important place in the communal meals that the Christians held. Special mention should be made here of the prayer(s) of thanksgiving which can be regarded as forerunners of the Eucharistic prayers.37 The sources that date to the first few centuries contain relatively little information about the literary characteristics and structures of prayers. We must assume – and there is some evidence for this – that the structural patterns that were common in Judaism, and also in the Greco-Roman tradition, were preserved, including basic elements such as invocation, praise, thanksgiving and supplication. Thus it is possible to identify similarities with Jewish prayer patterns, especially meal prayers, in the thanksgivings said during the Eucharistic meal of the Didache.38 Furthermore, there is strong evidence that the Lord’s Prayer was widely considered to be a kind of model for Christian prayer practice.39 To give just one example, Origen, proposing a model for good Christian prayer, states that each prayer should be based on the following pattern: it should begin by ascribing glory to God, followed by thanksgiving, and the confession of sins, and finally by a doxology, which glorified God through Christ in the Spirit.40 There is no evidence, however, for the existence of more fixed patterns comparable to the Jewish statutory prayers, which started playing a prominent role in contemporaneous (rabbinic) Judaism. In the first three centuries, the existing prayer patterns and models were used flexibly, and there was wide scope for free formulation and improvisation.41 36. Cf. especially Taft, The Liturgy of the Hours, pp. 31–209. 37. Cf. for instance Paul Bradshaw, ʻThe Evolution of Early Anaphorasʼ, in idem, Essays on Early Eastern Eucharistic Prayers (Collegeville, MN, 1997), pp. 1–18; Paul Bradshaw and Maxwell Johnson, The Eucharistic Liturgies: Their Evolution and Interpretation (Collegeville, MN, 2012), pp. 1–60. 38. Cf. for instance Gerard Rouwhorst, ʻDidache 9–10: A Litmus Test for the Research on Early Christian Eucharistʼ, in Huub van de Sandt (ed.), Matthew and the Didache: Two Documents from the Same Jewish-Christian Milieu? (Assen–Minneapolis, MN, 2005), pp. 143–56. 39. In addition to the writings of Tertullian and Cyprian, which are essentially commentaries on the Our Father, see also Origen, De oratione 22–30; Aphrahat, De oratione IV.10. 40. Origen, De oratione 33, in Paul Koetschau (ed.), Origenes Werke, vol. 2 (GCS 3; Leipzig, 1899), pp. 401–402. 41. It may be added that sources from the first three centuries only rarely refer to the recitation of biblical Psalms, which suggests that these texts did not play a major role in early Christian prayer in that period. The large-scale recitation of Psalms in the Christian liturgy appears to have started only in the fourth century. Cf. James McKinnon, ʻThe Fourth Century Origin of the Gradualʼ, Early Music History 7 (1987), pp. 91–106;

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All the available data indicates that more or less fixed prayers only appeared from the fourth century onwards in the Christian tradition. Finally, the physical aspect of prayer should not be left unmentioned. Christians prayed with their whole body. Tertullian, Cyprian, and Origen already referred to the gestures and positions of the body that accompanied prayer: the raising of the arms; standing and kneeling; facing the east.42 As we shall see, the physical dimension of prayer played an even more prominent role in the monastic tradition. The Emergence and Development of a New Concept of Prayer (up to the Mid-Fourth Century) Between the end of the second and the middle of the fourth century, several Christian authors explicitly addressed the subject of prayer. We should mention Clement of Alexandria,43 Origen,44 Tertullian,45 Cyprian,46 and Aphrahat in particular.47 Five authors from very different regions and milieus: Alexandria (Clement and Origen), North Africa reprinted in idem, The Temple, the Church Fathers and Early Western Chant (Aldershot, 1998). 42. Cf. for this aspect of prayer and for references to the relevant passages: McGowan, Ancient Christian Worship, pp. 192–94. 43. See Clement of Alexandria, Stromata VII.7.35.1–49.5 in Alain le Boulluec (ed.), Clément d’Alexandrie. Les Stromates. Stromate VII (SC 428; Paris, 1997), pp. 129–69; see also VI.12.101.3–102.3 in Patrick Descourtieux (ed.), Clément d’Alexandrie. Les Stromates. Stromate VI (SC 446; Paris, 1999), pp. 262–65; ET: A. Cleveland Coxe (ed.), Fathers of the Second Century (ANF 2; Peabody, MA, 1994, 18851), pp. 531–37. Cf. Perrone, La preghiera, pp. 530–44. See also Alain le Boulluec, ʻLes réflexions de Clément sur la prière et le traité d’Origèneʼ, in Lorenze Perrone (ed.), Origeniana Octava: Origen and the Alexandrian Tradition (Leuven, 2003), pp. 397–407; idem, ʻLa prière des chrétiens selon Origèneʼ, in Dorival and Pralon, Prières méditerranéennes, pp. 201–21. 44. See in particular Origen, De oratione, in GCS 3, pp. 295–403; ET: Alistair StewartSykes, On the Lord’s Prayer: Tertullian, Cyprian, and Origen (PPS 29; Crestwood, NY, 2004), pp. 111–214. Cf. for the other passages in Origen’s works: Perrone, La preghiera, 243–510. 45. Tertullian, De oratione, in Ernest Evans, Tertullian’s Tract on the Prayer (London, 1953); ET: ibid. See for a more recent English translation: Stewart-Sykes, On the Lord’s Prayer, pp. 41–64. Cf. for this treatise and other passages of Tertullian’s work: Perrone, La preghiera, pp. 514–30. 46. Cyprian, De dominica oratione, in Wilhelm Hartel (ed.), Thasci Caecili Cypriani Opera omnia, vol. 1 (CSEL 3/1; New York, 1965, 18681), pp. 265–94 ; also in M. Simonetti and C. Moreschini (eds.), Cyprianus: Opera II (CCSL 3A; Turnhout, 1976), pp. 87–113; ET: Stewart-Sykes, On the Lord’s Prayer, pp. 65–93. Cf. for this treatise and other passages of Cyprian’s works: Perrone, La preghiera, pp. 545–54. 47. See in particular Aphrahat’s fourth Demonstration, Syriac text and Latin translation in Ioannes Parisot (ed.), Patrologia syriaca I (Paris, 1894–Turnhout, 1980), pp. 137– 82; French translation: Marie-Joseph Pierre (ed.), Aphraate le sage persan. Exposés I, (SC 349; Paris, 1988), pp. 292–321. Cf. Perrone, La preghiera, pp. 554–64.

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(Tertullian and Cyprian), and a region in the Persian Empire, perhaps somewhere in present-day Iraq (Aphrahat); two of them writing in Greek, two in Latin, and one in Syriac. It is not surprising that their approaches differed considerably in several aspects. It is nonetheless remarkable that, despite their different backgrounds and approaches, they shared a number of very similar basic orientations with regard to essential aspects of prayer. This reflects the development of a specific common ‘discourse’ of prayer. We should, of course, keep in mind that the authors were theologians, and that they sketched an ideal and normative picture of prayer. Moreover, Clement and Origen in particular – perhaps also Aphrahat – did not primarily write for ‘average’ Christians, but for spiritually advanced believers. In other words, we should be wary of considering the models of ideal prayers developed in these sources as representative of the practices of the majority of Christians. Nonetheless, they must have had a wider impact on Christian congregations and individuals, and they would in fact prove to be remarkably influential on the prayer concepts and practices of the various types of monasticism that developed from the end of the third century onwards. Conscious of the fact that it is impossible to do justice to the nuances of the literature,48 and of the limitations of my selection, and without making any claim to being exhaustive, I would like to draw attention to the following tendencies which recur in most of the sources mentioned, and which are of particular importance for our purpose: a) Practically all the sources emphasize the ‘spiritual’ character of prayer. The adjective ‘spiritual’ can have various specific connotations. Thus it frequently occurs in combination with sacrifice.49 In this case, it serves to emphasize the opposition between prayer and sacrifice, implying that prayer is a spiritual alternative for and replacement of the sacrifices – especially animal sacrifices – that were once offered in the temple of Jerusalem. Furthermore, the term may refer to the purpose of prayer, which should be spiritual instead of ‘material’ (implying in this case a critique of asking for material goods), but also to the attitude of the praying person.

48. For an impressive survey of the content of these – and a number of other – sources (of which I have made ample use) see Perrone, La preghiera, pp. 511–644. Cf. also André Méhat, ʻPrière. III. Dans la tradition chrétienne. A. Du 2e siècle au concile de Nicéeʼ, in Marcel Viller, F. Cavallera, and J. de Guibert (eds.), Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascétique et mystique: doctrine et histoire, vol. 12 (Paris, 1986), cols. 2247–56; McGowan, Ancient Christian Worship, pp. 190–98. 49. See in particular Tertullian, De oratione 28; Clement of Alexandria, Stromata VII.6.31.7–8, in SC 428, pp. 116–19; Aphrahat, Demonstrations IV.18.

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As regards this last aspect, all of the authors strongly emphasize the importance of having the right disposition for prayer, which they believe distinguishes the prayer of Christians from that of pagans and Jews. The prayer of Christians should be based on a pure attitude. This view of what prayer is or should be is very pithily summarized by Cyprian who writes: ‘It is not the sound of our voice but the mind and the heart which should pray to God with a sincere intent’.50 The biblical passages and biblical role models that are frequently adduced to support this approach to prayer are telling. As may be expected, these appeal to the behaviour of Jesus and his exhortation not to act like the hypocrites – who pray in places where they can be seen by the people –, but to go into one’s room and pray in secret (Matt. 6:5–7; Luke 11:2–4).51 A favourite biblical theme that is often mentioned is the prayer of the tax collector, as opposed to that of the Pharisee (Luke 18:10–14).52 An intriguing phenomenon that corresponds in a certain way to the emphasis on sincerity and the rejection of wordiness and ostentation, is the value some of our authors attach to silent prayer, understood in the sense of wordless prayer, something uncommon in Antiquity which would be further developed in monastic traditions. It is more or less implied in the quotation from Cyprian’s treatise On the Lord’s Prayer mentioned above, but Clement of Alexandria discusses it more explicitly: he writes that no words are needed to make one’s prayer ascend to God.53 b) A theme which appears more or less explicitly in all of the authors is that of ‘continuous prayer’ as it was articulated by Paul in 1 Thess. 5:17.54 This theme is closely connected with the concept of the ongoing ‘conversation’ (ὁμιλία) with God, which is explicitly developed by Clement and Origen, and which also played a very important role in the later monastic tradition.55 50. Cyprian, De dominica oratione 31, in CCSL 3A, p. 109 ; ET: Stewart-Sykes, On the Lord’s Prayer, p. 88. 51. Cf. Tertullian, De oratione 1; Origen, De oratione 19–20; Aphrahat, Demonstrations IV.10. 52. Tertullian, De oratione 17; Cyprian, De dominica oratione 6. 53. Stromata VII.7.43.3–5, in SC 428, pp. 150–51. Cf. also Tertullian, De oratione 17.Silent prayer plays a rather minor role in the works of Origen. Cf. for Origen’s view of this form of prayer: Perrone, La preghiera, pp. 466–75. For Clement’s and Origen’s views of this phenomenon, see also Le Boulluec, ʻLes réflexionsʼ, p. 402; Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony, ʻ“More Interior than the Lips and the Tongue”: John of Apamea and Silent Prayer in Late Antiquityʼ, Journal of Early Christian Studies 20 (2012), pp. 303–31, esp. pp. 310–16. 54. Cf. also Cyprian, De dominica oratione 35; Origen, De oratione 22. The theme is not explicitly developed by Tertullian and Aphrahat, but Perrone points out that the idea is implicit in Tertullian’s view of prayer (La preghiera, pp. 527 and 561). 55. See Stromata VII.7.39.6, in SC 428, pp. 140–41; VII.7.42.1, in SC 428, pp. 146–47; VII.12.73.1, in SC 428, pp. 228–29. Cf. for the role this theme plays in the works of Clement and Origen, Le Boulluec, ʻLes réflexionsʼ, pp. 400–403.

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It is interesting to note that this principle can serve to put the importance of fixed prayer times during the day and the night into perspective. Thus Clement shows that he is familiar with the fixed prayer times, but he emphasizes that the Gnostic, that is, the advanced and true Christian, should praise God and pray all day and night!56 Monastic Prayer Concepts and Practices The model of prayer that began to take shape in the second to the fourth centuries stood at the basis of further developments that occurred after the rise and the spread of monasticism at the end of the third century, and that resulted in the formation of a specifically monastic mystagogical concept of prayer. The most important characteristic of this concept is its embeddedness in the monk’s spiritual journey or ascent to his ultimate destination, that is, communion and life with God, and the transformation he undergoes during this journey. This principle stands at the basis of both the monastic theology of prayer, and the ritual practices with which it is interwoven. Again, it is not possible to present here a comprehensive picture of monastic prayer concepts and practices that does justice to all the nuances and varieties that developed since the fourth century in the East and the West. The picture I will sketch here will be mainly based on the works and views of two authors, Evagrius and John Cassian. This choice is not arbitrary, however, as Evagrius elaborated a theology of prayer which had a profound influence on John Cassian, and the two authors exerted a profound and lasting influence on the spiritual and liturgical traditions of both Eastern and Western monasticism. Moreover, both of them in many respects clearly followed Origen’s lead – and indirectly that of Clement of Alexandria – and therefore show how their ideas were further developed in monastic milieus. Let us start with a brief impression of the prayer practices of which Cassian’s Institutes gives a detailed description, which in its outlines matches the data we find in various Pachomian sources, especially the Pachomian rules.57 In the monasteries of Northern Egypt (in the Scetis

56. See especially Stromata VII.7.35.3–6, in SC 428, pp. 130–31, and VI.12.103.1, in SC 446, pp. 130–31. Cf. for these passages Bradshaw, Daily Prayer, pp. 47–48. 57. Cassian, De institutis coenobiorum II and III. Latin text and French translation in Jean-Claude Guy, Institutions cénobitiques (SC 109; Paris, 1965). Cf. André Veilleux, La liturgie dans le cénobitisme pachomien au quatrième siècle (Studia Anselmiana 57; Rome, 1968), pp. 115–32; William Harmless, Desert Christians: An Introduction to the Literature of Early Monasticism (Oxford, 2004), pp. 124–25.

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desert) monks prayed in the following way.58 They had two formal prayer times each day, one before dawn (at cockcrow) and one at dusk. These services could be celebrated in common – this was at least the case on Saturday and Sunday –, but they were also frequently celebrated by each monk alone in his own cell. The offices basically consisted of two elements: (twelve) Psalms, and readings from the Bible. One of the most remarkable things was the way in which the Psalms were recited. When the service was held communally, they were usually sung by one or two cantors, while the rest remained seated and listened. Furthermore, the Psalms were interspersed with individual prayer and silence. The rhythm of Psalm and individual silent prayer was accentuated by changes in the bodily postures, of which Cassian gives a detailed description: after having been seated during the recitation of the Psalm, they briefly bend their knees (not hurriedly, adds Cassian, as is the custom in Gaul) to pray for a moment, then they stand up, cast themselves to the ground, and rise up again, praying in silence and with hands uplifted. Thus the rhythm is: sit, stand, lie prostrate, stand. Finally, it is important to note that prayer and meditation were not limited to these two daily services. Monks meditated on the Psalms and the rest of the Bible throughout the day, during their manual work, for instance when they were weaving ropes or baskets. The idea was that monks had to pray all waking hours, ceaselessly, without interruption. Monks prayed while working, and worked while praying.59 One of the things that strike us in this description is the recitation of and meditation on the Psalms and other parts of Scripture. The very fact that Psalms and other biblical texts are recited in a prayer meeting is already noteworthy in itself. It is rather rarely attested by sources dating to the first three centuries. Even more remarkable, however, are the large numbers of texts that are recited. This stands in contrast to the rather selective readings encountered in non-monastic services – for instance, communal morning and evening prayer – which are usually few in number and chosen in view of the time of the day. No less remarkable are the alternation of prayer and silence, and the physical dimension, the participation of the body in the prayer rhythm. At the basis of this kind of practice stands a concept of prayer which has left traces in a wide range of monastic writings, including the Lives 58. Cf. Cassian, De institutis coenobiorum II.5–11; Taft, The Liturgy of the Hours, pp. 58–60. See for the prayer meetings and practices of the Pachomian monasteries (Upper Egypt): Veilleux, La liturgie, pp. 292–322; Taft, The Liturgy of the Hours, pp. 62–66; Harmless, Desert Christians, pp. 127–29. 59. Cf. Cassian, De institutis coenobiorum III.2. See also for the ideal of continuous prayer: Taft, The Liturgy of the Hours, pp. 66–73; Harmless, Desert Christians, pp. 392–98.

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of Monks, and the Apophthegmata Patrum (Sayings of the Desert Fathers).60 But it is in the works of Evagrius and Cassian that an explicit theological elaboration of this concept can be found, a proper theory of prayer. I will point to some of this theory’s central elements. a) To realize the aim of monastic life, the monk has to overcome the obstacles set up by the demons who try to prevent him from reaching his goal. He has to fight against sin, in particular against the passions, the aim of the monastic way of life being a state of apatheia, a term of Stoic origin that means ‘passionlessness’. Typically, by far the largest part of the Life of Antony is devoted to Antony’s fight with the demons. Fasting and sexual continence are important arms that can be used in the struggle against the demons. But the recitation of Psalms and biblical texts can also be used to combat passions and temptations by the demons. Luke Dysinger has demonstrated that, psalmody, or rather the alternation of psalmody and silent meditation, is a spiritual remedy in the writings of Evagrius, a ‘means by which the passions are calmed and the body’s disharmony is rectified’.61 The ‘alternating rhythm of psalmody and prayer stores in memory and brings to consciousness an arsenal of texts which may be wielded against the demons in antirrhesis (contradiction)’ and in this way function as ‘the training ground of the Christian contemplative’.62 This will have been one of the functions of the recitation of the Psalms in combination with the physical ‘exercises’. b) There is an intense and continuous interplay between prayer and meditation on biblical texts in the monastic tradition, which was called μελέτη in Greek. The recitation of and meditation on biblical texts functioned as a preparation for prayer, which was therefore rooted in meditation. On the other hand, biblical texts were read and meditated upon in a setting of prayer.63 Cassian explicitly developed this theme, with special attention to the effect that loudly reading and memorizing biblical texts has on their interiorization, which could result in genuine prayer.64 This corresponds exactly to what happens in the monastic services described by Cassian. 60. Cf. for this literature, for instance, Harmless, Desert Christians. 61. Luke Dysinger, Psalmody and Prayer in the Writings of Evagrius Ponticus (Oxford Theological Monographs; Oxford, 2005), p. 104. See also Perrone, La preghiera, pp. 581–82; Columba Stewart, Cassian the Monk (Oxford Studies in Historical Theology; Oxford, 1998), p. 102. 62. Dysinger, Psalmody, p. 197. 63. Cf. for the relationship between prayer and monasticism for instance Stewart, Cassian the Monk, pp.100–103. 64. Stewart, Cassian the Monk, pp. 104–105. It may be added that, for Cassian, meditation on biblical texts is based on his biblical hermeneutics and his theory of the four senses of Scripture (cf. Stewart, Cassian the Monk, pp. 93–95).

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c) It is obvious that this concept of prayer presupposes the notion of unceasing prayer. Both Evagrius and Cassian actually much emphasize its importance.65 And it is of course in line with the practice that Cassian describes. d) In line with monastic tradition and, at least to a certain degree, also with Clement’s and Origen’s notions of silent prayer, both Evagrius and Cassian describe the aim of prayer as arriving at a form of higher or purer prayer which is contemplation beyond words, thoughts and images. They understand this form of prayer in significantly different ways. Whereas for Evagrius, pure prayer is a state of consciousness, for Cassian it involves ecstasy, compunction, and tears.66 Nonetheless, there is a correspondence between the very concept of pure prayer beyond words and the moments of silence in the monastic services that Cassian describes. Communal Christian Prayer in the Fourth and Fifth Centuries: The Eucharistic Prayer It has become clear by now how, in the first three centuries of Christianity, and in the monastic tradition, a concept and practice of prayer arose which can appropriately be called mystagogical. It was more complicated for the celebrations in which the entire Christian community participated. To obtain an idea of the role prayer played in the communal liturgical celebrations of the fourth and fifth centuries, let us take as an example the prayer which occupied a central place in the most important ritual of Christianity: the anaphora, the Eucharistic prayer.67 The Eucharist was celebrated every week, on Sunday, but also on other days of the week, and it was moreover the celebration in which the entire congregation of baptized Christians was supposed to take part regularly. The Eucharistic prayer served as a kind of model prayer, including the elements considered most essential to Christian prayer, and it is based on a pattern found in many other important Christian liturgical prayers, such as the blessing of baptismal water, the blessing of the waters in various Eastern rites,68 the hymn sung in praise of the light of the Easter candle

65. Perrone, La preghiera, pp. 566, 579; Stuart, Cassian the Monk, pp. 105–13. 66. Cf. Perrone, pp. 585, 604–607. See for the role of ecstasy and compunction Stewart, Cassian the Monk, pp. 116–29. 67. There is an extensive literature about this subject. I limit myself to mentioning Bradshaw, Essays on Early Eastern Eucharistic Prayers, and Bradshaw and Johnson, The Eucharistic Liturgies, esp. pp. 25–136. 68. Cf. Nicholas Denysenko, The Blessing of Waters and Epiphany: The Eastern Liturgical Tradition (Farnham, 2012).

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(paschale praeconium or Exsultet).69 Elements can easily be recognized in this basic pattern that also appear in classical Greek and Roman prayers and hymns, and in Jewish statutory prayers. The ancient tripartite subdivision into invocation, pars epica, and request recurs in one way or another in all of these prayers, and there are even closer parallels with Jewish prayers in which the anamnesis of the history of the Jewish people and the prayer for the future of the Jewish people play a prominent role.70 These ancient models were of course adapted to the Christian liturgical settings in which they were used. The various Eastern and Eucharistic prayers that have been preserved from the fourth and fifth centuries have many features and elements in common. It is possible, nonetheless, to distinguish various types and ‘families’. More particularly, there are remarkable and structural differences between a large group of texts from the eastern part of the Mediterranean (especially the region around Antioch; the Syriacspeaking area; Jerusalem) on the one hand, and the prayer known as the Roman Canon on the other, which originated in the fourth century and was for centuries the only Eucharistic prayer used in Western Christianity.71 To begin with this last prayer,72 it is important to note that it is said after the offering of bread and wine – and sometimes of other gifts – after the Liturgy of the Word, which forms the first part of the Eucharis-

69. See for the various (Western) variants of this prayer Heinrich Zweck, Osterlobpreis und Taufe. Studien zu Struktur und Theologie des Exsultet und anderer Osterpraeconien unter Berücksichtigung der Taufmotive (Regensburger Studien zur Theologie 32; Frankfurt–Bern–New York, 1986). 70. The parallels and similarities between the Eucharistic prayers and a number of Jewish statutory prayers – especially the Grace after meal (birkat ha-mazon) and the blessings preceding the recitation of the Shema – are highlighted in numerous scientific studies by Christian liturgical scholars, for instance Giraudo, La struttura letteraria and Enrico Mazza, The Origins of the Eucharistic Prayer (Collegeville, MN, 1995); idem, Rendere grazie. Miscellanea eucaristica per il 70° compleanno. A cura di Daniele Gianotti (Bologna, 2010), esp. pp. 35–101. The existence of these parallels is undeniable and generally accepted, even if there is no general agreement on whether or to what degree the Christian Eucharistic prayers were directly or indirectly influenced by Jewish patterns of prayer (cf. for instance Bradshaw, ʻThe Evolution of Early Anaphorasʼ). 71. Cf. for the following Gerard Rouwhorst, ʻFrühchristliche Eucharistiefeiern: Die Entwicklung östlicher und westlicher Traditionssträngeʼ, in David Hellholm and Dieter Sänger (eds.), The Eucharist – Its Origins and Contexts. Sacred Meal. Communal Meal. Table Fellowship in Late Antiquity, Early Judaism and Early Christianity (WUNT; Tübingen, 2017), pp. 1063–79. 72. Edition of the Latin text based on the early medieval sacramentaries: Anton Hänggi and Irmgard Pahl (eds.), Prex eucharistica (Spicilegium Friburgense 12; Fribourg, 1968), pp. 423–47.

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tic celebration.73 The prayer74 starts with the preface, a brief section which varies according to the period of the year or the feast, which gives thanks to God, and which usually contains a brief reference to the central theme of the feast or period of the year. This is followed by the Sanctus, and for the rest it mainly consists of a series of prayers which ask God to accept the sacrifice of praise which is offered for the benefit of the Church and for the salvation of those who offer it, as well as for the dead. They are, so to say, arranged around the institution narrative, which is situated in the middle of a series of prayers requesting the acceptance of the sacrifice of the community, and which provides the faithful with the justification for offering their sacrifice as a legitimate and pure sacrifice. The most striking feature of the prayer is the emphasis placed on the offering of the faithful and its acceptance by God. The anamnetic elements – the remembrance of aspects of salvation other than the death and resurrection of Christ – are limited to a minimum. Equally remarkably, there is no invocation of the Holy Spirit, neither over the gifts nor over the faithful, and there is hardly any reference to the communion which will follow afterwards (there is only a single allusion to it, in the part which begins with ‘Supplices te’ (We humbly beseech You), which asks that ‘all those who receive the most holy body and blood of your Son may be filled with all heavenly blessing and grace’.75 In sum, the entire prayer is essentially sacrificial in character, and it shares this feature with classical Greek and Roman prayers (even if the underlying concept of sacrifice has been transformed by the emphasis on thanksgiving and the link with the institution narrative and the death of Christ). Finally, there is no unambiguous trace in the text of this prayer of anything like a mystagogical process. The Eucharistic prayers that originated in the eastern part of the Mediterranean, such as in particular the anaphoras of Basil, James, and John Chrysostom,76 follow a different basic pattern and even reflect a different concept of prayer. I will point here to three of the most striking differences.

73. Cf. for this question Gerard Rouwhorst, ʻOblationen. II. Sachenʼ, in Theodor Klauser, Ernst Dassmann, and Georg Schöllgen (eds.), Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, vol. 26 (Stuttgart, 2013), cols. 47–74, esp. 65–66. 74. Cf. for the literary structure and the content of the prayer, for instance, Enrico Mazza, The Eucharistic Prayers of the Roman Rite (New York, 1986), pp. 36–87. 75. Hänggi and Pahl, Prex eucharistica, p. 435; ET: R.C.D. Jasper and G.J. Cuming, Prayers of the Eucharist: Early and Reformed (3rd rev. ed.; Collegeville, MN, 1987), p. 165. 76. Editions and Latin translations of the Greek texts in Hänggi and Pahl, Prex eucharistica.

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1) The offering of a sacrifice of thanksgiving by the faithful plays only a very much reduced role (it even appears to have been absent altogether during a certain period).77 It features only in the so-called anamnesis after the institution narrative, and even there it receives only a brief reference. One reason may have been that the faithful in this region offered their gifts not after the Liturgy of the Word, but before the beginning of the entire celebration.78 2) Most of the prayers contain an anamnetic part – in the section following the Sanctus – in which the entire history of salvation is summarized, from the creation of the first man and his departure from paradise up to the death and resurrection of Christ, and even to the Second Coming. In some of the texts, for instance in the anaphora of Basil, this theme is even elaborated very extensively.79 This aspect is not entirely lacking in the Roman Canon, but it is much less developed. 3) Unlike the Roman Canon, the Eastern anaphoras contain an epiclesis, an invocation of the Holy Spirit over the gifts and over the faithful. This is an essential part of the entire prayer, even the culmination point of the Eucharistic prayer,80 which means that the aim of the entire prayer is the descent of the Spirit upon the faithful so that they can be transformed by the Spirit. A comparison of the Roman Canon with the Eastern anaphoras invites the conclusion that we have here two different views of prayer, one focusing on the offering of sacrifice (even if the classical concept of sacrifice has undergone a Christian transformation), and the other on the transformation of the faithful by the Holy Spirit. It seems to me that the adjective ‘mystagogical’ is more appropriate to the latter than the former.

77. Cf. Gabriele Winkler, Die Basilius-Anaphora. Edition der beiden armenischen Redaktionen und der relevanten Fragmente, Übersetzung und Zusammenschau aller Versionen im Licht der orientalischen Überlieferungen (Anaphorae orientales 2. Anaphorae armeniacae 2; Rome, 2005), pp. 735–41. 78. Cf. Rouwhorst, ʻOblationenʼ, cols. 66–68. 79. Cf. for the way this theme is developed in the various versions of the anaphora of Basil: Winkler, Die Basilius-Anaphora, pp. 561–692; Achim Budde, Die ägyptische Basilius-Anaphora. Text–Kommentar–Geschichte (Jerusalemer Theologisches Forum 5; Münster, 2004), pp. 273–319. 80. Cf. Rouwhorst, ʻFrühchristliche Eucharistiefeiernʼ, pp. 1069–72; cf. idem, ʻEucharistic Meals East of Antiochʼ, Studia Patristica 64 (2013, pp. 85104.

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It is important to keep things in perspective. The transformation of prayer in early Christianity was not always as drastic as my presentation might appear to suggest. There is in fact a tremendous variety of early Christian prayers. Many Christians did not entirely abandon sacrifice, the mechanism of giving and taking. They will have said extempore prayers in very different situations, using simple, colloquial language. There is also evidence of prayers that many scholars would like to consider ‘magical’. Nonetheless, we have also observed – both in monastic traditions and in the liturgical celebrations in which all Christians took part – the emergence of new forms of prayer that were relatively unique to early Christianity. If not all these forms can properly be called ‘mystagogical’, many of them can.

Part 1 BEGINNINGS

Chapter Three

‘SO ON EARTH’: LITURGY FROM HEAVEN Henk Bakker

Introduction Christian liturgy has always been strongly interwoven with prophetic vision and ecstatic revelation. Prophets gazed into the realm beyond the tangible and saw and heard the world of God. They saw celestial colours, heard glorious singing, and smelled heavenly incense. Moses was a prophet of God to whom the dimensions and glory of the divine temple were revealed. The prophet ordered the earthly temple to be copied from the heavenly abode of God.1 Isaiah saw the Lord sitting on a fiery throne, high and lifted up, and the seraphim covering their face crying, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts’.2 The trisagion reflected the very heart of the service of God. In the presence of the Most High, angels and other creatures hid their faces and bowed their heads, confessing that God alone was the holy One. The temple could be filled merely with the train of his robe. The anonymous writer of the Book of Hebrews spoke like a real ὁρῶν when he pictured Jesus as ‘high priest … a minister [λειτουργóς3] in the holy places, in the true tent that the Lord set up, not man.’4 He saw Jesus act as λειτουργóς (minister in service) in the celestial tabernacle, not designed by man’s hand.5 1. Exod. 25:9, 40. 2. Isa. 6:1–3. Throughout this contribution biblical quotations have been taken from the English Standard Version. 3. Cf. Heb. 1:7, 14 of angels (Ὁ ποιῶν τοὺς ἀγγέλους αὐτοῦ πνεύματα, καὶ τοὺς λειτουργοὺς αὐτοῦ πυρὸς φλόγα … οὐχὶ πάντες εἰσὶν λειτουργικὰ πνεύματα;). All New Testament quotations are taken from the second edition of The Greek New Testament published by the Württemberg Bible Society (Stuttgart, 1968), which is available in the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (stephanus.tlg.uci.edu). 4. Heb. 8:1–2 (Κεφάλαιον δὲ ἐπὶ τοῖς λεγομένοις, τοιοῦτον ἔχομεν ἀρχιερέα, ὃς ἐκάθισεν ἐν δεξιᾷ τοῦ θρόνου τῆς μεγαλωσύνης ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς, τῶν ἁγίων λειτουργὸς καὶ τῆς σκηνῆς τῆς ἀληθινῆς, ἣν ἔπηξεν ὁ κύριος, οὐκ ἄνθρωπος). 5. However, the polemical word combination χειροποιητός/ἀχειροποιητός is used in two critical ways, mainly as an expression of temple criticism: Mark 14:58 (temple criticism); Acts 7:48 (temple criticism); 17:24 (criticism of gentile temples); 2 Cor. 5:1 (temple criticism); Eph. 2:11 (circumcision criticism); Col. 2:11 (circumcision criticism);

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In the Book of Revelation we read about the prophet John who enters the heavenly court and becomes the ambassador of the mysteries he sees and hears there. The text reflects the deep involvement of the world beyond in the present world. John was personally transported into the realm of prayer and adoration, which in a mystagogical sense prepared him for the ministry of prophecy. Just before the last trumpet sounded, he was summoned again to ‘prophesy about many peoples and nations and languages and kings’.6 Thus halfway through the Book of Revelation, the prophet John had to be confirmed as a messenger, and as God’s ambassador. The opening scene in chapters 4–5 sets the stage for the unfolding of the visions, up to the seventh trumpet, which concludes the ultimate delay. The end would begin after the blast of the seventh trumpet.

Revelation 5:9–14 Twice in his revelations, John refers to a ‘door opened’ (θύραν ἠνεῳγμένην). In the short letter to the Philadelphians, Jesus promises to give the oppressed Christians an ‘open door’, a door opened by the key of David.7 Fifteen verses later John speaks about another open door, a door to heaven, to which the prophet is immediately brought in the Spirit.8 Entering the divine throne room, John observes a liturgical scene in which the presence of the eternal Godhead is celebrated. Remarkably, however, John is the only human creature to stand in close proximity to God. John is allowed to see, as a comforting vision, that the liturgy of heaven will have consequences for the final history of humankind. In fact, John is shown that only heaven holds the secret to the ultimate destination of history. The scroll conveying the consummation of salvation history (written recto verso, an ὀπισθογραφόν) is kept firmly in the hand of God. But the truth that John saw in heaven must be celebrated not only there. The liturgy holds a pattern that must be received, copied and

Heb. 9:11, 24 (temple criticism). It is not used in Hebrews 8:1–2, but it is very much part of the line of thought developed there, and it is used explicitly in 9:11, 24. 6. Rev. 10:11. 7. Rev. 3:8 (ἰδοὺ δέδωκα ἐνώπιόν σου θύραν ἠνεῳγμένην). 8. Rev. 4:1–2 (καὶ ἰδοὺ θύρα ἠνεῳγμένη ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ … εὐθέως ἐγενόμην ἐν πνεύματι, as in 1:10). Cf. 2 Cor. 5:13 (εἴτε γὰρ ἐξέστημεν, θεῷ); Mark 3:21 (ἔλεγον γὰρ ὅτι ἐξέστη); Acts 8:39 (πνεῦμα κυρίου ἥρπασεν τὸν Φίλιππον), and 10:10 (παρασκευαζόντων δὲ αὐτῶν ἐγένετο ἐπ’ αὐτὸν ἔκστασις).

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expressed by the Church on earth.9 What is true in heaven must become true on earth. For John, heaven is the sphere of ultimate reality.10 John’s colourful depiction of the heavenly court comprises six stanzas of a prayer; the verses in 5:9–14 comprise four of these. Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come! (4:8) Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created. (4:11) Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation, and you have made them a kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on the earth. (5:9–10) Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing! (5:12) To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever! (5:13) Amen. (5:14)

These six stanzas begin and conclude with the prayers of the four living creatures (τὰ τέσσαρα ζῷα), which together form a kind of inclusio: the trisagion of the four creatures opens the cluster of six, and the ‘amen’ of the four creatures closes it. The four prayers in between build up momentum by expanding participation. First, the twenty-four elders address God as the Creator of all things, then the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders together hail the Lamb on the throne who took the scroll from the hand of God, subsequently the angels and the four creatures and the twenty-four elders praise the Lamb because of its power and honour, and finally all creation in heaven, on earth, and under the earth glorifies God and the Lamb. So the circle of participants widens as the liturgy progresses, beginning and concluding with the address of the four creatures. The numbers rise from four, to twenty-four, to twentyeight, to multitudes of thousands, to many millions, and then go back to four again. The celestial liturgy seems fit to encompass all of creation and

9. Cf. David Aune, Revelation 1–5 (WBC 52A; Dallas, 1997), pp. 331, 355–67, and G.K. Beale, The Book of Revelation: A Commentary on the Greek Text (New International Greek Text Commentary; Grand Rapids, 1999), p. 312: ‘John intended the readers to see what is told of in the vision as a heavenly pattern that the church is to reflect in its worship rather than the other way around.’ 10. Richard Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation (New Testament Theology; Cambridge, 1993), p. 31.

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history at all times and places. It is the overture to the unfolding of the mystery of life itself. Before looking more closely at verses 9–14 of chapter 5, we must first clarify the throne, the four creatures, the twenty-four elders, and the Lamb as important dramatis personae of the vision. Who are they, why do they come together, and what is the occasion that is being described? The heavenly courtiers have assembled for a major occasion: the inauguration of the Lamb as supreme authority in God. The ceremony as a whole looks like a coronation, an enthronement ceremony, or better: a ceremony of investiture.11 Investiture was an act of official ratification of a position that had informally already been established and was being exercised. The Lamb seems to become what it already is. This is why the throne appears, and creatures and elders congregate, all paying tribute to the new king. This kind of festivity was accompanied by spontaneous acclamations of sympathy, the clapping of hands, blows of trumpets and horns.12 The visionary description of the throne of God is reminiscent of other texts in Jewish merkabah and hekhalot literature,13 for instance of apocalyptic passages in Isaiah, Ezekiel and Daniel. The heavenly throne and throne room are colourful, on account of the One sitting on the throne, and of the rainbow above it. God has the appearance of precious jasper stone and sardius. The rainbow shines like an emerald. From the throne come sound, lightning and thunder. Before the throne stand seven lamps of fire, which are the seven Spirits of God, and the surrounding hall is adorned by something like a sea of glass, almost crystal. The throne room is full of light, crystal, green, red and yellow colours. However, the only colours that appear in the picture are ascribed to God himself and to the rainbow (ἡ ἶρις). God’s colours are primarily red and yellow; those in the rainbow are summed up in the colour emerald: deep green. Green is the middle colour in the sevenfold spectrum of the rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, and blue, purple, pink.

11. Aune, Revelation 1–5, pp. 336–38. Cf. David J. MacLeod, ‘The Lion Who Is a Lamb: An Exposition of Revelation 5:1–7’, Bibliotheca Sacra 164 (2007), pp. 323–40. See also Martha Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven in Jewish and Christian Apocalypses (New York–Oxford, 1993), pp. 29–46, on priestly investiture and heavenly ascent in the Testament of Levi, 2 Enoch and 3 Enoch. 12. Cf. 1 Kgs 1:34, 39, 47; 2 Kgs 9:13; 11:12, 14; Ps. 2. 13. Cf. 3 Enoch. See Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven, pp. 44–46, 108–109, and Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, vol. 3 (rev. ed. by Geza Vermes and Fergus Millar; Edinburgh, 1986), pp. 269–70, 273–74, 361–63.

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The colours of the covenant of Noah brighten and adorn the throne of God. The rainbow as a symbol signifies God’s patience and faithfulness, and therefore also his providence for creation.14 God comes to the world as the True and Lenient One, as the Sustainer and Provider, who is mindful of his covenant with Noah. Nevertheless, the end has come. Time is expiring (χρόνος οὐκέτι ἔσται, 10:6). The consummation of history is near, and the investiture ceremony features as the beginning of the end. Moreover, the Lamb is the only one authorized to draw the era of God’s patience to an end, and to judge the world. The four creatures and the twenty-four elders probably represent mighty angels and angelic priests. These eccentric creatures may actually be cherubim or seraphim, carrying and protecting the throne or the chariot of God.15 The body of respectable elders may refer to the heavenly order of priests, representing all of God’s people. The twenty-four dignitaries conceivably serve God as the heavenly counterpart of the twentyfour priestly and twenty-four Levite orders already selected in King David’s times.16 Their priestly identity is clearly expressed in the service they perform. The elders sit on their thrones (as a royal priesthood) and worship God, make music, offer incense, make declamations, and clarify the works of God. In addition to crowns and harps, the priestly elders also carry golden bowls with incense with them, interpreted as being the prayers of the saints (αἱ προσευχαὶ τῶν ἁγίων).17 Heaven and earth merge into an interactive vision of priestly service and persevering human prayer. Seeing this makes of John a prophet who knows. The celestial liturgy will confirm him as, and transform him into, the prophet that God wishes him to be. The Lamb then enters the heavenly scene standing in the middle of God’s throne (ἐν μέσῳ τοῦ θρόνου),18 where it approaches God, and takes the scroll from God’s hand. John is initially distressed, because no one appears to be entitled to take the scroll. Then one of the elders points to the Lion of Judah, and John sees a Lamb ‘standing, as though it had been slain’ (ἀρνίον ἑστηκὸς ὡς ἐσφαγμένον). This wounded, yet conquering 14. Gen. 9:8–17. The rainbow and the scroll appear a second time in Rev. 10:1–10 (10:1–2, 8–10, ἡ ἶρις … βιβλαρίδιον … τὸ βιβλίον … τὸ βιβλαρίδιον … τὸ βιβλαρίδιον; 4:3, ἶρις; 5:1–5, βιβλίον). Obviously the two passages are connected. 15. Cf. Ezek. 1:18; 10:2; Isa. 6:2–3. 16. See 1 Chr. 24:3–5; 25:8–31; Luke 1:8. Cf. Beale, The Book of Revelation, pp. 323–26, and Robert H. Mounce, The Book of Revelation (NICNT; Grand Rapids, 1977), pp. 136–37. So, too, Aune, Revelation 1–5, p. 289. The twenty-four elders do not represent the Old Testament and New Testament people of God (2x12). 17. Rev. 5:8. 18. Rev. 5:6.

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Lamb has taken the scroll and takes its place on the throne of God. The act of enthronement is implied in the words that the Lamb ‘came and took’ (καὶ ἦλθεν καὶ εἴληφεν).19 Then the royal event evolves into one of the greatest scenes of universal adoration ever recorded.20 The Lamb is the central object of adoration in the opening scene of John’s revelation. The contrast between the small and fragile Lamb and the celestial dignitaries is significant. Yet it is this Lamb that draws the attention of heaven and earth, as well as of the abyss. The imagery of the lamb can be traced back to several literary sources, such as the story of the binding of Isaac (‘aqedāt Jitzchāq),21 the Pesach lamb (τὸ πάσχα),22 the servant of the LORD (‘ēbed YHWH),23 the prophet Jeremiah (‘I was like a gentle lamb led to the slaughter’),24 John the Baptist’s acclamation (‘Behold, the Lamb of God’),25 and the ‘tamîd’ offering (‘Go forth and bring a lamb’).26 The only interpretative frame that takes into consideration the extensive liturgy of the opening vision, however, is the occasion of the ‘tamîd’ offering (‘perpetual’ offering). Before the destruction of the temple in 70 ce, the ‘tamîd’ offering was the most important public daily offering on behalf of the people of Israel in Jewish liturgy. It was considered to be ‘the true heart and centre of the entire sacrificial worship’, and the ‘ kernel of all temple ceremonies’.27 Twice daily, a one-year-old lamb was sacrificed on behalf of the people, in the morning just after the burnt offering, and in the evening before the burnt offering.28 The burnt offering and the sacrificial offering belonged together. The burnt offering symbolized the continuous prayer and worship that the Israelite people, as a priestly 19. Rev. 5:7. See Eduard Lohse, Die Offenbarung des Johannes (Neues Testament Deutsch 11; Göttingen, 1983), p. 43: ‘Feierlich schreitet das Lamm zum Thronenden und empfängt aus seiner Hand die Buchrolle. Dieser nur in knapper Kürze beschriebene Akt gleicht der Thronbesteigung des Herrschers.’ 20. Mounce, The Book of Revelation, p. 146. Cf. Paul J. Achtemeier, ‘Revelation 5:1–14’, Interpretation 40/3 (1986), pp. 283–88. 21. Gen. 22:7. 22. 1 Cor. 5:7; Exod. 12:5–7, 21–22. Cf. Aune, Revelation 1–5, pp. 367–73. 23. Isa. 53:7, ‘as a lamb that is led to the slaughter’ (kasseh lattebach yûbal). Cf. Aune, Revelation 1–5, pp. 367–73. 24. Jer. 11:19 (kekebes allûf yûbal litboach). Cf. 2:30, 12:3 (ketson letibechah) and 51:40 (kechariem liteboach). 25. John 1:29, 36 (Ἴδε ὁ ἀμνὸς τοῦ θεοῦ). 26. mTamîd 3.3: ‘Go forth and bring a lamb from the Chamber of Lambs’ (tse’û wehebî’û taleh milliškat hattela’îm), in Philip Blackman, Mishnayoth, vol. 5 (Gateshead, 1977), p. 477, in pp. 469–98. Cf. Beale, The Book of Revelation, p. 324. 27. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, vol. 2, p. 300 and p. 307, in pp. 300–308. 28. Num. 28:3–4.

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nation, were obliged to bring to God. In addition to this continuous prayer, the Israelites also had to offer sacrifices for their trespasses and sins. Forgiveness, reconciliation, prayer, and worship were one. The ‘tamîd’ offering was embedded in a prescribed daily ritual which included extensive rituals such as cleaning the altars, bringing the offerings, and filling the temple court with praise and blessing, accompanied by prostration.29 One of the hymns sung was Psalm 24:1–10. Verses 1–2 declare: ‘The earth is the LORD’s …, for he has founded it’, and are somehow similar to Rev. 4:11: ‘Worthy are you, our Lord and God …, for you created all things.’ The praise is of God as the Creator of all life. As for the Lamb that ‘stood as though it had been slain’ and nonetheless took the scroll (Hebr. omed seh kemo tabuach), there are only a few non-biblical references that appear to correspond with its basic pattern. Ode 23 of the Odes of Solomon (early second century ce) comes close to the meaning of this climactic moment, but it does not include a lamb.30 The Gospel of Truth (mid second century ce) also includes the book ‘which no one was able to take’, the edict, and the sufferings, but it does not mention a lamb.31 The Christian interpolator of the Testament of Joseph does refer to a lamb, but not to it suffering. The ‘spotless lamb’ trampled the wild animals underfoot and took away the sin of the world, saving ‘all the nations, as well as Israel.’32 This lamb is more a conqueror than a slain-yet-surviving lamb. Again, the ‘tamîd’ lamb is the closest parallel to Rev. 5:6, given that the Mishnah prescribes that the legs of the lamb must ‘not be tied up’, but ‘only bound’.33 One foreleg was bound to one hind leg, as Abraham on Mount Moriah bound Isaac according to the tradition.34 To tie up all legs was to demean the holy sacrifice. When John sees a ‘Lamb standing as though it had been slain’, this means it

29. See mTamîd 3.3, 5; 3.7; 4.1; 5.4–5; 5.6; 6.1–3; 7.4. See also Paul Billerbeck, ‘Ein Tempelgottesdienst in Jesu Tagen’, Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 55 (1964), pp. 1–17. 30. Odes Sol. 23:5–22 (seal, scroll, decree, Son), see Michel Lattke, The Odes of Salomon: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis, 2009), pp. 324–39. Cf. Aune, Revelation 1–5, p. 330: ‘In Rev 5:1–14 and Odes Sol. 23:5–22, the elements in each short drama are remarkably similar, and the symbolism is also close. Nevertheless, there can be no direct connection between the two texts because of the unique features that each exhibits.’ 31. The Gospel of Truth 20.6–29. See James M. Robinson (ed.), The Nag Hammadi Library in English (Leiden, 1996 4), pp. 41–42. 32. Test. Jos. 19.8–11. H.C. Kee, ‘Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs’, in J.H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. 1 (New York, 1983), p. 824. 33. mTamîd 4.1. Tying the forelegs or hind legs together, or tying forelegs to hind legs, was the practice of the gentiles. See Blackman, Mishnayoth, vol. 5, p. 475. 34. bTalmud, gemara Tamîd 4. See Lazarus Goldschmidt (trans.), Der Babylonische Talmud, vol. 12 (Frankfurt am Main, 1996), p. 308.

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had two legs tied together, a foreleg bound to a hind leg, just at or after the instant of being slain. The moment of enthronement is the moment of great exuberance. A new song wells up from the mouths of the four creatures and the twenty-four elders.35 It is a new song because it is based on God’s redemptive acts. Its words are therefore addressed to the Lamb, whereas the previous song was addressed to the One sitting on the throne. The praise of the Lord, ‘Worthy are you, our Lord’, is succeeded by the praise of the Lamb, ‘Worthy are you to take the book’. Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God 36 from every tribe and language and people and nation, and you have made them a kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on the earth. (5:9–10)

Hymns often praise what in prose is considered to be a difficulty or a puzzle (ἀπορία).37 Epideictic (or panegyric/encomiastic) rhetoric, which is characterized by praise and honour, tends to praise certainties, and in doing so to drown out uncertainties (certa, dubia).38 In this case, there seems to be debate about whether the Lamb is worthy to sit on the throne with God. John testifies to its glory, but what is important about it? A tiny lamb, bound at two legs, just about to be slain or just having been slain, is not impressive. A lamb like this does not win wars or conquer vicious enemies.39 Yet, the stage in heaven is set for the victorious culmination of salvation history. The Lamb is nothing less than a vigorous warrior of God. It keeps returning in John’s visions as the central figure in the end-time epoch of world history. Thus he mentions the wrath of the Lamb, the seven horns of the Lamb, the Lamb’s bliss, the blood of the Lamb, the Lamb’s book of life, the song of the Lamb, the marriage of the Lamb, the wedding feast of the Lamb, the Lamb’s wife, and finally the throne 35. Rev. 5:9–10 (καὶ ᾄδουσιν ᾠδὴν καινήν). 36. Not ‘and bought us for God’. The reading τῷ θεῷ accounts best for the origin of the variant readings. See Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament (London, 1971), p. 736. 37. Aune, Revelation 1–5, p. 331. 38. See H. Lausberg, Handbuch der literarischen Rhetorik. Eine Grundlegung der Literaturwissenschaft (Stuttgart, 19903), §§ 59–60. 39. Because of the inner-Jewish conflict about the person of Jesus of Nazareth, some scholars take the critical orientation of the Book of Revelation as pointed against Jerusalem, not against Rome. However, this approach to the Revelation of John has always been more or less controversial. See C. van der Waal, Openbaring van Jezus Christus, vol. 1 (Groningen, 1971) and vol. 2 (Oudkarspel, 1981). Cf. also note 5 on temple criticism.

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of the Lamb.40 As a shepherd, the Lamb pastures and comforts the martyred Christians and the remnant of the faithful 144,000 witnesses. The Lamb will be the temple and the light of the new city of Jerusalem in the Kingdom of God. Moreover, a river will flow from the throne of the Lamb to the nations of the world.41 Drinking from this water will heal the crooked behaviour of the gentile nations.42 This Lamb is a disturbing presence, small as it is. Its only weapon is its horn. Israel’s daily sacrifice (the ‘tamîd’ offering) was a one-year-old male lamb. But the lamb in John’s image has seven horns, with seven eyes. The explanation reads: ‘which are the seven Spirits of God, sent out into all the earth’.43 In the opening verses of the description of the throne room, the seven torches before the throne of God are explained as representing the seven Spirits of God.44 Twelve verses further the Lamb and the seven Spirits can no longer be separated. The Lamb is the one ‘who has the seven Spirits of God’.45 Seven horns means that this young ram strikes and conquers everything it sees, and seven eyes means that it actually sees everything, because in it is the Spirit ‘sent out into all the earth’. The risen Christ and the Spirit of God are joined together, as are the horn and the lamb.46 The imagery of the binaries of lion and lamb, standing and slain, horns and eyes, entails a contrast, even an oxymoron.47 It is a literary device in apocalyptic literature to shock the audience rhetorically by connecting two opposing things, such as a lion, yet a lamb; or standing, yet slain; striking, yet watching. The Lamb that John describes therefore is a shocking and a controversial lamb, because it belongs to the very Deity of God. Indeed, the Lamb is God, empowered with the Spirit of God. This is also confirmed by the paradoxical setting of the throne. He who sits on the throne is venerated as holy, the Almighty, the Creator, Eternal (‘who was, is, and will be’). The Lamb who bears the Spirit is venerated as the ruler and founder of the Kingdom of God. Accordingly, praise of the Lamb 40. Rev. 5:6; 6:16; 7:10, 14; 13:8; 15:3; 19:7, 9; 21:9, 27; 22:1. 41. Rev. 7:17; 14:1, 4; 21:22–23; 22:1. 42. Rev. 22:2 (εἰς θεραπείαν τῶν ἐθνῶν). 43. Rev. 5:6, [ἑπτὰ] πνεύματα (ἑπτὰ is placed between square brackets, but this does not change the meaning of the πνεύματα). Cf. Zech. 4:10: ‘These seven are the eyes of the LORD, which range through the whole earth.’ 44. Rev. 4:5. Cf. 1:4. 45. Rev. 3:1. 46. Beale, The Book of Revelation, p. 355: ‘As a result of the death and resurrection, these spirits also become Christ’s agents throughout the world.’ 47. An oxymoron is a dramatic literary device that surprisingly connects two opposing notions in order to amaze and shock the audience, see Lausberg, Handbuch der literarischen Rhetorik, § 807 and § 643.

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and praise of God coincide. First God receives the glory, the honour, and the power. Then the Lamb receives the power, the honour, and the glory. Finally, God and the Lamb together receive the honour, the glory, and the might.48 Splendour and dominion are ascribed to the fullness of the Deity, that is: to the Creator and the Spirit-bearing Lamb. In the new hymn which is sung at the moment of enthronement, the words are addressed to the Lamb itself. In this momentous event, the four creatures and the twenty-four elders praise the Lamb for its dignity. Additionally, it also recounts the story behind the majesty. In four phrases, it presents the new facts of salvation history. Three phrases are in the past tense, the last one in the future tense. The text clearly indicates that the enthronement of the Lamb also includes the installation of a body of co-heirs: ‘Worthy are you …, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God …, and you have made them a kingdom and priests …, and they shall reign on the earth’ (5:9–10). The declaration of the inauguration of co-heirs is rather unique. When the Lamb was slain, it did not simply suffer passively and submissively. In dying, the Lamb acted itself, and accomplished the defeat of its foes. The ritual slaughtering as expressed in the liturgy of worship is more than a commemoration of historical facts. The song ends with a speechact. The words ‘ransomed’ (aorist in Greek) and ‘have made them a kingdom and priests’ (aorist) certainly reach back to historical events. However, the words ‘they shall reign’ (future tense) bring them back to life again, back to the actual present in which John watches heaven set the stage on earth. The stage is set by a speech-event, because the twentyfour elders and the four creatures are presented as priestly envoys whose words pronounce the very acts of heaven (performativity of words).49 The words spoken by heaven create reality on earth. The divine liturgy has iconicity, so as to verify that ‘what can be seen was made out of what cannot be seen’.50 For the prophet John, this is another step on the mystagogical journey he is travelling to be confirmed in his mission. 48. Rev. 4:11; 5:12, 13: Ἄξιος εἶ, ὁ κύριος καὶ ὁ θεὸς ἡμῶν, λαβεῖν τὴν δόξαν καὶ τὴν τιμὴν καὶ τὴν δύναμιν … Ἄξιός ἐστιν τὸ ἀρνίον … λαβεῖν τὴν δύναμιν … καὶ τιμὴν καὶ δόξαν … Τῷ καθημένῳ ἐπὶ τοῦ θρόνου καὶ τῷ ἀρνίῳ … ἡ τιμὴ καὶ ἡ δόξα καὶ τὸ κράτος. 49. See also Rev. 11:16–19. Here the twenty-four elders declare that the time of wrath, judgement and reward has come, and immediately the heavenly temple is opened: the Ark of the Covenant is shown, accompanied by flashes of lightning, rumblings, thunder, earthquake and hailstorm. Cf. Arie Zwiep, Tussen tekst en lezer. Een historische inleiding in de bijbelse hermeneutiek, vol. 2, Van moderniteit naar postmoderniteit (Amsterdam, 2013), pp. 261–87; Anthony C. Thiselton, Hermeneutics: An Introduction (Grand Rapids, 2009), pp. 52–53; William Randolph Tate, ‘Speech Act Theory’, in idem, Interpreting the Bible: A Handbook of Terms and Methods (Peabody, 2006), pp. 349–51. 50. Heb. 11:3.

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The new hymn’s final words can be aptly summed up with the phrase ‘they shall reign on the earth’.51 Here the central part of the liturgy ends with a solemn declaration. Destined for the throne, the royal priesthood is in the process of taking its seat and issuing its first decisions. These royal personages come for the main part from the gentile nations and they are entitled to act in Christ’s name. The words ‘they will reign’ return fifteen chapters later (‘they [will] rule for a thousand years’, 20:4, 6). In fact, the final words of the ecstatic plot of the Book of Revelation confirm the royal position of the heirs of the Lamb (‘they will rule until eternity’, 22:5).

Vindication and Symbolic Space The enthronement ceremony, the atmosphere of prayer, adoration and bliss transform the prophet John into someone who knows and who is ready to prophesy for the Lord. The singing, proclaiming, and outbursts of adoration together with the visions turn the heavenly sanctuary into an instrument of mystagogical formation. The purport of this series of visions that John has is not only to show him what is about to happen, but also how things actually are in heaven and on earth.52 The scroll was opened only after the seventh seal was broken (8:1), and after the seventh trumpet had blown (10:6–7).53 The seven bowls poured out over the earth contain the wrath of God, and probably were the only events lying in store for John (15:5–16:21). Accordingly, chapters 6–16 look like a delay or a postponement of the final end. In the meantime, God makes his case against the enemies of the Kingdom of God. The martyrs appear under the fifth seal, crying for revenge: ‘How long before you will judge and avenge our blood?’54 As was already indicated in the closing lines of the previous section, the co-heirs of the Lamb had to wait for the millennium before their mandates came into effect. The tormented martyrs likewise had to wait for the millennium before their judgement seats were erected:

51. The verb βασιλεύσουσιν fits better in this context than βασιλεύουσιν. In 20:6 codex A(lexandrinus) mistakenly reads βασιλεύουσιν. This may also be the case in 5:10. 52. Cf. Rev. 1:19; 4:1. 53. See Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation, pp. 109–25. 54. Rev. 6:9–10: ‘When he opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain for the word of God and for the witness they had borne. They cried out with a loud voice, “O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?”’

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‘I saw thrones, and seated on them were those to whom the authority to judge (κρίμα) was committed’.55 The κρίμα granted to the martyrs obviously implies more than merely the power to judge the world. The martyrs were also granted the right of vindication. God only exonerates the martyrs and charges the kings and judges of the world. God openly takes sides and lets the oppressed and weak take the positions of their former rulers and tyrants. This is vindication and rehabilitation. Because of their misjudgement and abuse, the tyrants have to acknowledge their mistakes and atrocities openly, bow their heads and yield their positions to the oppressed, who have proven their ability and determination with regard to justice and discernment. Focused as it is on the ultimate goal of vindication and justice, the journey of the righteous in the Revelation of John goes from a place of humiliation and agony to a place of bliss and glory. The pilgrimage emerges from the contrast of two symbolic places, Babylon or Rome as opposed to the new city of Jerusalem. The Book of Revelation was probably written during the reign of Domitian around 95 ce. During the reign of the Emperor Domitian, Christians were not extensively persecuted, yet selectively and significantly harassed. John the Apostle, or a different author who can be identified as an itinerant prophet of the Johannine community, wrote this book, exhorting the Christian churches in Asia Minor to witness to Christ amid a compromised Christian community and an idolatrous world.56 The author therefore uses symbols in order to construct a symbolic world, and to ‘depict’ the transition and transformation of the Christian life under pressure.57 Imagination, symbols and theology are complementary instruments in trying to explain the magnitude of the changes that Christ has wrought through his death and resurrection.58 It is through reflection on words, 55. Rev. 20:4: ‘Then I saw thrones, and seated on them were those to whom the authority to judge was committed. Also I saw the souls of those who had been beheaded for the testimony of Jesus and for the word of God, and those who had not worshiped the beast or its image and had not received its mark on their foreheads or their hands. They came to life and reigned with Christ for a thousand years.’ Cf. Henk Bakker, ‘Public Rehabilitation of the Martyrs: Early Christian Expectation and Its Actual Importance’, lecture held at the symposium On Eschatology, Centre of Evangelical and Reformation Theology, VU University, Amsterdam, June 16th, 2006 (unpublished), and Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven, p. 50. 56. See Beale, The Book of Revelation, pp. 4–36. 57. See Beale, The Book of Revelation, pp. 55–57. At p. 65: ‘The symbols are not to be decoded into propositional language that refers to objective realities, but are to be left as non-objectifying pictorial language that only points to the ultimate reality but cannot describe it.’ Cf. James Wm. McClendon, Systematic Theology, vol. 2, Doctrine (Nashville, 1994), pp. 75–77, in pp. 75–89 (‘Pictures of the Kingdom of God’). See also the approach of M.E. Boring, Revelation (Interpretation; Louisville, 1989). 58. See Beale, The Book of Revelation, pp. 176–77.

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images, and imagination that theology is done, certainly apocalyptic theology. Vindication, justice, and rehabilitation can be described in propositional language, but their salvific intentions require a vision, a mental picture, and a visionary frame (which leaves no room for eschatosophy). Christians have always transmitted mental forms of spatiality to younger generations.59 Home is where God is, and where the new world and the blessed faithful are waiting. Somehow the comforting image that Christians make of God’s future always involves the dimension of space. After all, Christians look for a new city.60 Looking for a place of justice and safety, John uses words taken from the Jewish and the Christian tradition. John’s spatial images and concepts originate from the stories of Noah (flood, rainbow, God’s rule over creation),61 Moses (lamb, exodus, sea, river, Sinai, voyage, tabernacle, the Ark of the Covenant),62 David (root, Lion, city of Jerusalem, temple, liturgy), the exile (the city of Babylon), and obviously the story of Jesus (bride, bridegroom, Lamb, resurrection, return, meal). At least five stories merge together in this apocalyptic series of images. In addition to the familiar stories from tradition, John also perceives different kinds of animals (unidentifiable creatures, lamb, eagle, dragon), which only emphasize the sheer otherness of the transcendent world. Mysterious numbers, too, serve no other cause than to increase the enigma of the world beyond human comprehension (24, 144,000, 666). On the other hand, numbers measure pure facts of spatiality, like the dimensions of the temple square of the old Jerusalem (‘Rise and measure’), and the proportions of the New Jerusalem (‘He who spoke with me had for a measure a golden reed to measure’).63 59. Cf. The Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis 12. In Saturus’s account the Christian spatial future is portrayed as a place of comfort, with some elements taken from John’s apocalypse: angels carry Perpetua and Saturus to the heavenly abode; the martyrs wear white robes; heavenly choirs sing ‘holy, holy, holy’; God tenderly touches their faces; the kiss of peace is given; God says ‘go and play’ (Ite et ludite). Heaven surely is a place of safety. See Herbert Musurillo, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs: Introduction, Texts and Translations (Oxford Early Christian Texts; Oxford, 1972), pp. 120–21. 60. Cf. Ivana Noble, Tracking God: An Ecumenical Fundamental Theology (Eugene, 2010), pp. 144–89, and Judith M. Lieu, Christian Identity in the Jewish and Graeco-Roman World (Oxford, 2004), pp. 237–38, in pp. 211–38. 61. Cf. Beale, The Book of Revelation, p. 369: ‘that this idea – that sovereignty in creation is the basis for sovereignty in judgement and redemption – is the main theme of the two chapters.’ 62. See S. Alblas, De ark van het verbond in het laatste bijbelboek (Diss. 1993, Theologische Universiteit Kampen). 63. Rev. 11:1: ‘Rise and measure the temple of God and the altar and those who worship there’; Rev. 21:15–17: ‘And the one who spoke with me had a measuring rod of gold to measure the city and its gates and walls. The city lies foursquare, its length the same as its width. And he measured the city with his rod, 12,000 stadia. Its length and width and height are equal. He also measured its wall, 144 cubits by human measurement, which is also an angel’s measurement.’

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The vindicatory use of symbolic space in the Revelation of John brings the shared tradition of eschatological images to a safe climax. The coheirs with the Lamb will reign as a royal priesthood in the new temple and in the New Jerusalem. The Lamb stands vindicated in eternity, and so do the co-heirs. Their destiny is entirely enveloped in the victorious history of the Lamb. The Lamb’s future is their future. Their reign rests upon the solid state and stature of God’s triumphant sacrifice. The hymn of worship of the Lamb in 5:9–14 is the opening hymn of an encompassing speech-act event about vindication and symbolic space, which brings John’s vision to a climactic ending. The hymn, as a heavenly liturgical image, also invites John to participate in the liturgy and to become part of the process of proclamation and change. Here, the prayer of 5:9–10 becomes a means of mystagogical involvement.

Participative Liturgy and Mystagogy The hymn of praise is sung by the four creatures and by the twentyfour elders while they offer incense. It is revealing to learn that the incense represents the prayers of the saints. John perceives that the prayers of the saints are actually lifted up to God. He even watches them come before God. In other words, the prayers are being heard. ‘And when he had taken the scroll, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb, each holding a harp, and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. And they sang a new song …’ (5:8–9). The elders and the creatures in heaven are representatives. They are a counter-representation of the new royal priesthood on earth, the body of servants taken from every nation in the world. ‘They sang a new song … for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God …, and you have made them a kingdom and priests’ (5:9–10). When the ‘tamîd’ offering was ritually brought twice a day in the earthly temple, the 1/24 division of priests and Levites who performed the sacrifice represented the 1/24 division of the people of Israel which would have travelled to the temple to stand before God as a priestly people embodying the whole nation (both divisions visited Jerusalem for several weeks). However, not all Israelites were able to come to Jerusalem, and therefore, a smaller group that represented each province would travel to Jerusalem on behalf of the total number of 1/24 of the Israelites. Of these groups the so-called ‘heads’ of the sections took the lead in coming to Jerusalem and in coming before God (‘anshe me’amad). While

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the priests would bring the sacrifices and assemble for the pronouncement of the blessing, the people from the provinces and their ‘head’ would pray and sing, and kneel before the house of God. They watched as their prayers and worship almost literally filled the temple as the priests went in. John had the privilege of seeing the same phenomenon in the heavenly abode of God. In the heavens, the prayers of the co-heirs ascend to God by way of mediation. Simultaneously, the prayers and the incense rise up to God’s holy countenance.64 In other words, the prayers of the Church of Christ are not impotent or void or obsolete. The holy people, whether they are in heaven or on earth, participate in the celestial liturgy, whose divine plan is executed by the Lamb together with the saints. John’s involvement as prophet surpasses the liturgy of the saints. John is ordered to go and ask for the little scroll in the hand of a giant angel, to take it and to eat it. Only as such is he entitled to prophesy. Then the voice … spoke to me again, saying, ‘Go, take the scroll that is open in the hand of the angel …’ So I went to the angel … and he said to me, ‘Take and eat it …’ And I took the little scroll from the hand of the angel and ate it … And I was told, ‘You must again prophesy about many peoples and nations and languages and kings.’65

The mysterious book or scroll appears three times in John’s apocalypse, in chapters 5, 10 and 20. In chapter 5 the Lamb takes the scroll, in chapter 10 John takes it.66 In these two chapters, John is mystagogically equipped to prophesy accurately with regard to the pending vindication, which arrives in chapter 20 (καὶ ἄλλο βιβλίον ἠνοίχθη, ὅ ἐστιν τῆς ζωῆς).67 When he takes part in the liturgy of the Lamb and the scroll, something new and fundamental happens to John himself. Liturgy, or more specifically visionary prayer and adoration, are a God-given means for spiritual susceptibility and mystagogical transformation.68 The liturgy that John experiences in heaven is highly participative. He was able to seize the scroll and taste it.69 The eating of the scroll is an 64. Cf. Rev. 8:3: ‘And another angel came and stood at the altar with a golden censer, and he was given much incense to offer with the prayers of all the saints on the golden altar before the throne.’ 65. Rev. 10:8–11. 66. Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation, p. 118. 67. Rev. 20:12. 68. Cf. Gerrit Immink, ‘Een dubbele beweging’, in Paul Oskamp and Niek Schuman (eds.), De weg van de liturgie. Tradities, achtergronden, praktijk (Zoetermeer, 1998), pp. 67–89. 69. See Michael J. Pears, The Use of Ezekiel in Revelation 10:1–11:13 (MA Thesis Regent College, Vancouver, 1999). See also Ezek. 3:1–4.

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act of spiritual transition, one which forms the heart of a prophet (rite of passage).70 The prophet’s first responsibility is to be true to the Word as it is revealed to him. John had to chew on the prophetic word and taste all its flavours, from sweet to bitter. In order to become God’s true witness, the prophet has to reflect extensively on the content and the drama of his message. In the first place, he should have a clear grasp of the state of the ‘book’ in the heavens. Secondly, he should participate without any reservation in the agony of testifying to the vindication that will be brought to the world. John in fact prepares himself for this. The book was given to him because he asked for it. The angel could have immediately commanded John to take the book, but this is not what happened. The words were spoken, ‘Go, take the scroll’, whereupon John says: ‘So I went to the angel and told him to give me the little scroll.’ Mystagogical direction should be something that is desired and asked for. The instructions given are: ‘Take and eat it’, and: ‘It will make your stomach bitter, but in your mouth it will be sweet as honey.’ Heaven gives instruction about what to do and what to expect. The result is transformation. Sweet becomes bitter, and the bitter taste lasts, because the prophet suffers from the effects of his vision. He sees and knows, and estimates the consequences. He knows he will not be heard. But only if he tastes the bitterness can he prophesy again (‘You must again prophesy’). Why is this so? Just before the closing vision of the book, John receives a short explanation regarding the heart of Christian prophecy. This explanation gives a clear indication of the issue at stake. The angelic messenger explains to the prophet that he is just a fellow-bondservant with John and with his brothers ‘who hold the testimony of Jesus’ (τὴν μαρτυρίαν Ἰησοῦ). Then it is said that ‘the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy’ (ἡ γὰρ μαρτυρία Ἰησοῦ ἐστιν τὸ πνεῦμα τῆς προφητείας).71 The reference to the testimony of Jesus should probably be taken as a reminder of Jesus’ personal faithfulness under dire circumstances (subjective genitive72). So, true prophecy is qualified by partaking in Jesus’ suffering, just as the co-heirs of the Lamb triumph through their personal testimony.73 John’s participation in Jesus’ suffering is expressed and symbolized by the way 70. The eating of the book does not have magical connotations, and is unique in Jewish literature. Rev. 10:9–10 is inspired by Ezek. 3:1–3, and denotes complete submission to God’s awesome message. 71. Rev. 19:10. 72. Cf. Rev. 1:2, 5, 9; 3:14; 11:3, 7. 73. Rev. 12:11: ‘They have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death’ (διὰ τὸν λόγον τῆς μαρτυρίας αὐτῶν).

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in which his service as God’s prophet is prolonged. The sorrowful consequences of the advancing apocalypse and of the ordeal he was to suffer must truly embitter John’s soul. The ‘scroll mystagogy’ into which John is inducted causes the spatial spheres of the world of brokenness and the world of resurrection to merge into one.74 John is a prophetic witness whose calling it is to suffer as any other witness of Christ. John suffers because of the exile he must undergo, and because of the spiritual ‘indigestion’ he experiences.75 The blood of the witnesses participates in the blood of Christ on a subsurface level of which John becomes gradually aware.76 Witnesses are co-sufferers and co-heirs with the Lamb, and they will also be vindicated when they are enthroned together with the Lamb. In every respect, the celestial liturgy is the celebration of a collective investiture. As co-sufferer and co-heir with Christ, the prophet John carefully fulfilled his vocation. He ultimately also committed his apocalypse to the care and the custody of the Church. It is therefore not only John who was called to hear and obey the revealed word of God. The Church, too, was compelled to submit itself to the ‘God of the spirits of the prophets’, as John stated in his final chapter.77 The Church is obliged to pass on the prophecy, and to have competent fellow-prophets explain and expound the visions. According to the late third-century bishop Victorinus of Pettau (currently Ptuj, Slovenia) the spirit of prophecy was entrusted to the Church as the spiritual key to disclosing its mystery and secrets, and so was the Revelation of John.

Victorinus of Pettau (? - c. 304 ce) Not much is known about St. Victorinus of Pettau; all the information we have comes from Jerome.78 Victorinus lived in the second half of the third century and was the first Christian exegete to write commentaries 74. Cf. ‘Dualism … is only overcome by suffering’, in Henk Bakker, ‘Tangible Church: Challenging the Apparitions of Docetism (III): The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come’, in Baptistic Theologies 5/2 (2013), p. 58 in pp. 36–58. 75. Rev. 1:9; 10:10–11. 76. Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation, pp. 75–76, 79. John’s revelation expounds three pivotal themes: the messianic war, the eschatological exodus, and Christian witness, see Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation, pp. 67–73. 77. Rev. 22:6 (ὁ θεὸς τῶν πνευμάτων τῶν προφητῶν); 19:10 (τὸ πνεῦμα τῆς προφητείας); cf. 1 Cor. 14:32 (πνεύματα προφητῶν). Cf. Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven, p. 109: ‘the heavenly ascents of the hekhalot literature should be understood not as rites to be enacted but as stories to be repeated’. 78. Jerome, De viris illustribus 74.

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in Latin. He wrote the first full exposition of the Book of Revelation in history (almost in shorthand), In Apocalypsin, a commentary on Revelation from a millennialist perspective, which was for that reason amended by Jerome. Victorinus probably died as a martyr during the Diocletian persecution in 304. In this commentary, written approximately four decades before his death, Victorinus opts for a consistently Christocentric approach.79 He seems to have been the first to have used a repetitive interpretation (‘recapitulatio’) of the sequence of the Revelation of John. For him the book is a synthesis that holds the key to the understanding of the whole of Scripture, the unity of both the Tenach and the New Testament.80 The principle of the unity of Scripture is fundamental to his hermeneutical system, a method in which Christ permanently opens the word of the Old Testament through the word of the New Testament.81 Victorinus’s understanding of the Revelation of John can be marked as a turningpoint in the history of the reception of the book.82 Although he is heavily dependent on Origen, the bishop surely was a hermeneutical innovator in his time.83 In his exposition of the tenth chapter of Revelation, Victorinus characterizes the great angel as Jesus Christ. His feet covering the land and the sea stand for the apostles who ‘conquer’ the world with their proclamation of the gospel. The little scroll is the Book of Revelation, the key to gospel history. It is here that the notion of the Church’s participation in prophecy is introduced. John took the book and ate it, and thus committed the revelation to memory, Victorinus teaches: ‘To take the book and eat it up, is, when exhibition of a thing is made to one, to commit it to memory.’84 From that time on the Church brings forth prophets who together interpret the Scriptures and the times.

79. Victorinus of Pettau, In Apocalypsin, in PL 5, cols. 317–44. See for Victorinus’s texts esp. Martine Dulaey, Victorin de Poetovio, premier exégète latin, vol. 1: Texte; vol. 2: Notes et tables (Collection des Études Augustiniennes 139, 140; Paris, 1993), and William C. Weinrich (ed. and trans.), Latin Commentaries on Revelation: Victorinus of Petovium, Apringius of Beja, Caesarius of Arles, and Bede the Venerable (Ancient Christian Texts; Downers Grove, IL, 2011). See also Robert J. Daly, SJ, Apocalyptic Thought in Early Christianity (Holy Cross Studies in Patristic Theology and History; Grand Rapids, MI, 2009). 80. Weinrich, Latin Commentaries on Revelation, p. xxiv. 81. Weinrich, Latin Commentaries on Revelation, p. xxiii. 82. Daly, Apocalyptic Thought in Early Christianity, p. 98. 83. Daly, Apocalyptic Thought in Early Christianity, p. 102. 84. Victorinus of Pettau, In Apocalypsin 10:10, in PL 5, col. 333B; ET: Robert Ernest Wallis (trans.), Commentary on the Apocalypse of the Blessed John (ANF 7; Peabody, MA, 1999), p. 353.

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For the apostles, by powers, by signs, by portents, and by mighty works, have overcome unbelief. After them there is now given to the same completed Churches the comfort of having the prophetic Scriptures subsequently interpreted, for I said that after the apostles there would be interpreting prophets (interpretantes prophetas).85

Victorinus helps the ecclesial prophet to take his stand in the Christocentric unity of the Scriptures, using the Revelation of John as a major source text. For the greater part the book remains a mystery, but ecclesial prophets are expected to ‘open’ it by knowing and following Christ, the Lamb, who stands at the centre of the apocalypse. Moreover, prophets usually know and see more than they express.86 Christ is their hermeneutical example, and their mystagogical keynote.

Conclusion When John is invited to take part in the celestial celebration, he actually looks behind reality, into the world of the fixed order of God. There he becomes involved in a liturgy of vindication, in which he participates as the prophet of God. His ministry has to be confirmed by participation in the worship of the Lamb, and by eating the bitter scroll, mystagogically guiding him to become one who knows and who is fit to prophesy for the Lord in the end time. As he worships the Lamb, John witnesses the prayers of the saints being brought before the throne of God. Vindication is not only given to the Lamb, as Christ’s faithful witnesses, too, are vindicated. The enthronement of the Lamb is also theirs. In fact, their rule is included in the investiture of the Lamb. ‘As it is in heaven, so on earth’, says the Lord’s Prayer. The words correspond to the frame of thinking in the Revelation of John. Christ’s witnesses in heaven above will judge the world below, and will inflict bitter violence upon their enemies and oppressors, the enforcement of divine law, restrained intervention.87 After all, the Lamb stands, as a 85. Victorinus of Pettau, In Apocalypsin 10:3, in PL 5, col. 333A; ET: ANF 7, p. 353. 86. Cf. Origen, Contra Celsum VI.6.9–10, in M. Borret, Origène: Contre Celse, vol. 3, Livres V-VI (SC 147; Paris, 1969), p. 194: δεικνύντες [δ’]ὅτι καὶ οἱ καθ’ ἡμᾶς προφῆται ἐφρόνουν τινὰ μείζονα γραμμάτων, ἅπερ οὐκ ἔγραψαν. ET: my own: ‘we demonstrated that our prophets did know of greater things than any in the Scriptures, but which they did not commit to writing.’ 87. Cf. Jan van der Watt and Jacobus Kok, ‘Violence in the Gospel of Love’, in Pieter G.R. de Villiers and Jan Willem van Henten (eds.), Coping with Violence in the New Testament (Studies in Theology and Religion 16; Leiden, 2012), pp. 151–83, and Paul B. Decock, ‘Images of War and Creation, of Violence and Non-Violence in the Revelation

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sacrifice violently offered. It seems a tragic paradox that the offering of the Lamb should restore peace on earth through violent intervention, as the last chapters of Revelation show. However, the mystery of sacrifice is packed with paradoxes.88 The Lamb and its witnesses will bring the world to justice. For John as a prophet, ‘as in heaven, so on earth’ implies that he is being initiated in the world beyond the tangible. The Spirit of prophecy leads Christians to testimony, suffering, and the taste of bitterness, as Victorinus of Pettau pointed out. Prophetic initiation is not something any person can arrange on their own. Prophets need an invitation, and guidance, from above.

of John’, in Villiers and van Henten, Coping with Violence in the New Testament, pp. 185– 200, see p. 200: ‘The violence of God, in which the prophetic Churches share, is clearly distinguished from human violence, which is totally excluded. This divine “violence” in the prophetic ministry is a “miraculous violence” in the sense that it is not achieved by ordinary human means and, therefore, not at human disposal. It is a restrained intervention, which aims to bring the inhabitants of the earth to repentance. As this is only a restrained intervention and not yet the total overthrow of the forces of chaos, the faithful continue to suffer. Their faithful worship of God and suffering, their doing the works of Jesus to the end (Rev. 2:26), already, however, constitute a victory and strengthen the foundations of creation.’ 88. See Th.P. van Baaren, Het offer. Inleiding tot een complex religieus verschijnsel (Utrecht, 1976), pp. 137–46.

Chapter Four

SCRIPTURE AS INITIATOR, STANDARD, AND PROTOTYPE OF PRAYER IN CLEMENT OF ROME’S FIRST LETTER TO THE CORINTHIANS Benno Zuiddam

Appreciation in the Early Church Clement of Rome’s Epistle to the Corinthians, written towards the close of the first century,1 was known and appreciated by several prominent leaders in the Early Church, and it is therefore a good source for the relation between revelation and prayer in the very early Church. Irenaeus,2 Tertullian, Eusebius and several other Church Fathers attest to this. A possible reference in the Shepherd of Hermas, however, is considered speculative.3 Irenaeus mentions Clement’s epistle4 as a letter sent by the 1. C. ad 95. See L.L. Welborn, ‘The Preface to 1 Clement, the Rhetorical Situation and the Traditional Date’, in Cilliers Breytenbach and Laurence L. Welborn, Encounters with Hellenism: Studies on the First Letter of Clement (Leiden, 2004), pp. 197–216. Cf. H.R. Drobner, The Fathers of the Church: A Comprehensive Introduction (Peabody, MA, 2007), pp. 47–48; Claudio Moreschini and Enrico Norelli, Early Christian Greek and Latin Literature, vol. 1, From Paul to the Age of Constantine (Peabody, MA, 2005), p. 101; David Ivan Rankin, From Clement to Origin: The Social and Historic Context of the Church Fathers (Aldershot, 2006), pp. 26–29; Frances Young, Lewis Ayres, and Andrew Louth (eds.), The Cambridge History of Early Christian Literature (Cambridge, 2006), p. 14. 2. Irenaeus (Against Heresies 3.3) mentions that Clement was the third in chronological sequence to be ordained overseer of the church in Rome in place of the apostles, or in a temporary apostolic function, after Paul had ceased his apostolic activities there. According to Irenaeus, Clement was a pupil of the great Apostle. Through him, the preaching of the apostles continued to be heard, and what they had passed on was before his eyes. He must have been relatively young still, as there were many others alive in Rome at the time who had received their Christian instruction from the apostles. For the Latin, German and Greek text (passages from Eusebius) of Against Heresies 3.3, see Norbert Brox, Irenäus von Lyon: Adversus Haereses, Gegen die Häresien (FC 8/3; Freiburg, 1995), pp. 30–39. Cf. Adelin Rousseau and Louis Doutreleau, Irénée de Lyon, Contre les Hérésies, Livre 3 (SC 211; Paris, 1974). 3. See Mark Grundeken, Community Building in the Shepherd of Hermas: A Critical Study of Some Key Aspects (Leiden, 2015), p. 4. 4. Clement’s first letter to the Corinthians, as distinguished from his second letter, which is generally considered pseudepigraphic and has the character of a sermon (see

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church in Rome (ἡ ἐν Ῥώμῃ ἐκκλησία) to the Corinthians to help restore peace in the congregation after an episode of major strife during the persecution of Domitian (c. ad 95).5 Eusebius6 and Jerome7 identified Clement as one of Paul’s co-workers (Phil. 4:3), but Irenaeus merely states that Clement attended Paul’s preaching and talked to him. According to Tertullian, it was Peter who ordained Clement, supposedly at some later stage.8 Translations of the bishop from Lyons’s work sometimes say that he found Clement of Rome’s epistle a ‘most powerful letter’.9 While there may be some warrant for this in the Latin (potentissimas literas, accusative feminine plural based on potens), which can refer to power as well as ability, the Greek (ἱκανωτάτην γραφήν) strongly suggests the latter. Michael W. Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers: Greek Texts and English Translations (3rd ed.; Grand Rapids, MI, 2007), pp. 132–65; cf. Eusebius, HE 3.38), as well as from the pseudoClementine documents, e.g. Giovanni B. Bazzana, ‘Eve, Cain, and the Giants: The Female Prophetic Principle and its Succession in the Pseudo-Clementine Novel’, in Frédéric Amsler et al. (eds.), Nouvelles intrigues pseudo-clémentines / Plots in Pseudo-Clementine Romance (Prahins, 2008), pp. 313–20. 5. Moreschini and Norelli, From Paul to the Age of Constantine, p. 101. See also Young, Ayres, and Louth, The Cambridge History of Early Christian Literature, p. 14; Drobner, The Fathers of the Church, pp. 47–48. 6. Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 3.4.8–10, in Gustave Bardy, Eusébe de Césarée: Histoire Ecclésiastique (SC 31; Paris, 1952), pp. 100–101: τῶν δὲ λοιπῶν ἀκολούθων τοῦ Παύλου Κρήσκης μὲν ἐπὶ τὰς Γαλλίας στειλάμενος ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ μαρτυρεῖται, Λίνος δέ, οὗ μέμνηται συνόντος ἐπὶ Ῥώμης αὐτῷ κατὰ τὴν δευτέραν πρὸς Τιμόθεον ἐπιστολήν, πρῶτος μετὰ Πέτρον τῆς Ῥωμαίων ἐκκλησίας τὴν ἐπισκοπὴν ἤδη πρότερον κληρωθεὶς δεδήλωται· ἀλλὰ καὶ ὁ Κλήμης, τῆς Ῥωμαίων καὶ αὐτὸς ἐκκλησίας τρίτος ἐπίσκοπος καταστάς, Παύλου συνεργὸς καὶ συναθλητὴς γεγονέναι πρὸς αὐτοῦ μαρτυρεῖται. ET: my own: ‘Concerning the rest of his followers, Paul testifies that Crescens was sent to Gaul; but that Linus, whom he mentions in his second letter to Timothy as his companion in Rome, was appointed in the episcopate over the church in Rome after Peter, has already been mentioned. But also about Clement, who was himself appointed in the church in Rome as third overseer, it is testified that he was a co-labourer and fellow-soldier of Paul’s.’ 7. See Hieronymus, De viris illustribus, c. 15, in PL 23, col. 631C: ‘Clemens, de quo Apostolus Paulus ad Philippenses scribens, ait, Cum Clemente et caeteris cooperatoribus meis, quorum nomina scripta sunt in libro vitae.’ ET: Thomas P. Halton, St. Jerome: On Illustrious Men (FOTC 100; Washington, DC, 1999), p. 31: ‘Clement, of whom the apostle Paul in his Epistle to the Philippians wrote, “with Clement and my other fellowworkers whose names are written in the book of life.”’ 8. Tertullianus, De praescriptione haereticorum, c. 32, in Pierre de Labriolle and François Refoulé, Tertullien, Traité de la prescription contre les hérétiques (SC 46; Paris, 1957), pp. 179–81: ‘sicut Smyrnaeorum ecclesia Polycarpum ab Iohanne conlocatum refert, sicut Romanorum Clementem a Petro ordinatum est’. ET: my own: ‘as Polycarp was placed in the church of the Smyrnaeans by John, likewise Clement by Peter in that of the Romans.’ 9. Irenaeus of Lyons, Adversus haereses 3.3, in A. Cleveland Coxe (ed.), ‘Irenaeus: Against Heresies’ (ANF 1; Peabody, MA, 1994, 18851, p. 416: ‘In the time of this Clement, no small dissension having occurred among the brethren at Corinth, the Church in Rome dispatched a most powerful letter to the Corinthians.’

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Irenaeus merely speaks about a ‘very effective’ letter.10 In his view, Clement’s letter preached the one true faith as it was passed on by the Apostles: ‘proclaiming the one God, omnipotent, the Maker of heaven and earth, the Creator of man, who brought on the deluge, and called Abraham, who led the people from the land of Egypt, spoke with Moses, set forth the law, sent the prophets, and who has prepared fire for the devil and his angels.’11 Irenaeus touched on some very crucial points in Christian theology as a single faith tradition from the beginning of the world down to Jesus Christ. Irenaeus recognized that Clement presents this great theological panorama of world history with the following highlights: God as the Creator, as the Judge who brought on the Flood, as the One who chose Abraham and his seed, and who communicated with humankind through Moses and the prophets; and also as the final Judge of those who interfered with his good creation. Irenaeus appreciated Clement’s epistle as a proclamation of a God who is intimately involved with this world and who, throughout history, continues to interact and communicate with humankind. In other words, God is experienced as someone who exists, who speaks to people (revelation) and with whom it is possible to have a personal relationship (prayer). Himself a representative of a later Christianity (second half of the second century), Irenaeus thought that Clement of Rome’s Epistle to the Corinthians also shed light on very early Christianity and its core teachings: ‘Those who are interested may also understand the apostolic tradition of the Church, since this epistle is older than those who are presently teaching falsehood, and who put a different God in place of the Creator and Maker of all things that exist.’12 For Irenaeus and early Christianity the Creator of the universe was also the Father of the Lord Jesus Christ, 10. See Lysias, De affectata tyrannide (Defence Against a Charge of Subverting the Democracy) 25.23, in W.R.M. Lamb, Lysias (LCL 244; Cambridge, MA, 1976), p. 550: νομίζοντες καὶ τῆς πόλεως ταύτην ἱκανωτάτην εἶναι σωτηρίαν καὶ τῶν ἐχθρῶν μεγίστην τιμωρίαν. ET: ibid., p. 551: ‘because they hold this to be the most effective safeguard of the city and the severest punishment of her enemies’. Cf. H.G. Liddell & R. Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, with a Revised Supplement (Oxford, 1996), p. 825. 11. Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 3.3, in FC 8/3, pp. 32–33: ‘annuntians quam in recenti ab Apostolis acceperat traditionem, annuntiantem unum Deum omnipotentem, factorem coeli et terrae, plasmatorem hominis, qui induxerit cataclysmum, et advocaverit Abraham, qui eduxerit populum de terra Aegypti, qui collocutus sit Moysi, qui legem disposuerit, et prophetas miserit, qui ignem praeparaverit diabolo et angelis eius’; ET: ANF 1, p. 416. 12. Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 3.3, in FC 8/3, p. 32: ‘qui velint discere possunt, et apostolicam Ecclesiae traditionem intelligere, cum sit vetustior epistola his qui nunc falso docent, et alterum Deum super Demiurgum et factorem horum omnium quae sunt commentiuntur’; ET: my own.

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the authoritative Saviour-King promised by God to the Israelites. It was a single faith tradition from the days of creation, through Abraham and Moses, down to the early Church. In sum, the general reception of Clement’s epistle in early Christianity shows that the first letter to the Corinthians was well known and appreciated in the early Church. This paper will use it as a basis to investigate the role that the voice of God plays in relation to early Christian prayer. It will argue that Christian prayer was not an independent phenomenon, but was in many ways a response to Scripture. This contribution will first explore this notion of divine revelation, then the use of prayer in the Epistle to the Corinthians, and will subsequently argue that Clement’s letter reveals a general interaction of prayer with Scripture.

A High View of God’s Revelation through Sacred Scripture To understand the defining influence of Scripture on prayer in Clement’s letter to the Corinthians, it is important first to establish the role and nature of Scripture as it was perceived by Clement of Rome.13 Clement characterizes the nature of the Scriptures (γραφάς) as follows: ‘You have paid careful attention to the sacred Scriptures, which are true, which are from the Holy Spirit. You know full well that nothing unjust or counterfeit is written in the same.’14 It is clear from the Greek that Clement emphasized that Scripture can be called three things: they are the holy Scriptures (τὰς ἱεράς), the true Scriptures (τὰς ἀληθεῖς), and the Scriptures that have come into being through the Holy Spirit (τὰς διὰ τοῦ πνεύματος τοῦ ἁγίου). Clement speaks about ‘holy books’ almost in the priestly sense of consecrated (1 Cl. 43: ἐν ταῖς ἱεραῖς βίβλοις), dedicated 13. The research question of this contribution focuses on Scripture as a phenomenon and on how this relates to prayer. Which books Clement considered Scripture, whether he interpreted Scripture responsibly, and any other canonical considerations are irrelevant for present purposes. For the interpretation of Scripture in the early Church, see for instance: Charles A. Bobertz, and David Brakke, Reading in Christian Communities: Essays on Interpretation in the Early Church (Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity 14; Notre Dame, IN, 2002); E.P. Meijering, Als de uitleg maar goed is, hoe vroege Christenen de Bijbel gebruikten (Zoetermeer, 2003); A.J. Hauser and D.F. Watson, A History of Biblical Interpretation, vol. 1, The Ancient Period (Grand Rapids, MI, 2004); R.N. Soulen, Sacred Scripture: A Short History of Interpretation (Louisville, 2010). 14. Epistula ad Corinthios (1 Cl.) 45, in Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers, p. 104: ἐνκεκύφατε εἰς τὰς ἱερὰς γραφάς, τὰς ἀληθεῖς, τὰς διὰ τοῦ πνεύματος τοῦ ἁγίου. ἐπίστασθε, ὅτι οὐδὲν ἄδικον οὐδὲ παραπεποιημένον γέγραπται ἐν αὐταῖς. ET: my own; cf. Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers, p. 105: ‘You have searched the holy scriptures, which are true, which were given by the Holy Spirit; you know that nothing unrighteous or counterfeit is written in them.’

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to the service of God. This passage in Clement is one of the earliest examples of the later doctrine15 of the infallibility of Scripture: for him the Scriptures are morally right and reliable in what they aim to represent in writing. It is not relevant for the purposes of this paper which books Clement regarded as belonging to Scripture, but we are enquiring into what authority and function he assigned to Scripture as a phenomenon.16 Clement’s reference to Scripture is indicative of the authoritative way Holy Writ functioned in his theology: as divine communication to him personally, and to the world at large.17 Throughout his epistle, Clement uses the expression ‘it is written’ (γέγραπται)18 as a reference to Holy Writ 15. E.g. Catechism of the Catholic Church (Homebush, 1994), art. 3.II.107; Confessio Belgica, art. 3. 16. Although Clement did not think in terms of a New Testament canon, some scholars have concluded that the authority with which he regarded New Testament books was similar to that of the Old Testament. Craig A. Evans, ‘A Note on ἐγκύπτειν in 1 Clement’, Vigiliae Christianae 38/2 (1984), pp. 200–201: ‘The author of 1 Clement apparently held equal regard for the New Testament as he did for the Old Testament. Both Testaments are quoted extensively and the several references to Scripture (e.g., as “divine knowledge,” “sacred writings,” or “oracles of God”) apply to both (e.g., 40:1 applies to the commands of Christ). This usage of ἐγκύπτειν gives clear evidence of 1 Clement’s high regard not only for the Old Testament, but for the New Testament as well. The author regarded both Testaments as offering the ultimate source of divine knowledge and truth and that if carefully studied by the Corinthian Christians, to whom the epistle was addressed, solutions to their various problems will be found. Thus, 1 Clement, especially as seen by its usage of ἐγκύπτειν, is an early and important witness to the value and authority accorded by First Century Christians to both Testaments.’ Evans builds on the earlier work of Donald A. Hagner, The Use of the Old and New Testaments in Clement of Rome (Leiden, 1973), pp. 185–348. Although Evans and Hagner seem justified in calling attention to the authority of New Testament writings in Clement of Rome, direct quotations from Scripture in his works always refer to Moses or the Prophets. 17. See also Joseph Trigg, ‘The Apostolic Fathers and Apologists’, in Alan J. Hauser and Duane F. Watson (eds.), A History of Biblical Interpretation, vol. 1, The Ancient Period (Grand Rapids, MI, 2003), pp. 308–309. 18. The references introduced by ‘it is written’ (γέγραπται), are as follows: 1 Cl. 4 Genesis 3:4–8 14 Proverbs 2:21–22 17 Job 14:4–5 29 Deuteronomy 32:8–9 36 Psalm 104:4 39 Deuteronomy 4:12 45 ‘Observe that nothing of an unjust or counterfeit character is written in them’ (in the Scriptures; in this case γέγραπται is not used to introduce a quote ) 46 Leviticus 11:44 and Psalm 18:25 48 Psalm 118:19 50a Isaiah 26:20 50b Psalm 32:1–2 Cf. Hagner, The Use of the Old and New Testaments in Clement of Rome, Appendix 1, pp. 351–52.

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(chapters 4, 14, 17, 29, 36, 39, 45, 46, 48, 50 [2x]). For him, this is not a mere literary reference, but it constitutes theological proof. This is why, in most instances, Clement adds ‘for’ (γάρ) to indicate that he is introducing evidence and is appealing to a higher authority: ‘For it is written’ (γέγραπται γάρ). On the same level, Clement uses the expression ‘and again it/God says’ (Καὶ πάλιν λέγει) to introduce direct quotes from Scripture.19 Sometimes the introductory remark is shortened to: ‘And again’ (Καὶ πάλιν).20 Related examples introduce quotes from Scripture in a similar way.21 For Clement, Scripture is essentially oracular in nature. Clement’s use of Scripture shows that it can be Word, the mouth of the Prophet, and the voice of God at the same time. Although all direct quotes are from the Old Testament, God, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit are all seen to function in Clement’s concept of Holy Scripture. For instance, the Church Father (1 Cl. 10) regards Genesis 13:14–16 as Scripture; through the mouth of Moses, the Prophet; but ultimately God is the author of the words. Similarly with David (1 Cl. 22): Psalm 34 is Scripture; spoken through the mouth of the Prophet; but ultimately the Christ is the author of the words. Likewise, Clement regarded Jeremiah 9:24 as Scripture; through the mouth of the Prophet; but the Holy Spirit effectively is the author of the words. 19. See: 1 Cl. 10 14 15 17 36 52 56 20. See: 1 Cl. 10 15a 15b 21. See: 1 Cl. 10 13 13 16 22 23 26 28 33 34 35 42 46 56

Genesis 15:5–6 Psalm 37:35–36 Psalm 78:36 cf. Exodus 6:30 Psalm 110:1, cf. Hebrews 1:13 Psalm 50:14 Psalm 94:12 Genesis 13:14–16 Psalm 62:4 Psalm 12:4 Genesis 13:14–16 Καὶ πάλιν… εἶπεν αὐτῷ ὁ θεός Jeremiah 9:24 λέγει γὰρ τὸ πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον Isaiah 66:2 φησὶν γὰρ ὁ ἅγιος λόγος Psalm 22:6–7 Καὶ πάλιν αὐτός φησιν Psalm 34:11–17 καὶ γὰρ αὐτὸς διὰ τοῦ πνεύματος τοῦ ἁγίου οὕτως προσκαλεῖται ἡμᾶς Malachi 3:1 συνεπιμαρτυρούσης καὶ τῆς γραφῆς Job 19:25–26 Καὶ πάλιν Ἰὼβ λέγει Psalm 139 Λέγει γάρ που τὸ γραφεῖον Genesis 1:26–27 Oὕτως γάρ φησιν ὁ θεός Daniel 7:10 Λέγει γὰρ ἡ γραφή Psalm 50:16–23 Λέγει γὰρ ἡ γραφή Isaiah 1:26 οὕτως γάρ που λέγει ἡ γραφή Psalm 18:25 Καὶ πάλιν ἐν ἑτέρῳ τόπῳ λέγει Psalm 118:18 Oὕτως γάρ φησιν ὁ ἅγιος λόγος

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This sense of the oracular nature of Scripture will prove to be important in relation to Clement’s prayer, as it provokes a response to what is experienced as God’s message. Clement regards sacred Scripture as a phenomenon in this way. For instance, he addresses the Corinthians as follows: ‘Indeed you understand, beloved, and indeed you know the sacred Scriptures well, and indeed you have looked very carefully into the oracles of God. So it is for your recollection that we write these things.’22 Clement uses a word that is specifically concerned with divine revelation: τὰ λόγια. This happens in 53.1, but also in 13.4, 19.1 and 62.3.23 Clement uses the plural form for oracles, and applies this to Holy 22. 1 Cl. 53, in Gerhard Schneider, Clemens von Rom: Epistola ad Corinthios (FC 15; Freiburg im Breisgau, 1994), pp. 192–93: Ἐπίστασθε γὰρ καὶ καλῶς ἐπίστασθε τὰς ἱερὰς γραφάς, ἀγαπητοί, καὶ ἐγκεκύφατε εἰς τὰ λόγια τοῦ θεοῦ. Πρὸς ἀνάμνησιν οὖν ταῦτα γράφομεν. ET: my own. Cf. Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers, p.115. ‘For you know, and know well, the sacred scriptures, dear friends, and you have searched into the oracles of God.’ Annie Jaubert, Clément de Rome: Épître aux Corinthiens (SC 167; Paris, 1971), p. 185: ‘Vous connaissez, oui, vous connaissez fort bien les Écritures sacrées, bien-aimés, et vous vous êtes penchés sur les paroles de Dieu.’ Trigg, ‘The Apostolic Fathers and Apologists’, pp. 308–309, agrees: ‘Clement accepted the authority of the Old Testament and expected the same of his readers. He addresses them at one point saying: “For you know and know well the holy Scriptures, beloved, and you have scrutinized God’s oracles. Therefore we write these things to remind you” (53.1). Whether or not they knew and accepted the Old Testament as Scripture, Clement evidently did.’ Clement apparently used the Septuagint as ‘inspired translation’. See also Horacio E. Lona, Der erste Clemensbrief (KAV 2; Göttingen, 1998), p. 616; Jan Rohls, Ideengeschichte des Christentums, vol. 2, Schrift, Tradition und Bekenntnis (Tübingen, 2012), p. 54. Irenaeus held a similar view; see Paul M. Blowers, The Bible in Greek Christian Antiquity (Notre Dame, IN, 1997), pp. 105–11. 23. 1 Cl. 13.4, in Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers, p. 62: φησὶν γὰρ ὁ ἅγιος λόγος· Ἐπὶ τίνα ἐπιβλέψω, ἀλλ’ ἢ ἐπὶ τὸν πραΰν καὶ ἡσύχιον καὶ τρέμοντά μου τὰ λόγια; ET: Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers, p. 63, fails to show the revelatory nature of Clement’s expression in this passage: ‘For the holy word says, “Upon whom shall I look, except upon the one who is gentle and quiet and who trembles at my words?”’ In the other three passages with τὰ λόγια Holmes correctly emphasizes Clement’s intent to refer to revelatory divine speech: 1 Cl. 19.1, in Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers, pp. 70–73: Τῶν τοσούτων οὖν καὶ τοιούτων οὕτως μεμαρτυρημένων τὸ ταπεινόφρον καὶ τὸ ὑποδεὲς διὰ τῆς ὑπακοῆς οὐ μόνον ἡμᾶς, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰς πρὸ ἡμῶν γενεὰς βελτίους ἐποίησεν, τούς τε καταδεξαμένους τὰ λόγια αὐτοῦ ἐν φόβῳ καὶ ἀληθείᾳ. ET: ‘Accordingly, the humility and subordination of so many people of such great renown have, through their obedience, improved not only us but also the generations before us, and likewise those who have received his oracles in fear and truth.’ 1 Cl. 53.1, in Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers, pp. 114–15: Ἐπίστασθε γὰρ καὶ καλῶς ἐπίστασθε τὰς ἱερὰς γραφάς, ἀγαπητοί, καὶ ἐγκεκύφατε εἰς τὰ λόγια τοῦ θεοῦ. Πρὸς ἀνάμνησιν οὖν ταῦτα γράφομεν. ET: ‘For you know, and know well, the sacred scriptures, dear friends, and you have searched into the oracles of God.’ 1 Cl. 62.3, in Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers, pp. 128–29: Καὶ ταῦτα τοσούτῳ ἥδιον ὑπεμνήσαμεν, ἐπειδὴ σαφῶς ᾔδειμεν γράφειν ἡμᾶς ἀνδράσιν πιστοῖς καὶ ἐλλογιμωτάτοις καὶ ἐγκεκυφόσιν εἰς τὰ λόγια τῆς παιδείας τοῦ θεοῦ. ET: ‘And we have reminded you of these things all the more gladly, since we knew quite well that we were writing to people who are faithful and distinguished and have diligently studied the oracles of the teaching of God.’

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Scripture in general.24 While Clement also recognizes more specific messages from heaven – God’s speech to Moses from the burning bush falls into this category (see 1 Cl. 17) – he uses a different word for this specific oracle (χρηματισμός). When he refers to writings that he considers to be the Word of God, Holy Scripture as a phenomenon, Clement uses τὰ λόγια. This is in line with the New Testament use of the term (cf. Acts 7:38; Romans 3:2; 1 Peter 4:11; Hebrews 5:12).25 The abundance of Scripture in Clement’s letter to the Corinthians is also a factor that should be considered.26 This letter shows that by the end of the first century, early Christianity had produced a Church Father who was steeped in the Old Testament. Not only did he quote from Scripture in almost every short chapter of his epistle, often more than once, and included a much greater number of allusions, but also the content of the epistle is exclusively focused on how biblical references and apostolic teachings relate to the situation of the letter’s recipients. In other words, a central question is how God’s message (contained in, and confirmed by Holy Scripture) related to the lives and circumstances of the Corinthians. The context in which this message is presented is relational.

The Use of Prayer in Clement’s Letter to the Corinthians Prayer in Response to the Preached Word of God Clement suggests that God’s revelation was aimed at changing human behaviour, because the prophets of old had preached repentance in his name. To Clement’s mind, obedience to God’s Word was the path to salvation. This process was not just a change of life, but a change of heart (μετάνοια), which should also lead to a personal reaching out to God in prayer. When he admonishes the Corinthians in chapter 7, he says: Let’s turn to all the previous generations and learn that, from generation to generation, the Master has given an opportunity for repentance to all those who would be converted to him. Noah preached repentance, and 24. For different interpretations of λόγια in the early Church, see Armin Daniel Baum, ‘Papias als Kommentator evangelischer Aussprüche Jesu: Erwägungen zur Art seines Werkes’, Novum Testamentum 38/3 (1996), pp. 257–76, esp. 258–59. 25. The role of the term λόγια in Clement of Rome’s first letter to the Corinthians agrees with the New Testament use of this word, see B. Zuiddam, F.J. Van Rensburg, and P.J. Jordaan, ‘Λόγιον in Biblical Literature and its Implications for Christian Scholarship’, Acta Patristica et Byzantina 19 (2008), pp. 379–94. 26. Andreas Lindemann, ‘Der erste Clemensbrief’, in Wilhelm Pratscher (ed.), Die Apostolischen Väter. Eine Einleitung (Göttingen, 2009), pp. 59–82, on p. 61, confirms that the epistle is marked by its many and extensive quotes from the Bible.

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those who obeyed were saved. Jonah preached destruction to the Ninevites, and as they repented from their sins, they appeased God by earnestly calling on him, and received salvation, although they did not belong to God’s people.27

The Ninevites turned from their sins and called on God with intense prayer. They appeased, or propitiated, God.28 Their intense prayer or ‘earnest calling on him’ (ἱκετεύσαντες) was instrumental in appeasing God – a similar expression (ἱκετηρίας) is used for Jesus’s prayer in Hebrews 5:7. The king of Nineveh commanded his people not only to put on sackcloth, apply ashes and to change their sinful ways, but also to ‘cry mightily to God’ (Jonah 4:8). In this context, repentance was accompanied by prayer as a response to God, who had communicated his displeasure and intended to pass judgement through his prophet. This use of prayer may be briefly summarized as follows: prayer as a means of reaching out to God verbally, in a context of repentance, in response to the preached Word of God. A Lifestyle that Corresponds to the Profession of Faith Opens God’s Ears to Prayer Requests Clement also mentions other functions of prayer. He does not think that it is only the context of conversion that calls for prayer. He regards prayer as a necessary means of maintaining a relationship with God. His epistle supposes that faith leads to a changed life with an ongoing commitment to serve God that calls for the seeking out of his will. Believers require God’s help for this, and according to Clement the way to obtain this is to ask. At the same time, their words and their behaviour can help to open God’s ears. The basis for this assertion can be found in Scripture, according to Clement: 27. 1 Cl. 7, in FC 15, pp. 80–81: Διέλθωμεν εἰς τὰς γενεὰς πάσας καὶ καταμάθωμεν, ὅτι ἐν γενεᾷ καὶ γενεᾷ μετανοίας τόπον ἔδωκεν ὁ δεσπότης τοῖς βουλομένοις ἐπιστραφῆναι ἐπ’ αὐτόν. Νῶε ἐκήρυξεν μετάνοιαν καὶ οἱ ὑπακούσαντες ἐσώθησαν. Ἰωνᾶς Νινευΐταις καταστροφὴν ἐκήρυξεν· οἱ δὲ μετανοήσαντες ἐπὶ τοῖς ἁμαρτήμασιν αὐτῶν ἐξιλάσαντο τὸν θεὸν ἱκετεύσαντες καὶ ἔλαβον σωτηρίαν, καίπερ ἀλλότριοι τοῦ θεοῦ ὄντες. ET: my own; cf. Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers, pp. 54–55: ‘Let us review all the generations in turn, and learn that from generation to generation the Master has given an opportunity for repentance to those who desire to turn to him. Noah preached repentance, and those who obeyed were saved. Jonah preached destruction to the people of Nineveh; but those who repented of their sins made atonement to God by their prayers and received salvation, even though they had been alienated from God.’ 28. The relation with God was restored after the initial offence. God was pacified by their earnest requests. Cf. W. Bauer, Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament (6th rev. ed.; Berlin, 1988), p. 762.

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Benno Zuiddam And faith in Christ confirms all these things. For he himself draws us closer by the Holy Spirit in the following way: ‘Come children, listen to me, I will teach you the fear of the Lord. What man is there who wants to have life, and loves to see good days? Stop your tongue from evil, and your lips from speaking deviousness. Depart from evil and do good. Seek peace, and pursue it. The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their request. The face of the Lord is against those who do evil, to destroy any memory of them from the earth’ (Psalm 34:11–16). ‘The righteous cried and the Lord heard him, and delivered him from all his afflictions’ (Psalm 34:6). ‘Many are the lashes for the wicked; but mercy shall surround those who hope in the Lord’ (Psalm 32:10).29

As God’s interests and the lives of believers gain a common purpose and interest, obedience to God’s Word paves the way for an effective relationship of prayer. It is important to note that this passage, like much of Clement’s epistle, consists of a series of scriptural quotations, in this case from Psalms 34 and 32. This is indicative of the biblical language and content which Clement used in instructing the Corinthians. Almost everything he said, including his teachings on prayer, breathed sacred Scripture. Prayer for a New Attitude of Love There is also an opposite interaction between behaviour and prayer in 1 Clement. The Church Father sees prayer as instrumental to acquiring a new attitude of love. For the author, this obedience to the Great Commandment (and the second, which is like it) does not come naturally, not even to believers. Clement uses relatively strong words, δεώμεθα οὖν καὶ αἰτώμεθα (‘let us beg and ask’). This strong emphasis on prayer indicates a particular need for God’s mercy and grace to practise Christian love: See, beloved, what a great and wonderful thing love is, and that its perfection is beyond explaining! Who is fit to be found in it, except those God deems fit to give it to? Let us then beg and pray of his mercy, that we may be found in love, free from all human partialities, blameless. All the generations from Adam to this present day have passed away; but those 29. 1 Cl. 22, in FC 15, pp. 120–23: Ταῦτα δὲ πάντα βεβαιοῖ ἡ ἐν Χριστῷ πίστις· καὶ γὰρ αὐτὸς διὰ τοῦ πνεύματος τοῦ ἁγίου οὕτως προσκαλεῖται ἡμᾶς· «Δεῦτε, τέκνα, ἀκούσατέ μου, φόβον κυρίου διδάξω ὑμᾶς. Τίς ἐστιν ἄνθρωπος ὁ θέλων ζωήν, ἀγαπῶν ἡμέρας ἰδεῖν ἀγαθάς; Παῦσον τὴν γλῶσσάν σου ἀπὸ κακοῦ καὶ χείλη σου τοῦ μὴ λαλῆσαι δόλον. Ἔκκλινον ἀπὸ κακοῦ καὶ ποίησον ἀγαθόν. Ζήτησον εἰρήνην καὶ δίωξον αὐτήν. Ὀφθαλμοὶ κυρίου ἐπὶ δικαίους, καὶ ὦτα αὐτοῦ πρὸς δέησιν αὐτῶν· πρόσωπον δὲ κυρίου ἐπὶ ποιοῦντας κακά, τοῦ ἐξολεθρεῦσαι ἐκ γῆς τὸ μνημόσυνον αὐτῶν. Ἐκέκραξεν ὁ δίκαιος, καὶ ὁ κύριος εἰσήκουσεν αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἐκ πασῶν τῶν θλίψεων αὐτοῦ ἐρύσατο αὐτόν.» «Πολλαὶ αἱ μάστιγες τοῦ ἁμαρτωλοῦ, τοὺς δὲ ἐλπίζοντας ἐπὶ κύριον ἔλεος κυκλώσει.». ET: my own.

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who were perfected in love,30 through the grace of God, now have a place among the pious; people who will be shown to belong to the kingdom of Christ when it arrives.31

Clement twice supports this call to prayer with appeals to Scripture (γέγραπται γάρ), quoting from Isaiah 26:20 and Psalm 32:1–2. In Clement’s view, prayer is an instrument to access the grace and mercy of God, to receive a changed attitude of love that leads to a greater and more enduring personal obedience to God’s Word.32 Prayer to Encourage Other People’s Relationship with God Thus far it has become clear that Clement used prayer: 1) as a means of reaching out to God in a situation of conversion; 2) as an instrument which does not work automatically, but is affected by the way believers conduct their lives; 3) as a channel that facilitates access to grace and mercy that create a new disposition of love in the believer. There is a fourth use of prayer in Clement’s letter to the Corinthians that has no direct bearing on the person who prays, but extends to the life of his or her fellow humans. The Church Father emphasizes the importance of this use for the situation in Corinth: Therefore let us also intercede for those who are involved in some transgression, so that forbearance and humility may be given them, so that they may submit, not to us but to the will of God. For in this way the merciful remembrance of them in the presence of God and the saints will be fruitful and perfect for them. Beloved, let us accept correction, which no one ought to resent.33 30. Cf. 1 John 4:17–18. 31. 1 Cl. 50, in FC 15, pp. 186–87: Ὁρᾶτε, ἀγαπητοί, πῶς μέγα καὶ θαυμαστόν ἐστιν ἡ ἀγάπη, καὶ τῆς τελειότητος αὐτῆς οὐκ ἔστιν ἐξήγησις. Τίς ἱκανὸς ἐν αὐτῇ εὑρεθῆναι, εἰ μὴ οὓς ἂν καταξιώσῃ ὁ θεός; Δεώμεθα οὖν καὶ αἰτώμεθα ἀπὸ τοῦ ἐλέους αὐτοῦ, ἵνα ἐν ἀγάπῃ εὑρεθῶμεν δίχα προσκλίσεως ἀνθρωπίνης, ἄμωμοι. Aἱ γενεαὶ πᾶσαι ἀπὸ Ἀδὰμ ἕως τῆσδε τῆς ἡμέρας παρῆλθον· ἀλλ’ οἱ ἐν ἀγάπῃ τελειωθέντες κατὰ τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ χάριν ἔχουσιν χῶρον εὐσεβῶν· οἳ φανερωθήσονται ἐν τῇ ἐπισκοπῇ τῆς βασιλείας τοῦ Χριστοῦ. German trans.: ‘Seht, Geliebte, wie groβ und wunderbar die Liebe ist, und ihre Vollendung ist unbeschreiblich. Wer ist imstande, in ihr erfunden zu werden auβer denen, die Gott für würdig erachtet? Erbitten und erflehen wir also von seinem Erbarmen, daβ wir in der Liebe erfunden werden, ohne menschliche Parteilichkeit, frei von Tadel. Alle Generationen von Adam bis zum heutigen Tag sind vergangen. Die aber entsprechend der Gnade Gottes in Liebe vollendet waren, besitzen den Ort der Frommen; sie werden offenbar werden beim Erscheinen der Herrschaft Christi’; ET: my own; see also 2 Peter 1:11. The expression ἐν τῇ ἐπισκοπῇ τῆς βασιλείας τοῦ Χριστοῦ conveys the idea that these people belong to the kingdom of Christ, cf. similar use in Sirach 16:18. 32. See also Horacio E. Lona, ‘Zur Bedeutung von ἀβαναύσως in I Clem 44,3’, Vigiliae Christianae 50/1 (1996), pp. 5–11, esp. 8–9. 33. 1 Cl. 56, in FC 15, pp. 198–99: Καὶ ἡμεῖς οὖν ἐντύχωμεν περὶ τῶν ἔν τινι παραπτώματι ὑπαρχόντων, ὅπως δοθῇ αὐτοῖς ἐπιείκεια καὶ ταπεινοφροσύνη εἰς τὸ εἶξαι αὐτοὺς μὴ

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The reconciliation of some Christians in Corinth is presented not in terms of submission to a church organization (μὴ ἡμῖν, ἀλλὰ τῷ θελήματι τοῦ θεοῦ), but of their relationship with God. It is about submission to his will and to the revealed faith content. Unless Clement of Rome was using this as a hypocritical rhetorical device, and there is no compelling reason to suppose this, his Christianity was not defined in organizational terms. At face value this passage suggests that the important aspect was ensuring that people would be reconciled to God, not recognition by and submission to church authorities. According to Clement, the church authorities’ primary role is one of prayer and the proclamation of God’s Word. On the basis of this, all believers, church leaders included (the bishop speaks in the inclusive first person plural ‘let us’), are called to receive correction. He also alludes to his previous point about prayer as a channel to access love, as he addresses his readers as ‘beloved’ (ἀγαπητοί). In other words, in Clement’s view, prayer is also a way of involving God in the lives of others, with the aim of promoting obedience to his revealed will.34

An Example of Early Christian Prayer Clement of Rome’s letter to the Corinthians not only offers the four general principles about prayer and revelation described in the previous section. It also includes a substantial prayer towards the end of the epistle, covering most of chapters 59–61, and this text is very helpful in establishing the early Christian practice of prayer.35 The context is interesting, as Clement claims authority from God for his letter as a prophetic utterance for the situation of the Corinthians. Although he does not use any of the usual philological terms to refer to it as oracular and does not present what he writes as ‘Scripture’, it is clear that he considers his epistle to be God’s message for Corinthians in their current situation.36 He even threatens those who contemplated being disobedient with the wrath of God: ἡμῖν, ἀλλὰ τῷ θελήματι τοῦ θεοῦ· οὕτως γὰρ ἔσται αὐτοῖς ἔγκαρπος καὶ τελεία ἡ πρὸς τὸν θεὸν καὶ τοὺς ἁγίους μετ’ οἰκτιρμῶν μνεία. Ἀναλάβωμεν παιδείαν, ἐφ’ ᾗ οὐδεὶς ὀφείλει ἀγανακτεῖν, ἀγαπητοί. ET: Holmes, The Apostolic Fathers, p. 119 (‘dear friends’ has been replaced by ‘beloved’). 34. Cf. Lona, in KAV 2, pp. 8–9. 35. Cf. Lona, in KAV 2, pp. 582–613. 36. The fact that Clement claims God’s authority for what he preaches to the Corinthians should be read as derived authority. He argued his case with extensive reference

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If, however, some people should disobey the words spoken by him through us, let them know that they will put themselves in transgression and in no small danger. But we shall be innocent of this sin, and shall ask, by making eager request and supplication, that the Creator of everything will preserve safely the computed number of his elect37 in the whole world, through his beloved child Jesus Christ, through whom he called us from darkness to light, from ignorance to knowledge of the glory of his name, to let our hope rest on that which is the primal cause of every creature: your name, …38

In this passage, the focus gradually shifts from the message of the Romans to God himself, how he has revealed himself and how he relates to his children, including the Corinthians. Revelation as the Initiator of Prayer Apart from his claims to prophetic authority, the bishop also reiterates some of the main theological themes of his letter: God as Creator, Saviour and Preserver of believers, the One who reveals knowledge of God and his ways in Sacred Scripture. When Clement refers to the glory of God’s name, his letter to the Corinthians turns in mid-sentence into a prayer to the Almighty. Suddenly God is no longer the object, but the addressee of his words: ‘your name’ (instead of ‘his name’), and then the text continues as a prayer with a participle construction: …, having opened the eyes of our heart to the knowledge of you, who alone ‘rests highest among the highest, holy among the holy’ (Isaiah 57:15), who ‘brings low the insolence of the haughty’ (Isaiah 13:11), who ‘destroys the calculations of the heathen’ (Psalm 33:10), who ‘sets the low on high and brings low the exalted’ (Proverbs 3:34, cf. Job 5:11), who ‘makes rich and makes poor’ (1 Samuel 2:7), who ‘kills and makes alive’ (Deuteronomy 32:39), to Scripture and with what he considered to be God’s will on the basis of apostolic tradition or otherwise. Cf. Acts 13:44. In the era of the Reformation this was similarly expressed by Bullinger, Confessio Helvetica posterior, 1566: ‘Predicatio verbi Dei est verbum Dei’; ET: my own: ‘preaching of the Word of God is Word of God’. 37. Clement does not teach that prayer as such saves man from God’s judgement. Charles Merritt Nielsen, ‘Clement of Rome and Moralism’, Church History 31/2 (1962), pp. 131–50, on p. 135: ‘Nothing is here said about justification by works. It is rather up to the Creator to keep intact the precise number of the elect, although earnest prayer and supplication on the part of the Roman Christians do enter into the picture.’ 38. 1 Cl. 59, in FC 15, pp. 206–207: Ἐὰν δέ τινες ἀπειθήσωσιν τοῖς ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ δι’ ἡμῶν εἰρημένοις, γινωσκέτωσαν ὅτι παραπτώσει καὶ κινδύνῳ οὐ μικρῷ ἑαυτοὺς ἐνδήσουσιν. Ἡμεῖς δὲ ἀθῷοι ἐσόμεθα ἀπὸ ταύτης τῆς ἁμαρτίας καὶ αἰτησόμεθα ἐκτενῆ τὴν δέησιν καὶ ἱκεσίαν ποιούμενοι, ὅπως τὸν ἀριθμὸν τὸν κατηριθμημένον τῶν ἐκλεκτῶν αὐτοῦ ἐν ὅλῳ τῷ κόσμῳ διαφυλάξῃ ἄθραυστον ὁ δημιουργὸς τῶν ἁπάντων διὰ τοῦ ἠγαπημένου παιδὸς αὐτοῦ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν, δι’ οὗ ἐκάλεσεν ἡμᾶς ἀπὸ σκότους εἰς φῶς, ἀπὸ ἀγνωσίας εἰς ἐπίγνωσιν δόξης ὀνόματος αὐτοῦ, ἐλπίζειν ἐπὶ τὸ ἀρχεγόνον πάσης κτίσεως ὄνομά σου, … ET: my own.

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Benno Zuiddam only benefactor of spirits and God of all flesh (Jeremiah 32:27), who beholds the depths (Lamentations 3:60), the eyewitness of human works, the help of those in danger, the saviour of those in despair, the creator and guardian of every spirit, who multiplies the nations on earth, and who has chosen out of these those that love you through Jesus Christ, your beloved child, by whom you educated us, made us holy, honoured us.39

This prayer begins by describing God’s character on the basis of revealed knowledge, by a series of quotes from the Bible. It is God who has opened the eyes of their heart to the knowledge of the only and most high God (ἀνοίξας τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς τῆς καρδίας ἡμῶν εἰς τὸ γινώσκειν σε τὸν μόνον ὕψιστον); while they have been taught by his Son (δι’ οὗ ἡμᾶς ἐπαίδευσας). In between the two references to the knowledge that God has made available, there is a series of at least eight quotes from Scripture in rapid succession. All of these describe a facet of God and his character. This shows that it is God’s revealed nature that drives Clement to prayer; as such revelation functions as a catalyst of prayer. Scripture shows what God is like, and Clement responds by speaking to God in prayer and affirming his revelation, taking God’s word for it, as it were. Clement then invokes God’s help for believers in diverse situations of need, on the basis of their relationship with God through Jesus Christ: We plead with you, Master, to be our help and support. Save those of us who are afflicted, take pity on the lowly, raise the fallen. Show yourself to those in need, heal the sick, convert the wandering among your people, fill the hungry, ransom those of us who are prisoners, support the weak, comfort those who are low in spirit, let all the nations know that you alone (Psalm 86:10) are God (cf. Psalm 46:10), and Jesus Christ your Son; and ‘we are your people and the sheep of your pasture’ (Psalm 79:13).40

39. 1 Cl. 59, in FC 15, pp. 208–209: …ἀνοίξας τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς τῆς καρδίας ἡμῶν εἰς τὸ γινώσκειν σε τὸν μόνον ὕψιστον ἐν ὑψίστοις, ἅγιον ἐν ἁγίοις ἀναπαυόμενον· τὸν ταπεινοῦντα ὕβριν ὑπερηφάνων, τὸν διαλύοντα λογισμοὺς ἐθνῶν, τὸν ποιοῦντα ταπεινοὺς εἰς ὕψος καὶ τοὺς ὑψηλοὺς ταπεινοῦντα· τὸν πλουτίζοντα καὶ πτωχίζοντα, τὸν ἀποκτείνοντα καὶ ζῆν ποιοῦντα, μόνον εὐεργέτην πνευμάτων καὶ θεὸν πάσης σαρκός· τὸν ἐπιβλέποντα ἐν ταῖς ἀβύσσοις, τὸν ἐπόπτην ἀνθρωπίνων ἔργων, τὸν τῶν κινδυνευόντων βοηθόν, τὸν τῶν ἀπηλπισμένων σωτῆρα, τὸν παντὸς πνεύματος κτίστην καὶ ἐπίσκοπον· τὸν πληθύνοντα ἔθνη ἐπὶ γῆς καὶ ἐκ πάντων ἐκλεξάμενον τοὺς ἀγαπῶντάς σε διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ τοῦ ἠγαπημένου παιδός σου, δι’ οὗ ἡμᾶς ἐπαίδευσας, ἡγίασας, ἐτίμησας. ET: my own. 40. 1 Cl. 59, in FC 15, pp. 210–11: Ἀξιοῦμέν σε, δέσποτα, βοηθὸν γενέσθαι καὶ ἀντιλήπτορα ἡμῶν· τοὺς ἐν θλίψει ἡμῶν σῶσον, τοὺς πεπτωκότας ἔγειρον, τοῖς δεομένοις ἐπιφάνηθι, τοὺς ἀσθενεῖς ἴασαι, τοὺς πλανωμένους τοῦ λαοῦ σου ἐπίστρεψον· χόρτασον τοὺς πεινῶντας, λύτρωσαι τοὺς δεσμίους ἡμῶν, ἐξανάστησον τοὺς ἀσθενοῦντας, παρακάλεσον τοὺς ὀλιγοψυχοῦντας· γνώτωσάν σε πάντα τὰ ἔθνη ὅτι σὺ εἶ ὁ θεὸς μόνος καὶ Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς ὁ παῖς σου καὶ «ἡμεῖς λαός σου καὶ πρόβατα τῆς νομῆς σου». ET: my own.

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While Clement alludes to portions of Scripture in the first part of this passage – all of these petitions can be found in the Bible, in the Book of Psalms in particular – it is difficult to point to dependence on specific references, because several places could qualify. It is more likely that Clement was simply using his digested knowledge of Scripture.41 Relational Use of Prayer As a Tool of Forgiveness Once again Clement acknowledges God as the Creator of the earth and its people, and praises his continued involvement: For you have made manifest the eternal fabric42 of the world by the things you have done. You, O Lord, created the world we live in. You are faithful in all generations, just in judgements, wonderful in strength and majesty. You are wise in creating and fixing with understanding the things that were made. Your excellence is shown in the things that are seen, and your goodness among those who have put their trust in you. You who are merciful and compassionate, forgive us the times that we were disobedient to your laws, that we were unjust, the transgressions and shortcomings. Count not every sin of your servants and handmaids, but purify us with the purification of your truth.43

On the basis of God’s revelation in Scripture (Psalm 103:8; 145:8) the bishop addresses God as merciful and compassionate. He then proceeds to call for forgiveness for himself and God’s people in general. While the previous passage addressed various practical human needs, it is spiritual needs in face of God’s commandments that is at issue here. The call for purification through the truth echoes Jesus’ prayer in St. John’s Gospel (17:17): ‘Sanctify them through your truth: your word is truth.’ The ultimate test for human behaviour, the standard by which Clement recognizes trespasses and asks for forgiveness, is God’s mind and truth. Sin is defined in terms of transgression of his revealed law.

41. The concluding part of this passage, however, contains expressions that suggest direct dependence on specific Psalms (cf. 46:10; 86:10; 79:13). 42. The divine order in creation is an important theme for Clement. See D.W.F. Wong, ‘Natural and Divine Order in I Clement’, Vigiliae Christianae 31/2 (1977), pp. 81–87. 43. 1 Cl. 60, in FC 15, pp. 211–13: Σὺ γὰρ τὴν ἀέναον τοῦ κόσμου σύστασιν διὰ τῶν ἐνεργουμένων ἐφανεροποίησας· σύ, κύριε, τὴν οἰκουμένην ἔκτισας, ὁ πιστὸς ἐν πάσαις ταῖς γενεαῖς, δίκαιος ἐν τοῖς κρίμασιν, θαυμαστὸς ἐν ἰσχύϊ καὶ μεγαλοπρεπείᾳ, ὁ σοφὸς ἐν τῷ κτίζειν καὶ συνετὸς ἐν τῷ τὰ γενόμενα ἑδράσαι, ὁ ἀγαθὸς ἐν τοῖς ὁρωμένοις καὶ χρηστὸς ἐν τοῖς πεποιθόσιν ἐπὶ σέ, ἐλεῆμον καὶ οἰκτίρμον, ἄφες ἡμῖν τὰς ἀνομίας ἡμῶν καὶ τὰς ἀδικίας καὶ τὰ παραπτώματα καὶ πλημμελείας. Μὴ λογίσῃ πᾶσαν ἁμαρτίαν δούλων σου καὶ παιδισκῶν, ἀλλὰ καθάρισον ἡμᾶς τὸν καθαρισμὸν τῆς σῆς ἀληθείας. ET: my own.

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Relational Use of Prayer As a Plea for Assistance in Everyday Life Clement’s prayer continues with a plea for divine assistance in everyday life: … and direct our steps to walk in holiness of heart and to do what is good and well-pleasing in your sight (Deut. 6:17–18; 12:25, 28; 13:18–19; 21:9 (LXX); cf. Hebrews 13:21) and in the sight of our rulers. Yes, Master, make your face to shine upon us (Psalm 80:7, 19) for good in peace (cf. Numbers 6:25–26), that we may be shielded by your mighty hand (Psalm 136:12) and delivered from every sin by your uplifted arm (Psalm 118:16), and deliver us from those who hate us wrongfully (Psalm 35:19). Give concord and peace to us and all that dwell on earth (Isaiah 14:7), even as you gave them to our fathers when they called upon you in faith and truth, submissive as we are to your almighty and glorious name (cf. Malachi 2:2, LXX),44 and also to our rulers and governors on earth.45

Like much of the earlier part of Clement’s prayer, the bishop’s words here again are a compilation of biblical expressions and concepts. This suggests that his frequent interaction with Scripture gives Clement the words to pray. It is clear both from this passage and from what was already identified (see ‘Revelation As Initiator of Prayer’) that the Psalms function prominently among his allusions to and quotes from Scripture. In the context of prayer this is not surprising, as the Psalms, which Clement believes to be inspired prayers, combine both the quality of prayer and that of Holy Scripture.

44. Malachi 2:2 seems to be the only passage in the Septuagint that combines God’s name and his attribute of omnipotence: καὶ ἐὰν μὴ θῆσθε εἰς τὴν καρδίαν ὑμῶν τοῦ δοῦναι δόξαν τῷ ὀνόματί μου, λέγει Κύριος παντοκράτωρ. On the role of the Septuagint in early Christianity, see Edmon L. Gallagher, Hebrew Scripture in Patristic Biblical Theory: Canon, Language, Text (SVChr 114; Leiden, 2012), pp. 208–209. 45. 1 Cl. 60, in FC 15, pp. 212–15: …καὶ κατεύθυνον τὰ διαβήματα ἡμῶν ἐν ὁσιότητι καρδίας πορεύεσθαι καὶ ποιεῖν τὰ καλὰ καὶ εὐάρεστα ἐνώπιόν σου καὶ ἐνώπιον τῶν ἀρχόντων ἡμῶν. Ναί, δέσποτα, ἐπίφανον τὸ πρόσωπόν σου ἐφ’ ἡμᾶς εἰς ἀγαθὰ ἐν εἰρήνῃ, εἰς τὸ σκεπασθῆναι ἡμᾶς τῇ χειρί σου τῇ κραταιᾷ καὶ ῥυσθῆναι ἀπὸ πάσης ἁμαρτίας τῷ βραχίονί σου τῷ ὑψηλῷ, καὶ ῥῦσαι ἡμᾶς ἀπὸ τῶν μισούντων ἡμᾶς ἀδίκως. Δὸς ὁμόνοιαν καὶ εἰρήνην ἡμῖν τε καὶ πᾶσιν τοῖς κατοικοῦσιν τὴν γῆν, καθὼς ἔδωκας τοῖς πατράσιν ἡμῶν, ἐπικαλουμένων σε αὐτῶν ὁσίως ἐν πίστει καὶ ἀληθείᾳ, ὑπηκόους γινομένους τῷ παντοκράτορι καὶ παναρέτῳ ὀνόματί σου, τοῖς τε ἄρχουσιν καὶ ἡγουμένοις ἡμῶν ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς. ET: my own.

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Prayer to Provide Heavenly Assistance to Earthly Authorities In the spirit of the apostle Paul (1 Timothy 2:2) Clement portrays a peaceful and undisturbed life for Christians as one of the aims of prayer for those in authority.46 In Clement’s view, every person on earth is accountable to God as his or her Creator and King.47 Very much in line with apostolic teaching on the subject, he portrayed all earthly authority as derived authority, exercised on God’s behalf, for which earthly rulers were accountable to him. This corresponds with the teachings of the apostle Paul (cf. Romans 13), whose preaching Clement attended: Master, you have given them [our rulers and governors on earth] the authority of being rulers by your great and incomprehensible might, so that we would realize what glory and honour you have given to them, and be subject to them, in nothing resisting your will. Lord, give them health, peace, concord, stability, that they may exercise the governing authority which they received without offence. For you, o heavenly Master and King of the ages, give glory and honour and power to the sons of men over the things that are on earth. Lord, may you yourself direct their counsel according to that which is good and well-pleasing in your sight, in order that they may find your approval, while they exercise the power you have given them in a godly way, in peace and in gentleness.48

Prayer As Affirmation and Doxology The prayer ends with an affirmation of God’s power and a doxology: ‘We praise you as the only one who has power to do these things for us, and even greater things beyond this, through the high priest and guardian of our souls, Jesus Christ, through whom glory and majesty be to you, both now and from generation to generation and for ever and ever.

46. Clement’s prayer for authorities extends to the state. This is distinct from the issue of order in God’s house elsewhere in this letter, where he uses Hellenistic state terminology to describe the ideal situation for the church. See W.C. van Unnik, ‘“Tiefer Friede” (1. Klemens 2,2)’, Vigiliae Christianae 24/4 (1970), pp. 261–79. 47. Cf., for example, Dan. 2:47; 4:37; 2 Macc. 13:4 (LXX). 48. 1 Cl. 61, in FC 15, pp. 214–15: Σύ, δέσποτα, ἔδωκας τὴν ἐξουσίαν τῆς βασιλείας αὐτοῖς διὰ τοῦ μεγαλοπρεποῦς καὶ ἀνεκδιηγήτου κράτους σου, εἰς τὸ γινώσκοντας ἡμᾶς τὴν ὑπὸ σοῦ αὐτοῖς δεδομένην δόξαν καὶ τιμὴν ὑποτάσσεσθαι αὐτοῖς, μηδὲν ἐναντιουμένους τῷ θελήματί σου· οἷς δός, κύριε, ὑγείαν, εἰρήνην, ὁμόνοιαν, εὐστάθειαν, εἰς τὸ διέπειν αὐτοὺς τὴν ὑπὸ σοῦ δεδομένην αὐτοῖς ἡγεμονίαν ἀπροσκόπως. Σὺ γάρ, δέσποτα ἐπουράνιε, βασιλεῦ τῶν αἰώνων, δίδως τοῖς υἱοῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων δόξαν καὶ τιμὴν καὶ ἐξουσίαν τῶν ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς ὑπαρχόντων· σύ, κύριε, διεύθυνον τὴν βουλὴν αὐτῶν κατὰ τὸ καλὸν καὶ εὐάρεστον ἐνώπιόν σου, ὅπως διέποντες ἐν εἰρήνῃ καὶ πραΰτητι εὐσεβῶς τὴν ὑπὸ σοῦ αὐτοῖς δεδομένην ἐξουσίαν ἵλεώ σου τυγχάνωσιν. ET: my own.

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Amen.’49 To some extent at least, this assertion of God’s power serves as a statement of faith and a human affirmation of revelation. This conclusion of Clement’s prayer also reflects Pauline concepts: ‘Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine’ (Ephesians 3:30); as does the reference to his high-priestly function (Hebrews 7:25–26), while the doxology otherwise resembles Jude’s (1:25).50 In accordance with the principles of prayer that were discussed earlier (under ‘The Use of Prayer in Clement’s Letter to the Corinthians’), this practical example of early Christian prayer in the Epistle to the Corinthians is strongly dependent on Scripture. Both what Clement writes to the Corinthians and what he says to God are immersed in Scripture and are indicative of a superior biblical literacy that was integrated into life, and was therefore considered to be relevant. This is true for the contents of Clement’s prayer as well as its terminology. Again the Psalms feature prominently, showing that they were considered particularly useful as a simultaneous combination of revelatory prophetic writings and human prayer. This further illustrates that God’s revelation in Scripture and prayer were interdependent in Clement’s practical use of prayer.

Conclusion: Dependence of Prayer on Scripture Prayer and Scripture are interdependent in Clement of Rome’s letter to the Corinthians. This is evident from the way Clement speaks about prayer, as well as from the way he prayed himself. He designates prayer (a) as a means to connect with God which (b) is effective only if one’s life is modelled on God’s revealed standards, (c) as a channel to receive power for Christian living, and (d) as an instrument to support fellow-believers and society in general in pursuing God’s ways. Because individual human beings relate to this God, communicate with him, knowledge of his nature and his preferences are of the utmost importance, particularly because the notion of God as the Creator and ultimate Judge of all humankind involves accountability.

49. 1 Cl. 61, in FC 15, pp. 214–17: Ὁ μόνος δυνατὸς ποιῆσαι ταῦτα καὶ περισσότερα ἀγαθὰ μεθ’ ἡμῶν, σοὶ ἐξομολογούμεθα διὰ τοῦ ἀρχιερέως καὶ προστάτου τῶν ψυχῶν ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, δι’ οὗ σοι ἡ δόξα καὶ ἡ μεγαλωσύνη καὶ νῦν καὶ εἰς γενεὰν γενεῶν καὶ εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων. Ἀμήν. ET: my own. 50. Even if Clement predates Jude, it may be concluded that the doxology in 1 Cl. 61 resembles what would eventually be considered an apostolic expression of praise and worship.

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Clement’s own practical example of prayer in his letter to the Corinthians also shows this interaction between revelation and prayer. God’s Word is used as an initiator of prayer with numerous quotations from Scripture: God has revealed himself and Clement responds. Clement’s prayer is an acknowledgement of human need, of the necessity of involving God in the lives of believers. Clement’s prayer also serves as a tool to restore vertical relations, while the basis on which this need for reconciliation with God is recognized is revelation (about God and his ways). Clement uses a compilation of Scripture to formulate his calls for divine assistance, both for personal needs and for society in general. Even his calls for help are derived from Scripture, indicating a continued interaction of revelation and prayer, particularly as these appear in integrated fashion. The Book of Psalms features particularly prominently in this context. Clement’s prayer also reflects the apostolic injunctions on prayer for those in positions of government (1 Timothy 2:2 and Romans 13). In the view of this bishop God’s revelation shows that theirs is a derived authority. Again, prayer is dependent on a worldview that is derived from Scripture, and it borrows expressions from biblical literature. The same is true for the final section of Clement’s prayer: a doxology, which praises God on the basis of what he has revealed about himself. In sum, Clement’s first letter to the Corinthians shows that prayer is dependent on revelation. It is in Scripture that Clement discerns the voice of God, and it is in prayer that he responds. The topics, contents and words of his prayers are largely derived from Scripture as well, which is evidenced in particular by numerous literal quotes. In this sense, prayer both borrows from and responds to God’s revelation. In this way prayer gives voice to the struggles of daily life, while it reinforces a Christian worldview in the believer. Clement relies on Scripture’s message concerning God’s character and power to subsequently relate to him in prayer. He regards the books of the Old Testament as oracles of God, books that contain God’s words. Clement’s prayer recalls the words of Scripture and applies them to the life and situation of the believer. In this way, sacred Scripture is the initiator, standard and prototype of prayer.51

51. A Dutch version of this article was published as ‘Godsspraak als drijfveer, standaard en model voor gebed bij Clemens van Rome aan de Corinthieërs’, In die Skriflig / In Luce Verbi 49/1 (2015). See http://www.indieskriflig.org.za/index.php/skriflig/article/ view/1939 (accessed on 24 August 2016).

Chapter Five

PRAYER AND PARTICIPATION IN THE EUCHARIST IN THE WORK OF IGNATIUS OF ANTIOCH Peter-Ben Smit

Introduction If any early Christian thinker or Apostolic Father is associated with the Eucharist, it is surely Ignatius of Antioch. Thus, many contemporary models of Eucharistic ecclesiology and communio theology owe a great deal to his letters.1 The Eucharist is obviously a liturgy of prayer, and, as an ongoing practice of communion, it aims at the performance of being Church, that is, of being in communion with God and with each other through being in Christ. Given these considerations, the Eucharist and participation in it are a logical place to look for the interrelationship between prayer and mystagogy in the work of Ignatius of Antioch. My question will be: ‘What is the mystagogical role of participation in the Eucharist, understood as a practice of embodied prayer, in the letters of Ignatius of Antioch?’ In this context, mystagogy is understood as the (guided) induction of a person into a form of life in which the initiate increasingly comes to understand him- or herself in relation to the mystery into which they are being initiated, causing them to shape their life accordingly.2 Mystagogy, in other words, is an embodied enterprise, realized in the deepened performance of a (newly-found) identity. On this basis, it will be argued that participation in the Eucharist, as a practice of prayer, is ultimately a practice of communion with God, initiating a person 1. Often through the influence of John D. Zizioulas, Ἡ ἑνότης τῆς Ἐκκλησίας ἐν τῇ Θείᾳ Εὐχαριστίᾳ καί τῷ Ἐπισκόπῳ κατά τούς τρεῖς πρώτους αἰώνας (Athens, 1965), translated as: Eucharist, Bishop, Church: The Unity of the Church in the Divine Eucharist and the Bishop in the First Three Centuries (Brookline, MA, 2001), and earlier as: L’Eucharistie, l’évêque et l’église durant les trois premiers siècles (Paris, 19942); and the work of Nicolas Afanassieff, which can be found in its mature form in: L’église du Saint-Esprit (Paris, 1975), a work that originated in the author’s doctoral thesis of 1950. 2. This definition is akin to the understanding of mystagogy used in Daniel Austin Napier, En Route to the Confessions: The Roots and Development of Augustine’s Philosophical Anthropology (LAHR 6; Leuven, 2013).

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further into this communion, which itself is the practice of following God, and is therefore the road to salvation (‘come to the Father’, Rom. 7:2).3 Its earthly form is communion with the bishop in obedience, the shaping of one’s life as a life in communion. In guiding the communities that he addresses towards this life, Ignatius acts as a mystagogue who is simultaneously a figure of formal authority, that is, a bishop (even if he operates outside his Antiochene diocese). As there is only one God, there can only be one Eucharistic community; therefore, obedience in order to enhance unity, embodied in the celebration of the one Eucharist presided over by one bishop, is a mystagogical and spiritual practice, however much it may seem to be an issue of ecclesiastical discipline and clerical desire for power. By presenting and developing this argument, the current study goes beyond extant research on the Eucharist and the episcopate in Ignatius’ letters, which tends to be much focused on questions of church order,4 doctrine,5 and often Ignatius’ understanding of martyrdom. This paper diverges from Schoedel’s judgement in his influential commentary on Ignatius’ letters that any notion of union or communion ‘lacks deeper mystical significance’, and will argue precisely that the Eucharistic communion is mystical in the sense that it initiates a person into communion with God through initiating them into the visible and tangible Eucharistic communion that is the Church. In order to substantiate this contention, I will briefly consider aspects of Ignatius’ soteriology, then discuss elements of the interrelationship between unity, Eucharist, and obedience, in order to present, on that 3. Δεῦρο πρὸς τὸν πατέρα. As far as Ignatius’ text is concerned, I have generally followed Bart Ehrman’s 2003 edition: Bart D. Ehrman (ed.), The Apostolic Fathers I (LCL 24; Cambridge, MA, 2003). Translations are also derived from this edition. 4. See for instance the rather typical comments of William R. Schoedel, Ignatius of Antioch: A Commentary on the Letters of Ignatius of Antioch (Minneapolis, MN, 1985), pp. 22–23. 5. For a typical contribution, which refers to a number of authors with a similar focus, see, e.g., David P. Long, ‘Eucharistic Ecclesiology and Excommunication: A Critical Investigation of the Meaning and Praxis of Exclusion from the Sacrament of the Eucharist’, Ecclesiology 10 (2014), pp. 205–28. See also, e.g., Paul McPartlan, ‘Eucharist and Church in the Thought of the Fathers of the Church’, in Raymond Brodeur (ed.), L’Eucharistie: don de Dieu pour la vie du monde (Ottawa, 2009), pp. 253–73, or further: Daniel L. Hoffman, ‘Ignatius and Early Anti-Docetic Realism in the Eucharist’, Fides et historia 30 (1998), pp. 74–88. Mikael Isacson, To Each Their Own Letter (Stockholm, 2004), pp. 186– 92, 209–10, is fairly traditional in his conclusions in this respect. This is also true of the insightful study of Frederick C. Klawiter, ‘The Eucharist and Sacramental Realism in the Thought of St. Ignatius of Antioch’, Studia Liturgica 37 (2007), pp. 129–63, whose main thesis is that Ignatius’ statements concerning ‘sacramental realism’ should be ‘interpreted in the context of his refutation of a heterodox Christology, his understanding of martyrdom, and the unity of the church’ (p. 129).

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basis, observations on prayer and mystagogy in Ignatius’ letters. In doing so, I hope to contribute to the debate on sacraments and mystagogy, or rather: sacramental mystagogy, in the early Church, a kind of mystagogy that occurs in various places, probably most famously in Cyril of Jerusalem’s catecheses. This subject has been addressed in recent studies such as those by Mazza,6 Slenzcka,7 and Clancy,8 as well as in the volume of the previous CPO conference on the mystagogy of the Church Fathers.9

Coming to the One God of Salvation For Ignatius, salvation, which is the aim of his mystagogy, implies unification with God through coming to God. For example, in his letter to the Romans, he notes that the Spirit, symbolized by living water, speaks within him, saying: ‘Come to the Father’ (Romans 7:2).10 As is well known, this unification with God for Ignatius also implies his violent death, an event to which he looks forward, despite the fact that it is an excruciatingly painful process – for him, martyrdom is also a salvific kind of initiation, and his own journey towards it constitutes full initiation into the faith for himself, and it is a means of initiation for others.11 Ignatius frequently sings of this longing, for instance in the continuation of the passage in which he refers to ‘coming to the Father’, a text with strongly Eucharistic overtones, which further outlines his understanding of his impending martyrdom:12 ‘I have no pleasure in the food that perishes nor in the pleasures of this life. I desire the bread of God, which is the flesh of Jesus Christ, from the seed of David; and for drink I desire his

6. Enrico Mazza, Mystagogy: A Theology of Liturgy in the Patristic Age (New York, 1989). 7. Wenrich Slenczka, Heilsgeschichte und Liturgie: Studien zum Verhältnis von Heilsgeschichte und Heilsteilhabe anhand liturgischer und katechetischer Quellen des dritten und vierten Jahrhunderts (Berlin, 2000). For a contemporary example based on the early church, see: M.A. van Willigen, Christus volgen (Heerenveen, 2014). 8. Finbarr G. Clancy, ‘Imitating the Mysteries That You Celebrate: Martyrdom and Eucharist in the Early Patristic Period’, in Vincent Twomey and Mark Humphries (eds.), The Great Persecution: The Proceedings of the Fifth Patristic Conference, Maynooth, 2003 (Dublin, 2009), pp. 106–40. 9. See the contributions in Paul van Geest (ed.), Seeing through the Eyes of Faith: New Approaches to the Mystagogy of the Church Fathers (LAHR 11; Leuven, 2016). 10. See Schoedel, Ignatius, p. 185. 11. See Peter-Ben Smit, ‘Mystagogy and Martyrdom in St. Ignatius of Antioch’, in: van Geest, Seeing through the Eyes of Faith, pp. 593–607. 12. See, e.g., Lother Wehr, Arznei der Unsterblichkeit. Die Eucharistie bei Ignatius von Antiochien und im Johannesevangelium (Münster, 1987), pp. 130–31: ‘Das Herrenmahl dient ihm als Bild für das Schicksal, das ihm erwartet’ (p. 131).

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blood, which is imperishable love.’13 Eucharist and martyrdom are fused in this text, as its martyrological context makes clear. At the same time, longing for the Eucharist becomes an analogy for Ignatius’ longing for God in Christ, the road towards which is that of martyrdom. Longing for martyrdom is equated with longing for the Eucharist. In fact, martyrdom itself is presented here as a way of participating in God in Christ, and thus in the Eucharist.14 Through this Eucharistic martyrdom, as it were, Ignatius reaches his goal (τέλος), unity with God through unity with the Church, and as an expression of the ἀγάπη of Christ (see Ephesians 14:1).15 In this way, the Eucharist is far more than ‘the focus for a sense of the presence of saving power in the Christian community’, rather, it is the visible and tangible shape of this saving power and the means of participating in it and partaking of it.16 Even though it remains true, as Schoedel contends, that Ignatius has the desire ‘to authenticate his Christianity in martyrdom’,17 Ignatius’ goal far exceeds this; it consists of communion with Christ in his own death, understood as the culmination of a life of following and imitating Christ, which has life with Christ through death with Christ as its final fulfilment.18 Quite consistently, Ignatius also describes his own impending death in terms of the Eucharist, as if he himself is offered up and sacrificed in a Eucharistic celebration.19 Stefanut has rightly pointed to this connection between martyrdom 13. Romans 7:3, in LCL 24, p. 278: οὐχ ἥδομαι τροφῇ φθορᾶς οὐδὲ ἡδοναῖς τοῦ βίου τούτου. ἄρτον θεοῦ θέλω, ὅ ἐστιν σὰρξ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, τοῦ ἐκ σπέρματος Δαυίδ, καὶ πόμα θέλω τὸ αἷμα αὐτοῦ, ὅ ἐστιν ἀγάπη ἄφθαρτος. ET: ibid., p. 279. 14. See also Wehr, Arznei, pp. 142–43. Contrary to Wehr, I contend that martyrdom and the Eucharist must not be played out against each other as roads towards salvation. Instead I think that, for Ignatius, they mutually imply and inform each other. See also: Henk Bakker, Exemplar Domini (PhD dissertation, University of Groningen, 2003), pp. 170–81. See also Schoedel’s comment (Ignatius, p. 21): ‘The sacred meal, to be sure, has another function [sc. than to provide arguments against Docetism]: the bread that is broken is in some (probably not too literal) sense the “medicine of immortality” (Eph. 20.2), and there is a connection between participation in the meal and the believer’s resurrection (Sm. 7.1).’ 15. See Klawiter, ‘Eucharist,’ pp. 132, 141. 16. Schoedel, Ignatius, p. 21. 17. Schoedel, Ignatius, p. 186. 18. See also the study of Bakker, Exemplar, especially pp. 147–57. 19. See for this and the following: Romulus D. Stefanut, ‘Eucharistic Theology in the Martydom of Ignatius of Antioch’, Studia Patristica 65 (2013), pp. 39–47. See also Klawiter, ‘Eucharist’, p. 136: ‘In offering himself as a sacrifice, Ignatius’ love for God and members of the church will be perfected. Ignatius identified himself with the bread, a symbol for the unity of the members of the church with the flesh of Jesus Christ who offered himself as a sacrifice of agape. In martyrdom, Ignatius will become completely one with Christ and his church.’ (See also ibid., pp. 162–63, for a restatement.) These exegeses of Ignatius’ letters make the discussion as to whether Ignatius envisioned

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and the Eucharist in Ignatius’ letters, which is relevant to the present paper: full participation in the Eucharist apparently leads to the participant becoming Eucharist(ic) oneself, and this, for Ignatius, includes a death that is analogous to that of Christ, or is at least understood in the same terms as Christ’s death. Similarly, participation in the Eucharist initiates a person further into life in Christ.20 Turning from martyrdom to the broader topic of initiation into communion with God, it can be observed that for Ignatius the concrete form that this ‘coming to God’ takes is living in imitation of Christ, especially as a bishop.21 This is a notion that corresponds with the more general idea of imitating the gods in Greco-Roman culture.22 Ignatius also exhorts the readers of his letters – the Smyrnaeans, for instance – to practise this imitation.23 But he does this in a specific manner: ‘All of you should follow the bishop as Jesus Christ follows the Father; and follow the presbytery as you would the apostles. Respect the deacons as the commandment of God. Let no one do anything involving the church without the bishop.’24 Thus, for a congregation following the bishop, who presumably follows the example of Jesus Christ by following God, is the shape its journey towards God takes, just as Ignatius himself is journeying towards God. As a consequence, the celebration of the Eucharist, as the embodied performance of this journey, is also closely connected to the bishop:25 ‘Let that eucharist be considered valid that occurs under the bishop or the following of Christ (‘Nachfolge’) or the replicating of Christ-like qualities (‘Nachahmung’) somewhat obsolete – but see Schoedel, Ignatius, p. 30. 20. This is not, of course, at odds with a more Christological perspective on Ignatius’ martyrdom, as advanced for instance by Wehr, Arznei, pp. 40–46; Eucharist and Christology mutually inform each other in Ignatius’ letters (see also ibid., pp. 157–60, concerning the Eucharist and the Christological confession, as well as p. 135, where he notes that references to σάρξ and αἷμα can be simultaneously Christological and Eucharistic, and pp. 142–43 on the Eucharist and martyrdom in Ignatius, Rom. 7:3). 21. See, e.g., the comments of Schoedel, Ignatius, p. 29, as well as Smit, ‘Mystagogy’, passim, esp. the conclusions on pp. 605–607. 22. Anders Klostergaard Petersen, ‘Attaining Divine Perfection through Different Forms of Imitation’, Numen 60 (2013), pp. 7–38. 23. On the possible situation in the Smyrnaean community and issues concerning the liturgy presided over by the bishop and Ignatius’ Docetist competitors, see, e.g., Wehr, Arznei, p. 172, Klawiter, ‘Eucharist’, pp. 130–31, as well as Thomas Lechner, Ignatius adversus Valentinianos? (Leiden, 1999), pp. 301–305. 24. Smyrn. 8:1, in LCL 24, pp. 302–304: Πάντες τῷ ἐπισκόπῳ ἀκολουθεῖτε, ὡς Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς τῷ πατρί, καὶ τῷ πρεσβυτερίῳ ὡς τοῖς ἀποστόλοις· τοὺς δὲ διακόνους ἐντρέπεσθε ὡς θεοῦ ἐντολήν. μηδεὶς χωρὶς τοῦ ἐπισκόπου τι πρασσέτω τῶν ἀνηκόντων εἰς τὴν ἐκκλησίαν. ET: ibid., p. 303–305. 25. See, e.g., Wehr, Arznei, p. 171: ‘… zählen sie die Anwesenheit des Bischofs zu den unverzichtbaren Voraussetzungen einer heilswirksamen Eucharistiefeier.’

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the one to whom he entrusts it. Let the congregation be wherever the bishop is; just as wherever Jesus Christ is, there also is the universal church.’26 Besides following the bishop, as the outward shape of the inner process of following Christ as it were, the Eucharist itself can also be understood as the goal of Ignatius’ pilgrimage and, given the fact that he also presents himself as a model, 27 for life in Christ as well. The Eucharist, imitation of Christ, and the unity of the Church in the sense of celebrating the Eucharist as one community under one bishop, appear as intertwined notions here, as they do elsewhere in Ignatius’ letters.28 This is the case for all Christians, including Ignatius, even to the point of actual martyrdom.29 The interconnection between the Eucharist, the Church, and the bishop in Ignatius’ letters is ground well-covered and it is often used in ecclesiological studies.30 In this contribution, however, it will serve as the basis for an exploration of the mystagogical and simultaneously soteriological role of participation in the Eucharist according to Ignatius. What appears to be an emphasis on ecclesial discipline and episcopal authority will reveal itself to be an exercise in mystagogy.

Unity, Eucharist, and Obedience As has been seen, participation in the Eucharist, presided over by the one bishop, leads to communion with God, and hence to salvation, given that it is the shape of the journey towards the Father. It is of paramount importance that there is just one Eucharistic assembly:31 26. Smyn. 8:1–2, in LCL 24, p. 304: ἐκείνη βεβαία εὐχαριστία ἡγείσθω, ἡ ὑπὸ ἐπίσκοπον οὖσα ἢ ᾧ ἂν αὐτὸς ἐπιτρέψῃ. ὅπου ἂν φανῇ ὁ ἐπίσκοπος, ἐκεῖ τὸ πλῆθος ἐστω, ὥσπερ ὅπου ἂν ᾖ Χριστός Ἰησοῦς, ἐκεῖ ἡ καθολικὴ ἐκκλησία. ET: ibid., p. 305. For a critical note on the translation of ἡ καθολικὴ ἐκκλησία as ‘universal church’ in Ignatius’ work, thus focusing on a ‘quantitative’ or ‘geographical’ understanding of the catholicity of the Church, rather than on an understanding in terms of the quality of Christ’s presence, see Urs von Arx, ‘Was macht die Kirche katholisch? Perspektiven einer christkatholischen Antwort’, in Wolfgang W. Müller (ed.), Katholizität – Eine ökumenische Chance (Zürich, 2006), pp. 147–86. 27. See Smit, ‘Mystagogy’, esp. pp. 598–602. 28. See, e.g., Wehr, Arznei, p. 171, referring to Eph. 5:2–3, 20:2, as well as Phil. 4. 29. As Bakker, Exemplar, p. 177, puts it: ‘According to Ignatius, all Christians are called to share in Jesus’ passion … For Ignatius personally, the celebration of the Eucharist is not the only thing involved. His vocation as a disciple of Christ’s passion must be interpreted as an act of serving himself up as the Eucharist in the arena of Rome.’ 30. See again, the seminal works of Zizioulas, Eucharist, and Afanasieff, L’église. 31. See also Wehr, Arznei, p. 146: ‘Der leitende Grundgedanke ist die Idee der Einheit.’ See also the comment of Isacson, Each, p. 134, considering that the emphasis on

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Also be eager to celebrate just one eucharist. For there is one flesh of our Lord Jesus Christ and one cup that brings the unity of his blood, and one altar, as there is one bishop together with the presbytery and the deacons, my fellow slaves. Thus, whatever you do, do according to God.32

Being one, living in unity, is an expression of being in communion with God – and, as will become clear, also a means of being in communion with God; thus the celebration of the one Eucharist, with and as one body (‘flesh’) of Christ,33 is the way in which the Church is a community of salvation.34 In this setting, one’s way of relating to the one bishop and, by implication, to the one Eucharist, is or becomes one’s way of relating to God, with both positive and negative consequences: in his letter to the Smyrnaeans, Ignatius puts it as follows: ‘It is good to know both God and the bishop. The one who honors the bishop is honored by God; the one who does anything behind the bishop’s back serves the devil’35 (see also Phil. 3:3: ‘no one who follows someone creating a schism will inherit the kingdom of God’;36 as well as Eph. 5.2: ‘Anyone who is the one Eucharist could also possible be linked to the consideration that participating in it functioned as a safeguard against false teachings. 32. Phil. 4, in LCL 24, p. 286: Σπουδάσατε οὖν μιᾷ εὐχαριστίᾳ χρῆσθαι· μία γὰρ σὰρξ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ καὶ ἓν ποτήριον εἰς ἕνωσιν τοῦ αἵματος αὐτοῦ, ἓν θυσιαστήριον, ὡς εἷς ἐπίσκοπος ἅμα τῷ πρεσβυτερίῳ καὶ διακόνοις, τοῖς συνδούλοις μου· ἵνα, ὃ ἐὰν πράσσητε, κατὰ θεὸν πράσσητε. ET: ibid., p. 287. 33. See also the remarks of Klawiter, ‘Eucharist’, pp. 144–50, interpreting the flesh of Jesus Christ as an image for the assembly or its unity. Klawiter consequently also notes on p. 151 that ‘the identity in the eucharist is not between Christ and the elements; it is between Christ the head and the church as his branches, between the crucified, risen Lord, and “the one body of his assembly” (Sm. 1.2). The immortal power of Christ’s sacrificial agape is defeating the power of death (“flesh which suffered … which the Father raised”) is present in the flesh of his disciples, and its essential character is the unity of agape (one assembly). The agape unity of the assembly is the agape between the Son and the Father being realized in community (cf. Eph. 5.1; Phd. 7.2; John 17:20–23).’ This is a particular kind of sacramental realism, even if it is focused on the assembly rather than on the ‘elements’. 34. See also Wehr, Arznei, p. 148: ‘Mit Paulus teilt Ign also die Vorstellung, daß die Eucharistiegemeinschaft über den innerweltlich-kirchlichen Bereich hinaus mit Christus verbindet. Eucharistiegemeinschaft ist Heilsgemeinschaft.’ See also Klawiter, ‘Eucharist’, p. 143: ‘The Eucharistic unity of the “bishop and the entire assembly” expresses the unity between the “the church (ἡ ἐκκλησία) and Jesus Christ” which in turn expresses the unity between “Jesus Christ and the Father”; the agape unity of a Eucharistic assembly embodies and voices the goal of God’s work in Jesus Christ: that “all things in unity may be symphonic (πάντα ἐν ἑνότητι σύμφωνα ᾖ).”’ (Klawiter’s final quotation is from Ephesians 5:1.) 35. Smyrn. 9:1, in LCL 24, p. 304: καλῶς ἔχει, θεὸν καὶ ἐπίσκοπον εἰδέναι. ὁ τιμῶν ἐπίσκοπον ὑπὸ θεοῦ τετίμηται· ὁ λάθρα ἐπισκόπου τι πράσσων τῷ διαβόλῳ λατρεύει. ET: ibid., p. 305. 36. Phil. 3:3, in LCL 24, p. 286: εἴ τις σχίζοντι ἀκολουθεῖ, βασιλείαν θεοῦ οὐ κληρονομει. ET: ibid., p. 287.

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not inside the sanctuary lacks the bread of God’).37 In his letter to the church in Philadelphia, he expresses the same thought using the imagery of the shepherd and the sheep: ‘Where the shepherd is, there you should follow as sheep’, 38 which, in fact, leaves open, at least to some extent, whether shepherd here means the just bishop,39 or also Christ – the two tend to fuse in Ignatius’ thought elsewhere too.40 This is quite consistent with the soteriological function of following both shepherds, which, in turn, is a mystagogical process. In this context, belonging to the Church, participating in the Eucharist presided over by the one bishop, is of soteriological importance. This implies a discipline of obedience, as Ignatius points out to the Magnesians, commenting on their treatment of their apparently relatively youthful bishop:41 But it is not right for you to take advantage of your bishop because of his age. You should render him all due respect according to the power of God the Father, just as I have learned that even your holy presbyters have not exploited his seemingly youthful appearance; but they have deferred to him as one who is wise in God – and not to him, but to the Father of Jesus Christ, the bishop of all. And so it is fitting for us to be obedient apart from all hypocrisy, for the honor of the one who has desired us. For it is not that a person deceives this bishop who is seen, but he deals falsely with the one who is invisible. In such a case, an account must be rendered not to human flesh, but to God, who knows the things that are hidden.42

In Magnesians 6, he provides a similar exhortation: Since, then, I have observed, by the eyes of faith, your entire congregation through those I have already mentioned, and loved it, I urge you to hasten to do all things in the harmony of God, with the bishop presiding in the place of God and the presbyters in the place of the council of the apostles, and the deacons, who are especially dear to me, entrusted with the ministry 37. Eph. 5:2, in LCL 24, p. 224: μηδεὶς πλανάσθω· ἐὰν μή τις ᾖ ἐντὸς τοῦ θυσιαστηρίου, ὑστερεῖται τοῦ ἄρτου τοῦ θεοῦ. ET: ibid., p. 225. 38. Phil. 2:1, in LCL 24, p. 284: ὅπου δὲ ὁ ποιμήν ἐστιν, ἐκεῖ ὡς πρόβατα ἀκολουθεῖτε. ET: ibid., p. 285. 39. This seems to be the position of Isacson, Each, p. 131. 40. See, e.g., the remark of Schoedel, Ignatius, p. 112. See also: Smit, ‘Mystagogy’, pp. 598–605. 41. See for commentary, e.g., Isacson, Each, pp. 85–86. 42. Magn. 3:1–2, in LCL 24, pp. 242–44: [1] Καὶ ὑμῖν δὲ πρέπει μὴ συγχρᾶσθαι τῇ ἡλικίᾳ τοῦ ἐπισκόπου, ἀλλὰ κατὰ δύναμιν θεοῦ πατρὸς πᾶσαν ἐντροπὴν αὐτῷ ἀπονέμειν, καθὼς ἔγνων καὶ τοὺς ἁγίους πρεσβυτέρους οὐ προσειληφότας τὴν φαινομένην νεωτερικὴν τάξιν, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς φρονίμῳ ἐν θεῷ συγχωροῦντας αὐτῷ, οὐκ αὐτῷ δέ, ἀλλὰ τῷ πατρὶ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, τῷ πάντων ἐπισκόπῳ [2] εἰς τιμὴν οὖν ἐκείνου τοῦ θελήσαντος ἡμᾶς πρέπον ἐστὶν ἐπακούειν κατὰ μηδεμίαν ὑπόκρισιν· ἐπεὶ οὐχ ὅτι τὸν ἐπίσκοπον τοῦτον τὸν βλεπόμενον πλανᾷ τις, ἀλλὰ τὸν ἀόρατον παραλογίζεται. τὸ δὲ τοιοῦτον οὐ πρὸς σάρκα ὁ λόγος, ἀλλὰ πρὸς θεὸν τὸν τὰ κρύφια εἰδότα. ET: ibid., pp. 243–45, emphasis added.

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of Jesus Christ, who was with the Father before the ages and has been manifest at the end. You should assume the character of God and all respect one another. No one should consider his neighbor in a fleshly way, but you should love one another in Jesus Christ all the time. Let there be nothing among you that can divide you, but be unified with the bishop and with those who preside according to the model and teaching of incorruptibility.43

Klawiter, in considering this passage, has quite rightly noted that Ignatius regards the earthly Church as a microcosm of the heavenly one; obedience to the bishop is therefore obedience to God, while participation in the earthly Church equals participation in the heavenly one.44 When he further develops this line of thought in the same letter (Magn. 7), it becomes clear that there is an analogy between a believer’s relationship to the bishop and the relationship of the Son to the Father: And so, just as the Lord did nothing apart from the Father – being united with him – neither on his own nor through the apostles, so too you should do nothing apart from the bishop and the presbyters. Do not try to maintain that it is reasonable for you to do something among yourselves in private; instead, for the common purpose, let there be one prayer, one petition, one mind, one hope in love and in blameless joy, which is Jesus Christ. Nothing is superior to him. You should all run together, as into one temple of God, as upon one altar, upon one Jesus Christ, who came forth from one Father and was with the one [or: and was one with him] and returned to the one.45

He subsequently restates this in a more compact manner in Magnesians 13:2: ὑποτάγητε τῷ ἐπισκόπῳ καὶ ἀλλήλοις, ὡς Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς τῷ πατρὶ κατὰ σάρκα καὶ οἱ ἀπόστολοι τῷ Χριστῷ καὶ τῷ πατρὶ, ἵνα ἕνωσις 43. Magn. 6, in LCL 24, p. 246: [1] Ἐπεί οὖν ἐν τοῖς προγεγραμμένοις προσώποις τὸ πᾶν πλῆθος ἐθεώρησα ἐν πίστει καὶ ἠγάπησα, παραινῶ, ἐν ὁμονοίᾳ θεοῦ σπουδάζετε πάντα πράσσειν, προκαθημένου τοῦ ἐπισκόπου εἰς τόπον θεοῦ καὶ τῶν πρεσβυτέρων εἰς τόπον συνεδρίου τῶν ἀποστόλων, καὶ τῶν διακόνων τῶν ἐμοὶ γλυκυτάτων πεπιστευμένων διακονίαν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, ὃς πρὸ αἰώνων παρὰ πατρὶ ἦν καὶ ἐν τέλει ἐφάνη. [2] πάντες οὖν ὁμοήθειαν θεοῦ λαβόντες ἐντρέπεσθε ἀλλήλους καὶ μηδεὶς κατὰ σάρκα βλεπέτω τὸν πλησίον, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν Ἰησοῦ Χριστῷ ἀλλήλους διὰ παντὸς ἀγαπᾶτε. μηδὲν ἔστω ἐν ὑμῖν, ὃ δυνήσεται ὑμᾶς μερίσαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἑνώθητε τῷ ἐπισκόπῳ καὶ τοῖς προκαθημένοις εἰς τύπον καὶ διδαχὴν ἀφθαρσίας. ET: ibid., p. 247. 44. See Klawiter, ‘Eucharist’, p. 132, who also refers to Henry Chadwick, ‘The Silence of Bishops in Ignatius’, Harvard Theological Review 43 (1950), pp. 169–72. 45. Magn. 7, in LCL 24, pp. 246–48: [1] Ὥσπερ οὖν ὁ κύριος ἄνευ τοῦ πατρὸς οὐδὲν ἐποίησεν, ἡνωμένος ὤν, οὔτε δι᾽ ἑαυτοῦ οὔτε διὰ τῶν ἀποστόλων· οὕτως μηδὲ ὑμεῖς ἄνευ τοῦ ἐπισκόπου καὶ τῶν πρεσβυτέρων μηδὲν πράσσετε· μηδὲ πειράσητε εὔλογόν τι φαίνεσθαι ἰδίᾳ ὑμῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ τὸ αὐτὸ μία προσευχή, μία δέησις, εἷς νοῦς, μία ἐλπὶς ἐν ἀγάπῃ, ἐν τῇ χαρᾷ τῇ ἀμώμῳ, ὅ ἐστιν Ἰησοῦς Χριστός, οὗ ἄμεινον οὐθέν ἐστιν. [2] πάντες ὡς εἰς ἕνα ναὸν συντρέχετε θεοῦ, ὡς ἐπὶ ἓν θυσιαστήριον, ἐπὶ ἕνα Ἰησοῦν Χριστόν, τὸν ἀφ᾽ ἑνὸς πατρὸς προελθόντα καὶ εἰς ἕνα ὄντα καὶ χωρήσαντα. ET: ibid., pp. 247–49; text in brackets in LCL.

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ᾖ σαρκική τε καὶ πνευματική (‘Be submissive to the bishop and to one another – as Jesus Christ was to the Father, according to the flesh, and as the apostles were to Christ and to the Father and to the Spirit – so that there may be unity in both flesh and spirit.’)46 Unity in the ‘visible’ Church, therefore, seems to be the vehicle for (salvific) unity with God;47 growth and further initiation into the one community of the Church, therefore, is also growth in communion with the divine. In relation to the bishop, the theological import of this is clear from both this statement and the following one from Ephesians 6:1, where the bishop is called a householder, someone who must safeguard unity, and the process of initiation that is associated with it: ‘[W]e must receive everyone that the master of the house sends to take care of his affairs as if he were the sender himself. And so we are clearly obliged to look upon the bishop as the Lord himself.’48 Ignatius offers lyrical praise of unity in his letter to the Ephesians 4: For this reason it is fitting for you to run together in harmony with the mind of the bishop, which is exactly what you are doing. For your presbytery, which is both worthy of the name and worthy of God, is attuned to the bishop as strings to the lyre. Therefore Jesus Christ is sung in your harmony and symphonic love. And each of you should join the chorus, that by being symphonic in your harmony, taking up God’s pitch in unison, you may sing in one voice through Jesus Christ to the Father, that he may both hear and recognize you through the things you do well, since you are members of his Son. Therefore, it is useful for you to be in flawless unison, that you may partake of God at all times as well.49

46. Magn. 13:2, in LCL 24, p. 254; ET: ibid., pp. 253–55 (‘and to the Spirit’, added in the English translation, can be found in several manuscripts). See also the comments by Schoedel, Ignatius, p. 130, noting that Ignatius ‘naturally’ assumes that following the Lord happens with the bishop, presbyters, and deacons, while obedience to the bishop is part and parcel of this following. 47. See the comment on this in Isacson, Each, p. 99: ‘[U]nity implies not only unity with the bishop, but also unity with each person within the church and spiritual unity with the Father and the Son.’ 48. Eph. 6:1, in LCL 24, p. 224: πάντα γάρ, ὃν πέμπει ὁ οἰκοδεσπότης εἰς ἰδίαν οἰκονομίαν, οὕτως δεῖ ἡμᾶς αὐτὸν δέχεσθαι, ὡς αὐτὸν τὸν πέμψαντα. τὸν οὖν ἐπίσκοπον δῆλον ὅτι ὡς αὐτὸν κύριον δεῖ προσβλέπειν. ET: ibid., p. 225. 49. Eph. 4, in LCL 24, p. 222: [1] Ὅθεν πρέπει ὑμῖν συντρέχειν τῇ τοῦ ἐπισκόπου γνώμῃ, ὅπερ καὶ ποιεῖτε. τὸ γὰρ ἀξιονόμαστον ὑμῶν πρεσβυτέριον, τοῦ θεοῦ ἄξιον, οὕτως συνήρμοσται τῷ ἐπισκόπῳ, ὡς χορδαὶ κιθάρᾳ. διὰ τοῦτο ἐν τῇ ὁμονοίᾳ ὑμῶν καὶ συμφώνῳ ἀγάπῃ Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς ᾄδεται. [2] καὶ οἱ κατ᾽ ἄνδρα δὲ χορὸς γίνεσθε, ἵνα σύμφωνοι ὄντες ἐν ὁμονοίᾳ, χρῶμα θεοῦ λαβόντες ἐν ἑνότητι, ᾄδητε ἐν φωνῇ μιᾷ διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ τῷ πατρί, ἵνα ὑμῶν καὶ ἀκούσῃ καὶ ἐπιγινώσκῃ δι᾽ ὧν εὖ πράσσετε, μέλη ὄντας τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτοῦ. χρήσιμον οὖν ἐστὶν ὑμᾶς, ἐν ἀμώμῳ ἑνότητι εἶναι, ἵνα καὶ θεοῦ πάντοτε μετέχητε. ET: ibid., p. 223.

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Again, unity and obedience, in Ignatius’ rhetoric here,50 have a goal beyond themselves; there is, first of all, the glorification of Christ, introduced earlier in the same letter (2:2),51 ‘that you may run together in harmony with the mind of God’ (3:2: ὅπως συντρέχητε τῇ γνώμῃ τοῦ θεοῦ), but also ‘that you may partake of God at all times’ (4:2: θεοῦ πάντοτε μετέχητε).52 The reverse is also true: as soon as one is no longer ‘within the altar’, one no longer partakes of the bread of God (Ephesians 5:2).53 All of this strongly suggests that participation in the one Eucharist has an initiatory function. This impression is further strengthened by the observation that the context of all of these remarks is, to a significant extent, determined by the fact that Ignatius addresses the Ephesians as fellow-disciples and fellow-learners (3:1),54 thus underscoring the significance of participation in the (Eucharistic) life of the Church as a process of following, imitating, and learning. To be sure, and this should be emphasized, it all presupposes a very particular kind of bishop, the kind of bishop that Ignatius himself seeks to model, who gives himself for his church as a model disciple and imitator of Christ.55

Mystagogy, Obedience, and the One Eucharist We have thus presented some of Ignatius’ remarks on the Eucharist, unity, obedience and salvation. We can now return to the question of mystagogy, understood as the guided induction of a person into a form of life in which the initiate increasingly comes to understand him- or herself in relation to the mystery into which they are being initiated, causing them to shape their life accordingly. A number of observations can be made on this basis. Some of these relate to Ignatius as a mystagogue, 50. See for an analysis, e.g., Isacson, Each, p. 40. 51. See also Isacson, Each, p. 40. 52. Eph. 3:2 and 4:2, in LCL 24, p. 222; ET: ibid., p. 223. See, e.g., Isacson, Each, p. 46. See also the comments of Schoedel, Ignatius, p. 53, ‘The purpose of congregational unity is said by Ignatius to be that of continued participation in God … The possible mystical significance of the theme should not be exaggerated.’ And: ‘In favor of a minimalist interpretation of the theme in Ignatius is the fact that he addresses a group and correlates participation in God with the unity of the group. Such correlations should not be read too literally.’ Even if, as Schoedel indicates, more general understandings of participation are available in Ignatius’ cultural and intellectual context, this does not mean that he himself necessarily takes a limited view of participation in the Eucharist and participation in God. 53. See, e.g., Isacson, Each, pp. 45–46. 54. See, e.g., Isacson, Each, p. 41; Schoedel, Ignatius, pp. 48–49. 55. See on this also Smit, ‘Mystagogy’, e.g., pp. 606–607.

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others to the role of prayer, particularly participation in the Eucharist, understood as a practice of prayer. First, there is a close interrelationship in Ignatius’ works between ecclesiology, soteriology and what might be called sanctification. It can be argued that his many remarks on these interrelated subjects show that he is seeking to guide the life of the communities he addresses, engaging in mystagogy, the guided induction of people into a particular, salvific form of life. This is quite important for understanding his attempts to guide the communities that he corresponds with by exercising something like supervisory or ‘episcopal’ leadership. Second, Ignatius argues repeatedly that unity is of paramount importance because of God’s oneness, that obedience is due to the one bishop because of the very close association between the bishop and Christ, and that this unity can be found in the one Eucharistic gathering, which is crucially important, soteriologically speaking. In this way, Ignatius indicates that participation in the Eucharist, with all the corresponding connotations of communal life, is itself also an initiation into ever deeper communion with God, which is the goal of life in Christ. Thus obedience and subjection to the bishop and to one another become elements of a mystagogical process rather than just elements of ecclesial discipline. Third, given the close interrelationship between Eucharistic prayer and life in the community around a bishop to whom obedience is due, studying Ignatius also shows that he believes the Eucharist and participation in it are but one part, important though it is, of life in communion. Prayer is more than just prayer. It implies an entire life of communion, including aspects such as obedience and submission to the one bishop, who is himself obliged to live up to Ignatius’ episcopal ideal, involving his total dedication to, and even self-offering on behalf of, the church that he seeks to embody (the result is a kind of reciprocal offering of oneself to the other – the church to the bishop and the bishop to the church). These aspects are just as much part of what might be called a spiritual discipline, and are just as much tools for an ongoing process of initiation into life in Christ, and thus communion with God, as prayer is.

Part 2 EASTERN FATHERS

Chapter Six

ORIGEN ON PARABLES AND PRAYER: TENSIONS BETWEEN THE ESOTERIC AND THE UNIVERSAL Marcel Poorthuis

Introduction Scripture is like a house with many doors. There is a key in front of each door. None of the keys fits the door it is lying in front of. As a consequence, the visitor who wants to enter has to roam through the whole house with a key in order to open just a single door.1 Origen uses this beautiful image, which he incidentally derived from a Jewish spokesman, to describe his perspective on Scripture: the reader can only expect to find his way with strenuous effort, and imbued with an inspiration equal to that of Scripture itself. Understanding Scripture is not a fixed goal, nor the foreseeable end of the road; it is a life-long journey – and some think the journey is even longer than that. Scripture presupposes initiation, a teacher, discipline and growth in wisdom in a measure proportionate to the growth in understanding of the sacred text.2 No wonder that Origen applies the three injunctions for prayer from the Sermon on the Mount to the understanding of Scripture: ‘ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and it will be opened to you’ (Matt. 7:7; Philocalia 13). For Origen, prayer does not in the first place mean asking 1. Philocalia 2:2 in a free rendering. See E. Urbach, ‘The Homiletical Interpretations of the Sages and the Expositions of Origen on Canticles and the Jewish-Christian Disputation’, Scripta Hierosolymitana 22 (1971), pp. 247–75, esp. p. 247; N.R.M. de Lange, Origen and the Jews: Studies in Jewish-Christian Relations in Third-Century Palestine (University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 25; Cambridge, 1976), p. 111. Theresa of Avila’s Interior Castle could be added to the list of possible parallels to the image of rooms in a house to signify spiritual progress. An interdisciplinary research project financed by the Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research (NWO), Parables and the Parting of the Ways, is underway in which we are comparing Rabbinic and early Christian concepts of parables in greater depth. 2. See Origen, De principiis (On First Principles) 4.7. Cf. Ronald Heine, ‘Reading the Bible with Origen’, in Paul M. Blowers (ed.), The Bible in Greek Christian Antiquity (The Bible through the Ages 1; Notre Dame, 1997), pp. 131–48, esp. p. 139.

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for earthly goods, but first and foremost asking for spiritual insight and growth. Prayer is therefore intrinsically connected to mystagogy, to progress on the path of spiritual perfection. According to Origen, this progress, in its turn, is inseparable from deepening one’s understanding of Scripture.3 In spite of Origen’s predilection for the invisible, he emphasizes prayer together with baptism and the Eucharist as indispensable visible communal human activities, in harmony with the angels’ invisible activities: ‘And a place of prayer, the spot where believers assemble together, is likely to have something gracious to help us, since angelic powers are placed near the throngs of believers, as well as the powers of our Lord Jesus Christ and Savior Himself, and the spirits of the saints.’4 For Origen, the spiritual ascent that prayer enables is not a purely solitary activity. Yet, Origen’s notoriously elitist ideas of the church consisting only of perfect believers cannot but create a tension with the mystagogical idea of gradual initiation through prayer. The three exhortations to prayer are an indication that understanding Scripture means hard work, both intellectually and spiritually. Praying for understanding should not be understood as a passive attitude, in the expectation that one will be guided, on the contrary, it cannot be separated from a highly active hermeneutical attitude, in which scholarly training, wisdom and creativity are indispensable. Even then, understanding Scripture remains God’s gift, an act of grace. Origen’s understanding of parables seems to militate against a mystagogical approach. This is why I think it is fruitful to investigate Origen’s view of parables in the light of mystagogy, in order to return once more to prayer at the end. Mystagogy and initiation through prayer presuppose different levels of development of the persons who belong to one and the same community. Origen’s strong emphasis on perfection and intellectual excellence cannot, it seems, easily be combined with the idea of mystagogy. Mystagogy implies, on the one hand, essential differences in wisdom, understanding, and belief between different members of the community – as such it is antithetical to an egalitarian approach. On the other hand, the people, marked by differences in wisdom, in one way or another share the same religious community. There should be an interconnectedness 3. See H. Büchinger, ‘Gebet und Identität bei Origenes’, in A. Gerhards et al. (eds.), Identität durch Gebet. Zur gemeinschaftsbildenden Funktion institutionalisierten Betens im Judentum und Christentum (Paderborn, 2003), pp. 307–34. 4. De oratione (On Prayer) 31.5–7, in Maria-Barbara von Stritzky (ed. and trans.), Origenes: Über das Gebet (Berlin, 2014), pp. 275–76. ET: Rowan A. Greer (trans. and introd.), Origen: An Exhortation to Martyrdom, Prayer, etc. (New York, 1979), p. 166. Cf. De oratione 5:1.

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between the members of the faith community, an interconnectedness that allows for spiritual growth. For Origen, this is not a clear-cut case: time and again he struggles with the temptation to draw a strict and uncrossable line between the perfect and the beginners. The contention has even been defended that, according to Origen, the church is made up of the perfect believers exclusively.5 This would imply that growth in wisdom and mystagogy through prayer cannot take place within the church, but are merely preliminary to the church. I want to demonstrate this genuine problem by investigating Origen’s understanding of parables. According to Origen, parables necessarily bring to light the ignorance of the masses: without explanation they are like riddles, like doors without a key! One may even wonder whether a certain determinism in Origen’s thought might not actually prevent the masses from being initiated. We are not dealing here with Origen’s influential allegorical explanation of any given parable, but with his understanding of the function and status of parables as such in relation to the divine truth. For Origen, parables as such remain incomprehensible. The gospel itself tells us (according to Origen) that only very few initiated persons are worthy to be inaugurated into the divine secrets. A comparison with the roughly contemporary Rabbinic understanding of parables will give our research greater relief. Our question then is the following: does Origen’s understanding of parables as a secret code, accessible only to the initiated few, as it excludes the vast majority of the people who are ‘blindfolded’, militate against the idea of mystagogy as the gradual introduction of the uninitiated into the mysteries of faith, something for which one can pray?

Origen’s Understanding of Parables It is well known that, generally speaking, elaborate allegorical explanations of New Testament parables are a later development, and that they diverge from the aim of the parables in the New Testament itself.6 The towering influence of Adolf Jülicher and his research on parables was based mainly on two convictions: that allegorical features are secondary; and that a parable is a story about a unique event in the past, whereas 5. W. Völker, Das Vollkommenheitsideal des Origenes. Eine Untersuchung zur geschichte der Frömmigkeit und zu den Anfängen christlicher Mystiks (Tübingen, 1931), p. 182. The perfect are the priests, the athletes, the apostles. 6. For a survey of Patristic allegorical explanations of the parables of the New Testament see: S.L. Wailes, Medieval Allegories of Jesus’ Parables (Berkeley, 1987).

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a similitude contains a general comparison in the present.7 But Jülicher did not take the rich world of Rabbinic parables into account. The Rabbinic mashal encompasses almost the same broad field as the New Testament παραβολή: riddle, similitude, parable and proverb.8 In addition, the distinction between similitude and parable in the Gospels and in Rabbinic literature has turned out to be artificial: compare the parable of the mustard seed, which is told as a unique case situated in the past in Matt. 13:31, and as a general case in Mark 4:30.9 This confusion in nomenclature has led to a tendency to subsume both similitudes and parables under the general heading of parable.10 In addition, it is possible to attribute some form of allegory to parables as such without drawing conclusions as to its secondary character. Still, the difference between an allegory and a parable remains relevant: parables aim at only one point of correspondence instead of giving each of their elements an application. In an allegorical interpretation, however, not only the sower and the seed, the rocks, the thorns and the road, but even the figures of 30, 60, and 100 may receive a separate explanation. Similarly, not only the Good Samaritan and the victim, but also the inn, the road, and the robbers are supposed to refer to specific entities in real life. In his commentary on Matthew, Origen explains the different groups of labourers in the vineyard (Matt. 20:1–16) as different phases in human life, or as different phases in salvation history.11 In contrast, parables in the New Testament generally receive only a very short explanation, with only one corresponding element between the parable and the religious realm. As a rule, this correspondence is offered as part of the parable itself. The audience seems to have understood the thrust of the parable quite well, apparently without needing additional information. Generally, parables are not meant to veil the truth but to clarify matters. 7. Adolf Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu, 2 vols. (Tübingen, 1888, 1899). 8. The main difference seems to be the exemplum: whereas Rabbinic literature uses the word ma’aseh for this, in New Testament scholarship these exempla are subsumed under parable (cf. the exempla of the Prodigal Son, the Good Samaritan and the Rich Man and the Poor Lazarus). But note that the New Testament does not use the term παραβολή there. 9. Many Rabbinic parables about a king of flesh and blood deal with a unique case whenever the earthly king is contrasted negatively with God, but with a general rule whenever the comparison is positive. Distinguishing here between parables and similitudes seems contrived. Origen incidentally makes the same distinction between parable and similitude in his Commentary on Matthew 10:4. 10. Cf. Ruben Zimmermann, ‘Parabeln – sonst nichts! Gattungsbestimmung jenseits der Klassifikation in “Bildwort”, “Gleichnis”, “Parabel” und “Beispielerzählung”’, in R. Zimmermann and G. Kern (eds.), Hermeneutik der Gleichnisse Jesu. Methodische Neuansätze zum Verstehen urchristlicher Parabeltexte (Tübingen, 2008), pp. 383–419. 11. See Wailes, Medieval Allegories of Jesus’ Parables, pp. 138–39.

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However, this conception of the New Testament parables seems to militate against one of the most famous parables, that of the sower (Mark 4; Matt. 13). The disciples ask Jesus to be enlightened about the meaning of this parable. The wider audience, the Gospel states, was left with the mere parable without the explanation that was vouchsafed to the intimate circle of disciples. The quotation from the Prophet Isaiah 6:9–10 even underlines that ‘the people’ will hear but without understanding.12 Origen believes that this parable offers the model of all parables, by containing a kind of secret code, to be unravelled only by the initiated. The strict separation between the inner circle of disciples and ‘the people’ who remain outside without understanding determined Origen’s perspective on parables in general. It is widely agreed that the Gospel parables are intended to unveil truth to a wide audience, rather than obscure the truth for all except a few initiated.13 It would be wrong therefore to consider New Testament parables as secret messages that presuppose a small community of the initiated. Origen has his own reasons to emphasize the esoteric dimension of the parables. Yet Origen’s position is delicate: on the one hand, he wishes to stress the religious message for the happy few, on the other hand he has to defend himself against charges of secrecy right at the start of his Contra Celsum (I.1-7).14 All the more remarkable is Origen’s emphasis on the parable of the sower as a model of secrecy. Can we describe Origen’s view of the New Testament parables in more detail? In a way he embraces different ideas simultaneously: that of parables as a code to be understood by the initiated only, and the idea of parables as meant for and adapted to a wider audience. However, this latter perspective, which may be connected to the concept of synkatabasis, of divine accommodation to frail human understanding, remains in the background. Origen refers to divine Scripture, which says about itself that it is locked and sealed. Interpreting Scripture is a dangerous enterprise, not only because it can lead to false interpretations, but it is dangerous even when the interpretation is true (Philocalia 2.1, 5.1)!15 12. Mark introduced this highly specific element of this parable, veiling of the truth to outsiders to underline the lack of understanding both of the masses and of the disciples. 13. Cf. C.H. Dodd, Parables of the Kingdom (London, 1946). Dodd also built on Adolf Jülicher’s insights, who, as has been seen, had emphasized the crucial difference between parable and allegory. However, Luke’s version of the Parable of the Sower already mitigated the esoteric element. See R.N. Longenecker, The Challenge of Jesus’ Parables (Grand Rapids, 2000), pp. 129–30. 14. Cf. G. Stroumsa, Hidden Wisdom: Esoteric Traditions and the Roots of Christian Mysticism (Leiden, 1996), pp. 32–33. 15. See also Epiphanius, Panarion 64.6.7, in Karl Holl and Jürgen Dummer (eds.), Epiphanius II: Panarion haer. 34–64 (2nd rev. ed.; GCS 37; Berlin, 1980), p. 416; ET:

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Origen adduces the apocalyptic notion of the sealed Scripture (Rev. 3:7), in order to apply it to the whole of Scripture, both the Old Testament and the New.16 Only God’s Word, who has locked Scripture and holds the key, is capable of unlocking Scripture. In this perspective, Origen paraphrases Proverbs 1:6 (LXX), again broadening its perspective: not only the utterances of the sages, but the whole of Scripture are ‘full of riddles (αἰνιγμάτων), parables (παραβολῶν)17 and dark words’. We are fortunate to possess an elaborate account of Origen on the essence of parables, in which the same biblical quotations feature. It is not possible here to elaborate on Origen’s parable theory in extenso, but the element of secrecy is sufficient for current purposes. Origen connects the verse from Proverbs 1:6 with the Parable of the Sower as told in Matthew, which was the oldest Gospel according to Origen. Origen can therefore state that Matt. 13:1 is the first time that the word parable (παραβολή) features in the Gospels.18 In his commentary on Matthew, Origen distinguishes – in line with Proverbs 1:6 (LXX), but somewhat more precise than in the Philocalia – four different genres: parables, dark words, proverbs of the sages, and riddles. Although Origen is famous for being an allegorical exegete, he quite often delves into the literal and historical dimensions of Scripture as well.19 According to Origen, a proverb should not be considered a parable, although the Greeks sometimes use the same word παραβολή. A parable proper is a story that relates an Frank Williams, The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis, Books 2 and 3: De Fide (2nd rev. ed.; Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 79; Leiden, 2013), p. 140. Epiphanius quotes Origen: ‘We must take it that this is said not only of John’s Revelation and Isaiah, but of all of sacred Scripture – admittedly, even by those who are capable of a fair understanding of the oracles of God. For Scripture is filled with riddles, parables, difficult sayings and manifold other forms of obscurity, and is hard for human comprehension.’ 16. This concept of Scripture does not therefore coincide with the familiar idea of ‘what is hidden in the Old Testament is revealed in the New Testament’ (novum in vetere latet, vetus in novo patet). 17. As has been seen, the Greek word παραβολή, like the Hebrew mashal, has a broader meaning than our word ‘parable’. Παραβολή may mean any kind of simile and illustration and can also refer to the veiled allusions to Christ in the Old Testament. A mashal can indicate both a proverb and a parable. Origen’s understanding of the function of a parable was influenced by what is stated in Proverbs 1:6 about the broader concept of παραβολή. The specific concept of the parable as it functions in the New Testament can hardly have been known to the Septuagint translator of the Hebrew text! 18. Catena of Nicetas of Heraclea on Luke 8:4–15 (= Matt. 13:3–8), in Max Rauer (ed.), Die Homilien zu Lukas in der Übersetzung des Hieronymus und die griechischen Reste der Homilien und des Lukas-Kommentars (Origenes Werke 9; GCS 49; Berlin, 1959), p. xlvi; German trans.: Hermann J. Vogt (ed.), Origenes: Der Kommentar zum Evangelium nach Mattäus I, (Bibliothek der Griechischen Literatur 18; Stuttgart, 1983), pp. 40–41. 19. Cf. Origen’s remarks about the Song of Songs as a wedding song in the form of a drama with bride, bridegroom, bridegroom’s friends, and bride’s companions: Commentary on the Song of Songs, Prologue.

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event as if it happened, although it did not actually happen. The event would have been possible (like a sower going out to sow), but in fact this particular event did not take place. In contrast, a riddle, also mentioned in Proverbs 1:6, describes an event that cannot have taken place, but instead refers to a hidden meaning. ‘The trees deciding to anoint their king’ (Judges 9:8) is impossible as an event, but should be regarded as a riddle, according to Origen.20 For our purpose, it is important to note what Origen states further about parables, referring as he does to the Parable of the Sower in its Matthean version and to the Parable of the Wheat and the Tares (Matt. 13). He goes on to emphasize not only the distinction between the many people who remain outside the house, and those few who are inside (Matt. 13:36), but also the disciples’ ability to actually enter the house. Being able to enter the house is already a sign of spiritual maturity, which can therefore clearly be achieved even before one has heard the explanation of the parables. Origen combines the notion of the external meaning versus the inner meaning with being outside versus being inside with Jesus.21 The disciples approach the Teacher full of desire to know the inner meaning of the parable. Only those few who have followed the small and tortuous path (Matt. 7:14) are capable of following Jesus into the house. In marked contrast with this, Jesus sends the crowd away (Matt. 13:36). The parables as such, without their explanation, were intended for the masses. Multitudini foris in parabolis loquitur (Mark 4:11, note how Origen adds the ‘multitude’, as if underlining the contrast between the many outside and the few inside!).22 But I understand Origen in such a way that in his view the parables could not easily be understood by the masses.23 Origen claims that parables need a thorough explanation of their deeper meaning. The conclusion can only be that the masses were to remain ignorant of the esoteric teaching and were not expected to fully understand the parables. Understanding is given to those inside. It is the bridegroom who knocks at the door: ‘I am at the gate and I knock. 20. See note 17 above. 21. Origen quite often uses this dual division of plain scriptural meaning and spiritual depth (e.g., Contra Celsum 1.18, in Marcel Borret (ed. and trans.), Origène: Contre Celse, vol. 1, Livres I et II (SC 132; Paris, 1967), p. 123, but sometimes he refers to a threefold division of body, soul, and spirit, as we will see. 22. Homiliae in Canticum canticorum 2:7, in Olivier Rousseau (ed. and trans.), Origène: Homélies sur le Cantique des Cantiques (SC 37; Paris, 1953), p. 92. 23. I differ here from G. Stroumsa, ‘Clement, Origen, and Jewish Esoteric Traditions’, in Gilles Dorival and Alain le Boulluec (eds.), Origeniana Sexta (Leuven, 1995), pp. 53–70, at p. 66, who claims that Origen thinks parables could be easily understood by the masses.

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If someone opens up to Me I will enter and I will dine with him and he with Me’ (Rev. 3:20). This is what Christ says to the catechumens: ‘Let me in’. Only then will they become perfect (Homily on Canticles 2:7). Again Origen recognizes a characteristic of Scripture in the parable: the secret meaning is hidden from the ordinary audience. At least the disciples know that there is a hidden meaning, although they themselves cannot yet fathom it. In another context, Origen refers to the searching, begging and knocking as preconditions for the spiritual sense, recognizing that he himself often falls short in understanding. It is striking, however, that Origen here emphasizes the activities of the searcher for spiritual truth as a precondition: only for he who knocks will the door be opened. Freedom is a precondition of prayer: ‘We have said that God uses the freedom of each of us on earth and has rightly ordered our freedom for some benefit to those on earth. We may assume that God has fixed the movement of the heavenly realm by the freedom of the sun, the moon, and the stars …’24 Probably Origen had to defend himself against the allegation that sun, moon and stars follow a fixed movement, and hence do not possess free will, just like the people on earth. Origen is bold enough to posit the opposite idea: that sun, moon and stars possess free will just like the praying person on earth. Be this as it may, it is an indication that, for Origen, mystagogy understood as proceeding along the path of spiritual wisdom, presupposes free will, and cannot be combined with strict determinism or a rigid demarcation between those outside and those inside. For Origen, prayer is only possible based on free will.25 We will see that this insight is not self-evident for Origen, but is the result of a personal inner struggle. It seems that for Origen the rich imagery of the parables is an indication of an approach suited to the level of an audience not yet capable of understanding the spiritual truth, but remaining on a ‘bodily’ level. Now, the parable reaches out as it were to those of little understanding. He even suggests that the crowd is deliberately excluded from hearing the deeper truth. Apparently the parables have a double function: an adaptation of the truth to those who cannot understand the spiritual truth all at once, and a veiling of that truth. On the one hand, one gets the impression that the exclusion of the people of little understanding is not something that is imposed upon them, but is an inner necessity caused by a lack of 24. De oratione (On Prayer) 7:1, in von Stritzky, Origenes: Über das Gebet, p. 129; ET: my own. 25. Whether all Gnostic groups reject prayer as useless because of their determinism, as von Stritzky, Origenes: Über das Gebet, p. 3, states, remains a matter of debate, as we will see.

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spiritual advancement. On the other hand, it is Origen’s spiritual elitism that induces him to limit the esoteric wisdom to a small circle of the initiated. In addition, spiritually immature people are even protected by their limited understanding of Scripture, so that they are not condemned outright!26 Parables share this general feature of Scripture that divine truth lies hidden under the garb of physical phenomena and profane stories. The ignorant audience is satisfied with the ‘physical’ story, the initiated search for hidden truth. Scripture is closed and sealed, except for the initiated who possess the key. Origen points to a way that must be followed to receive initiation, even while admitting that full understanding can never be attained during our earthly existence. This is of prime importance: by admitting the limits of our earthly understanding, he joins those who search for truth without elevating himself above them! Origen does not push his esotericism so far that whole groups of people would in principle be excluded from the truth because of their material understanding.27 Yet, his interpretation of parables as stories told to an audience unable to understand them closely approximates this idea. Origen is no doubt similar to certain Gnostic interpretations of Scripture in his recognition of esoteric wisdom as intended for an inner circle only. This is how a Gnostic author puts it: ‘The Saviour taught the Apostles first in figures and in mysteries, then in parables and enigmas, and finally in the third place in a clear and direct fashion, when they were alone.’28 This is probably an explanation of the same situation of the disciples in the context of the Parable of the Sower. This Gnostic explanation is strikingly similar to Origen’s! The tripartite division in hylic, psychic and pneumatic natures, known both from Origen (On First Principles 4.11) and in Gnosticism, might imply a deterministic approach, as if no initiation from one ‘nature’ to another were possible. But Origen accuses

26. See M. Harl, ‘Introduction à la Philocalie’, in idem, Origène: Philocalie 1–20 (Sur les écritures) (SC 302; Paris, 1983), pp. 75–89. This is why interpreting Scripture is a dangerous practice, even (or especially) if one finds the true meaning! 27. Although Origen has taken over the esoteric concept of truth and the allegorical interpretation from the Jew Philo, he maintains the idea that the Jews especially lack a spiritual understanding of Scripture. Here ‘spiritual’ obviously means: related to Christ, for in other instances Origen recognizes the existence of a secret Jewish tradition in Judaism. See Contra Celsum 4.38–39, and: G. Stroumsa, ‘Clement, Origen, and Jewish Esoteric Traditions’. 28. Quoted by Clement of Alexandria, Excerpta ex Theodoto 66, in F. Sagnard (ed.), Clément d’Alexandrie: Extraits de Théodote (SC 23; Paris, 1970); ET: my own, italics added.

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the Gnostics of precisely this kind of determinism.29 Similarly, Origen’s teacher Clement of Alexandria strongly emphasizes the esoteric doctrine of Christianity, while rejecting that of Gnosticism.30 Origen’s concept of a secret oral tradition may have been influenced by Plato’s famous seventh letter, whereas the concept of esoteric teaching scattered throughout Scripture is similar to that found in Homeric exegesis.31 Origen is even convinced that John the Baptist divulged a secret doctrine regarding prayer to his disciples alone. Otherwise, why would Jesus’ disciples refer to John the Baptist’s teaching on prayer if it were not a hidden doctrine? Anybody might have been familiar with prayer from the synagogue!32 Origen claims that this esoteric doctrine had not been written down, but had been transmitted orally. In spite of Origen’s emphasis on esotericism for the happy few, he also stresses the possibility to gain access to this secret lore, depending as it does solely upon free will and not upon an inherent unchangeable pneumatic nature. This allows us to understand the paradox in Origen that it is precisely through his commentaries and preaching that he tells his audience about this truth that is hidden from many, inviting them to search, to pray and to knock, in short: to pray for spiritual advancement! In his commentary on the Lord’s Prayer, Origen firmly rejects a deterministic perspective, again defending freedom to act as the basis of prayer.33 It means that the three elements of body, soul and spirit in Origen should not be regarded as fixed ‘natures’, but as moral stages, which allow for initiation and growth towards spiritual perfection.34 Mystagogy is precisely this growth in wisdom, and it presupposes this freedom to act. Even the demarcation between the perfect and the uninitiated, so dear to Origen, cannot be definitive, as both share in one and the same Christian community.

29. Whether this accusation of determinism addressed to Gnosticism is justified, or is rather a heresiological topos, is debated in W.A. Löhr, ‘Gnostic Determinism Reconsidered’, Vigiliae Christianae 46 (1992), pp. 381–90. To complicate matters, the Epistle of James (NHC 1.2), 11:35–12:13, explicitly rejects determinism and seems to defend a middle position (psychic existence) with the possibility of developing either into pneumatic or hylic existence. See J. van der Vliet, ‘Spirit and Prophecy in the Epistula Jacobi Apocrypha (NHC 1,2)’, Vigiliae Christianae 44 (1990), pp. 25–53, esp. pp. 27–28.  30. For Clement of Alexandria’s emphasis on secrecy as confined to a small circle of initiated, see G. Stroumsa, ‘Clement, Origen, and Jewish Esoteric Traditions’, p. 57. 31. G. Stroumsa, ‘Clement, Origen, and Jewish Esoteric Traditions’, pp. 57–58. 32. Origen, De oratione 2.4, in von Stritzky, Origenes: Über das Gebet, p. 105. 33. Origen, De oratione 6.1–2, in von Stritzky, Origenes: Über das Gebet, pp. 121–23. 34. Cf. Philocalia 25.27. Whether this is true for Gnosticism as well must be left undecided here.

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The Rabbinic Understanding of Parables In the context of the relationship between disciple and teacher, in Rabbinic tradition, there is a similar distinction between exoteric and esoteric teaching as the one we found in the Parable of the Sower according to Mark 4 and Matt. 13. In the second half of the first century CE, Rabban Joḥanan ben Zakkai’s debate with an opponent about the rules of purity offers a good example. A gentile asked Rabban Joḥanan ben Zakkai: ‘These rites that you perform look like a kind of witchcraft. You bring a heifer, burn it, pound it, and take its ashes. If one of you is defiled by a dead body you sprinkle upon him two or three drops and you say to him: “You are clean.”’ Rabban Joḥanan asked him: ‘Has the demon of madness ever possessed you?’ ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Have you ever seen a man possessed by this demon of madness?’, Rabban Joḥanan asked. ‘Yes,’ said he. ‘And what do you do in such a case?’ ‘We bring roots,’ he replied, ‘and make them smoke under him; then we sprinkle water upon the demon and it flees.’ Rabban Joḥanan said to him: ‘Let your ears hear what you utter with your mouth! Precisely so is this spirit a spirit of uncleanness; as it is written: “And also I will cause the prophets and the unclean spirit to pass out of the land” (Zech. 13:2). Water of purification is sprinkled upon the unclean person and the spirit flees.’ When the idolater had gone, Rabban Joḥanan’s disciples said to their master: ‘Master! You dismissed this man with a flimsy answer [literally: you sent him away with a reed], what explanation do you give to us?’ Said he to them: ‘By your life! It is not the dead that defiles nor the water that purifies! The Holy One, blessed be He, merely says: “I have laid down a statute, I have issued a decree. You are not allowed to transgress my decree.”’ As it is written: ‘This is the statute (ḥuqat) of the law’ (Num. 19:2).35

In this famous story, Rabban Joḥanan’s disciples receive an answer intended for an intimate audience – and quite a daring explanation at that! – whereas the gentile receives a different answer intended for the world outside.36 There is therefore a clear analogy with the disciples inside and the crowd outside in the Parable of the Sower.37 This Rabbinic parallel does not shed much light on the function of parables as such, however. Rabban Joḥanan is reluctant to give the gentile tools to criticize Judaism, and this is the reason that the gentile is not given the explanation vouchsafed to the disciples. We noted earlier that the distinction 35. Numeri Rabba 19.8; ET: H. Freedman and Maurice Simon (eds.), Midrash Rabbah, vol. 6, Numbers II, trans. by Judah J. Slotki (London, 1961), p. 757 (slightly modified). 36. D. Daube, ‘Public Retort and Private Explanation’, in idem, The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism (London, 1956), pp. 141–50. 37. The parallel with the debate about purity in the Gospel of Mark 7 is even more striking in relation to the topic of purity.

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between the esoteric and exoteric aspects in the Parable of the Sower is not characteristic for the New Testament parable in general. The same holds for the parable in Rabbinic literature: ‘It is told that king Solomon spoke three thousand meshalim (parables) for every word of the Torah … At first the Torah was like a basket without handles and when Solomon came he affixed handles to it.’38 Several digressions in the form of parables elaborate on it to illustrate that there was no mashal before Solomon. Solomon ‘set in order many meshalim’ (Qoh. 12:9). Although the word mashal in the Hebrew Bible can refer to proverbs, similes and parables, it seems that the notion of ‘parable’ is paramount in this Rabbinic recontextualization. Rabbi Nachman said: Imagine a large palace with many doors so that whoever entered could not find his way back to the door, until one clever person came and took a coil of string und hung it up on the way to the door so that all went in and out by means of the coil.39 So till Solomon arose no one was able to understand properly the words of the Torah, but as soon as Solomon arose all began to comprehend the Torah.40

The word mashal is interpreted here as ‘parable’ according to the Rabbinic interpretation, although the connotation of ‘proverb’ will have been more prominent in the biblical verse of Qoh. 12:9. The possibility must also be taken into account that Rabbinic literature does not ascribe parables proper to Solomon, but instead refers to the Song of Songs and Proverbs as Solomon’s ‘parables’, similes, and proverbs.41 Nevertheless it seems to me that the emphasis on aid to explain the Torah, in combination with the figure of 3,000 can only refer to parables proper. Time and again Solomon’s parables are supposed to enable understanding of the text of the Torah: Solomon is said to have provided a cutting knife to cut 38. Babylonian Talmud Erubin 21b; ET: Isidore Epstein (ed.), The Babylonian Talmud, vol. 2/2 (London, 1938), p. 151. Cf. Song of Songs Rabba I.1.8. 39. This parable may have been quite close to the one Origen professes to have heard from a Jewish spokesman, as quoted at the beginning of this article. However, this parable emphasizes the function of parables to facilitate the understanding of Scripture, not to emphasize the complexity of interpreting parables as such! Still, comparing Scripture to a house with many rooms and keys is consistent with the Rabbinic adage that ‘there is no before and after in the Torah’. See for a similar organic approach to the text in Hellenism: A. le Boulluec, ‘Les représentations du texte chez les philosophes grecs et l’exégèse scripturaire d’Origène. Influences et mutations’, in Robert J. Daly (ed.), Origeniana Quinta (Leuven, 1992), pp. 101–18, esp. p. 102 (Chrysippus). 40. Song of Songs Rabba I.1.8; ET: H. Freedman and Maurice Simon (eds.), Midrash Rabbah, vol. 4, Song of Songs, trans. by Maurice Simon (London, 1961), p. 9. 41. Daniel Boyarin, ‘The Bartered Word: Midrash and Symbolic Economy’, in idem, Sparks of the Logos: Essays in Rabbinic Hermeneutics (Leiden, 2003), pp. 114–64, here pp. 148–50, adheres to this interpretation.

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through thick reed, that is, to clarify the Torah. Solomon made handles for a big basket, that is, parables for the Torah; Solomon provided a bucket and rope for people to draw water from a deep well; and so on. A one-penny wick can help one to find the treasure of a pearl, so parables should not be taken lightly. They are like a king who has lost a pearl and finds it by the light of a one-penny lamp (Song of Songs Rabba I.1.8). Parables have the function to clarify the Torah; they are not considered to be obscure or only accessible to the initiated. The Rabbinic perspective on parables is not that they form an important part of revelation, on the contrary, they are human artefacts – albeit arising from Solomon’s wisdom – meant to clarify revelation, the Torah. Interestingly, parables as independent stories, as they occur in the New Testament, are not highlighted here. The tendency to apply parables to the exegesis of Scripture is a characteristic of the Rabbinic perspective on parables.42 Parables, then, have no intrinsic connection to esoteric knowledge, which is mainly confined to the mystical realm in Rabbinic literature. The influence of Jewish esoteric traditions, such as the prohibition to study the first chapters of Ezekiel,43 and the esoteric explanation of the Song of Songs, is clear.44 In fact, Origen is our earliest witness to these Jewish traditions. To complicate matters, in spite of Origen’s interest in these Jewish esoteric traditions, he accuses the Jews of not understanding the spiritual meaning of Scripture. This contradictory approach in Origen can be explained quite easily: in this case the ‘spiritual’ meaning of Scripture refers to a Christocentric reading of Scripture, which the Jews obviously did not practise. This should be distinguished from the notion of ‘sealed Scripture’ which guided Origen’s understanding of parables as enigmas.

42. See David Stern, Parables in Midrash: Narrative and Exegesis in Rabbinic Literature (Harvard, 1994). 43. Cf. the prohibition to study Merkaba mysticism before forty years of age. See on secrecy in Rabbinic literature: Gerd A. Wewers, Geheimnis und Geheimhaltung im rabbinischen Judentum (Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten 35; Berlin, 1975). Origen is well aware of these specific rules of secrecy in Rabbinic literature, connected with equally specific documents, such as the creation story (probably the mystical Ma’aseh Bereshit), the first chapter of Ezekiel and the Song of Songs, possibly some Shiur Koma speculation. See Origen, Commentary to the Song of Songs, Prologue I, in W. Baehrens (ed.), Origenes Werke 8 (GCS 33; Leipzig, 1925), and the debate in Gershom Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism and Talmudic Tradition (New York, 1965), pp. 38–39; David J. Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot: Early Jewish Responses to Ezekiel’s Vision (Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum 16; Tübingen, 1988), pp. 322–87. 44. Origen, Commentary to the Song of Songs, I.5, in Baehrens, Origenes Werke 8. Cf. G. Stroumsa, Hidden Wisdom, p. 121.

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Origen’s and the Rabbis’ Perspective on Parables Compared We have noted that according to Rabbinic hermeneutics, the parable itself is not part of the Torah, but serves as a hermeneutical tool, ‘a handle’ to explain the Torah. In contrast, for Origen the parable is part of Scripture itself and as such it shares the same characteristic of being a truth hidden from the multitude. Precisely because Origen considers all of Scripture locked and sealed like an apocalyptic message, he is able to consider parables as a means to distinguish the ignorant masses from those initiated into the deeper truth. Origen does not regard parables as stories that can be invented at will to clarify Scripture; for him the parables are themselves Scripture, belonging exclusively to the divine teaching of Jesus. Their ‘dark’ speech is indicative of their spiritual depth.45 According to the Rabbinic perspective, a parable is neither sealed Scripture that can be opened by esoteric teaching only, nor preliminary teaching for a wider audience that lacks understanding, to be replaced by a more mature or more spiritual truth destined for the happy few. The Rabbinic perspective does not seem to depend on an ontological hierarchy of matter and spirit, in which a parable without its esoteric explanation would constitute the adaptation of the truth to a ‘material’ understanding of man. Admittedly, there are the so-called doreshe reshumot, early allegorical interpreters mentioned in Rabbinic literature, that show some affinity with Alexandrian exegesis, especially with the Jewish philosopher Philo.46 They also have a number of similarities with Origen in relation to the explanation of biblical names of persons and places.47 In spite of these similarities, which deserve closer scrutiny, it seems that the ontological hierarchical universe that underlies them is not outspoken in Rabbinic literature. Even the doreshe reshumot do not always seem to use 45. Cf. Philo on the tendency of nature to hide its treasures: De fuga et inventione 179; De mutatione nominum 60; De somniis I.6. The last statement is highly similar to Origen’s hermeneutics of Scripture: ‘For the nature of knowledge is not to be superficial but deep; it does not display itself openly, but loves to hide itself in secrecy; it is not discovered easily, but with difficulty and much labour’ (De somniis I.6, in F.H. Colson and G.H. Whitaker (eds.), Philo, vol. 5, On Flight and Finding; On the Change of Names; On Dreams (LCL 275; London–Cambridge, MA, 1934), pp. 296–97). But Philo speaks here about ‘nature’, not Scripture. Cf. M. Harl, ‘Origène et les interprétations patristiques grecques des obscurités bibliques’, Vigiliae Christianae 36 (1982), pp. 334–71. 46. See J.Z. Lauterbach, ‘The Ancient Jewish Allegorists in Talmud and Midrash’, Jewish Quarterly Review New Series 1 (1910–1911), pp. 291–333, 503–31. 47. See de Lange, Origen and the Jews, p. 113. Origen derived quite a few interpretations of names and places from Philo. See R.P.C. Hanson, ‘Interpretations of Hebrew Names in Origen’, Vigiliae Christianae 10/2 (1956), pp. 103–23.

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the distinction between symbolic language and the truth they refer to as an argument to view spirit as higher than matter. It was forbidden especially in matters of law to allegorize the commandments, with three well-known exceptions stipulated by Rabbi Ishmael. These exceptions are valid, not because they point to a spiritual truth, but they make it possible to avoid improper expressions in the Torah.48 Although the doreshe reshumot were reluctant to apply the allegorical interpretation to laws as such, these exceptions were allowed. In any case, there is not a trace of the idea of the parable as merely a preliminary vehicle that uses childish language to convey a spiritual truth. Nor is there any suggestion that parables are too complex for the general audience to understand, on the contrary: parables, precisely as profane stories, will lead to the spiritual truth. They are like one-penny lamps, whose light is sufficient to discover a pearl. This striking difference can at least partly be explained by the difference in literature: Rabbinic literature is strongly community-oriented and refrains from individual and radical standpoints. The esoteric teachings and secret wisdom are confined to specific literature, as described above. In this respect, Philo’s understanding of hidden wisdom is much closer to Origen’s than is the Rabbinic understanding. In addition, it is perhaps appropriate to state that after Philo, it was not until the rise of philosophy and Cabbalah that a hierarchical system of matter and spirit was fully reintroduced in Jewish anthropology and cosmology. Similarly, the distinction between the outer and the inner meaning is a common element between Origen and the later Cabbalah. Both even use the same image of a nut, inedible or bitter outside, but tasty inside.49

Conclusion Our study of the meaning of parables in Origen and in Rabbinic literature has brought to light that Origen’s view differs strongly from that of the Rabbis. Whereas the Rabbis recommend parables as a tool to clarify the Torah, Origen emphasizes the secrecy and the demarcation between the initiated and the uninitiated. Whereas the Rabbis think parables can 48. See Mekhilta de rabbi Ishmael, Nezikin 9: sheets are not literally spread out to prove the bride’s virginal status (Deut. 22:17), but the matter will be ‘as clear as a white sheet’. 49. Origen, Homily on Numbers 9:7 (according to Origen, however the New Testament, too, can be hard as a nut on the outside! Ibid. 9:4). For the Cabbalah, see, e.g., Joseph Gikatilla, Ginat Egoz (Garden of the nut), inspired by the Song of Songs 6:11.

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be used to introduce the uninitiated to understanding of the Torah, Origen regards parables as a means to realize the depths of the hidden wisdom and the fact that the masses outside have ‘a long way to go’ to reach this. We have also discovered, however, that Origen believes a mystagogical initiation remains a possibility for whoever sincerely desires to grow in divine wisdom and wants to pray and study in order to reach it. Our enquiry has brought us into the field of anthropology: should the relation between body, soul, and spirit be viewed hierarchically or as a juxtaposition? And is this division the foundation of a deterministic view of man, or does it allow for mystagogy, for growth in wisdom to be obtained by whoever is willing to knock, to pray, and to ask? There is no doubt that Origen favours the latter, in spite of his emphasis on esotericism. According to Origen, free will is presupposed in prayer, and prayer is the means to proceed in spiritual growth. Without free will and prayer, mystagogy would not be possible. Beginner and perfect believer belong to one and the same community. We noted how the concepts of religious community and initiation are strongly dependent on what perspective on parables is used: as stories preserving the deeper truth for the initiated, as Origen has it, or as a simple candle, fit to point to a treasure, according to the Rabbis. Although Origen repeatedly highlights the incomprehensibility of parables for the outsider, he also points to parables as a ‘physical’ adaptation to the understanding of the masses. Hence, in spite his emphasis on secret esoteric wisdom, accessible to the initiated only, Origen should not be regarded as an intellectual without compassion for the simple believer. Eventually, it is not intellectual understanding alone, but first and foremost prayer that guarantees spiritual progress. Prayer and understanding Scripture are intrinsically connected, and both constitute the mystagogical tools which propel the believer forward on the spiritual path. Many of Origen’s homilies begin or end with prayer, to understand the Word, but even more to make the Word efficacious within.50 He advises his student Gregory to ‘knock’ on the closed door, to ‘seek’ the hidden truth, but most of all, to pray, because the Saviour has said: ‘Ask and it will be given to you’ (Matt. 7:7). Understanding the Bible is a gift from God, to be obtained by prayer.

50. Heine, ‘Reading the Bible with Origen’, p. 144; P.S.A. Lefeber, ‘The Same View on Prayer in Origen’s Sermons and in his Treatise On Prayer’, in W.A. Bienert and U. Kühneweg (eds.), Origeniana Septima (Leuven, 1999), pp. 33–38, esp. pp. 37–38.

Chapter Seven

REMEMBERING GOD: BASIL THE GREAT’S MYSTAGOGY OF PRAYER Michel Van Parys OSB

St Basil the Great (329/330–378) – Church Father, bishop, theologian, reformer of the ascetic-monastic movement, and champion of the unity of the churches – has not left us any work specifically devoted to prayer. We do not have any treatise on prayer by Basil, nor any commentary on the Lord’s Prayer, nor any sermons on the whole Psalter.1 This is probably the reason why the theme of prayer in his work has hardly been studied. According to Dom Jean Gribomont, one of the most knowledgeable experts on Basil, a synthesis of his teaching on prayer is a difficult task. Yet, he ventures a definition: ‘Prayer is a joyous attitude of admiration and thanksgiving, whose continuity is the spontaneous result of love, while it develops a form of life that is separated from sin and from the distractions of the world, and submitted to the will of God.’2 This definition can be accepted as it is. What can be detected in the diversity of literary genres in Basil’s oeuvre are echoes of and practical hints for prayer. After a brief discussion of the sources and of some rules Basil gives, based on New Testament verses, this contribution will elucidate his mystagogy of prayer under four headings: the prayer of the Psalms, prayer without ceasing, remembering God, and Basil’s personal example.

The Sources Most of Basil’s extant works can be subsumed under four categories: dogmatic writings, sermons, a handbook for the ascetic communities, 1. Marie-Josèphe Rondeau, Les commentaires patristiques du Psautier (IIIe–Ve siècles), 2 vols. (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 219 and 220; Rome, 1982 and 1985), vol. 1, p. 110: ‘Rien, pour l’instant, ne permet donc de penser qu’il a pu exister d’autres homélies de Basile sur les Psaumes que les quinze que nous possédons.’ 2. Jean Gribomont, ‘La prière selon Saint Basile’, in idem, Saint Basile: Évangile et Église. Mélanges, vol. 2 (Spiritualité Orientale 37; Bégrolles-en-Mauges, 1984), pp. 426– 42, here p. 426 (first published in 1964).

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and correspondence. It is mainly his sermons on the Psalms, the homilies held to remember the martyrs, and the Asceticon which help us to discover Basil’s mystagogy of prayer. In a sermon preached on Easter Monday, Basil tells his audience that he has preached every morning and every evening for eight weeks during the preceding Lent.3 This means a total of eighty sermons. Thus, as priest and as bishop, this Church Father must have given hundreds, if not thousands, of homilies. We only possess a few fragments: 45 or 46 of his homilies are still extant.4 Perhaps Basil himself took the initiative to preserve these sermons. Have the extant homilies been stylized, or have their contents been supplemented? In most instances this is unclear. Some homilies are very well-presented and written according to the rules of rhetoric. Others seem to be improvised. In any case, it is evident that Basil is one of the most prominent people to have inspired and shaped liturgical and psalmodic prayer. Even today, several Eastern liturgical traditions use a Eucharistic anaphora ascribed to Basil.5 Basil broaches the subject of prayer not only in his sermons on the Psalms, but also in his homilies on martyrs. He was a staunch protagonist of the veneration of martyrs and relics. He took the initiative to invite the bishops and suffragan bishops of his metropolia to celebrate the dies natalis of the martyrs.6 Such anniversaries not only attracted the hierarchs of his metropolia, but pilgrims and merchants flocked to the tombs as well. These graves had become places of public amusement, carnivals. The prevailing atmosphere was not always pious. Then, as now, piety and gastronomic pleasure do not always go well together. Sometimes it got out of hand, and the ire of Bishop Basil was awakened.

3. In ebriosos, in PG 31, cols. 444C–464A, here cols. 444D–445A; ET: Susan R. Holman and Mark DelCogliano (eds.), St Basil the Great: On Fasting and Feasts (PPS 50; Yonkers, NY, 2013), pp. 83–95, here p. 83. 4. See for a discussion of Basil’s sermons: Jean Bernardi, La prédication des Pères cappadociens. Le prédicateur et son auditoire (Publications de la Faculté des lettres et sciences humaines de l’Université de Montpellier 30; Paris, 1968), pp. 17–91. 5. D. Richard Stuckwisch, ‘The Basilian Anaphoras’, in Paul F. Bradshaw (ed.), Essays on Early Eastern Eucharistic Prayers (Collegeville, MN, 1997), pp. 109–30. 6. See, for example, ep. 282: To a Bishop, in Yves Courtonne (ed.), Saint Basile: Lettres, 3 vols. (Collection des universités de France; Paris, 1957–66), vol. 3, p. 154: οὐ τῶν μαρτύρων ἀμελῆσαι δίκαιον, ὧν ταῖς μνείαις κοινωνήσων καλῇ. And with special reference to the yearly feast of St. Eupsychius (7 September), ep. 176: To Amphilochius, Bishop of Iconium, in Courtonne, Lettres, vol. 2, pp. 112–13; and ep. 252: To the Bishops of the Diocese of Pontus, in Courtonne, Lettres, vol. 3, p. 93. Cf. Mario Girardi, Basilio di Cesarea: I martiri: panegirici per Giulitta, Gordio, 40 soldati di Sebaste, Mamante (Collana di testi patristici 147; Rome, 1999).

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Two sermons held before the beginning of Lent are still extant.7 People who had not been baptized also fasted. Basil was worried about excesses perpetrated during carnival: there was too much drinking. A sermon preached on Easter Monday reveals a deeply discouraged pastor. For weeks during Lent he had been proclaiming the Word of God, but on the night of Easter Sunday things had got totally out of hand.8 This explains why he advised the ascetics to shun these ‘yearly markets’ whenever possible.9 We will look at one particular homily on a martyr, in which Basil discusses the interpretation of ‘Pray without ceasing’ (1 Thess. 5:17). Basil never uses the word ‘monk’. He normally speaks of men and women who desire to experience the gospel integrally as part of a community. He considers it his pastoral duty to guide the ascetic movement (or ascetic strands) onto the path of God’s word. In his youth, he was an ardent admirer of Eustathius of Sebaste, but a painful separation ensued when Eustathius refused to recognize the Holy Spirit as homoousios with the Father and the Son. Excesses in the ascetic-monastic movement occurred in many places. They are reflected in the issues Basil deals with: is prayer in and by itself salvific? Is prayer the be all and end all of the imitation of Christ? And is the affective-psychological experience of the Spirit’s work in the human heart the main criterion of authentic prayer? We can read the fruit of Basil’s teaching on prayer in the final redaction of his writings on Christian asceticism, the ὑποτύπωσις ἀσκήσεως (an overview of the ascetic life).10 This collection comprises five parts: 1. 2. 3.

A prologue.11 On the Judgement of God (De iudicio Dei).12 On the Faith (De fide):13 the ascetic must incorporate himself into the sacramental life of the orthodox Church.

7. De ieiunio, homilia i et ii, in PG 31, cols. 164A–184C and 185A–197C; ET: PPS 50, pp. 55–71 and 73–81. 8. In ebriosos, in PG 31, cols. 444C–464A; ET: PPS 50, pp. 83–95. 9. See n. 47. 10. See for a discussion of the ὑποτύπωσις and various prologues: Jean Gribomont, ‘L’hypotypose d’ascèse’, in idem, Histoire du texte des ascétiques de S. Basile (Bibliothèque du Muséon 32; Louvain, 1953), pp. 277–301. 11. Prologus vi (prooemium ad Hypotyposin) (CPG 2884), in Gribomont, Histoire du texte, pp. 279–82. 12. Prologus vii (De iudicio Dei) (CPG 2885), Greek text and ET in Jacob N. Van Sickle (ed.), St Basil the Great: On Christian Ethics (PPS 51; Yonkers, NY, 2014), pp. 38–67. 13. Prologus viii (De fide) (CPG 2886), Greek text and ET in PPS 51, pp. 68–89.

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Michel Van Parys OSB Moralia:14 80 questions about the Christian path of life, to which Basil answers using only quotations from the New Testament. The Word of God is the rule for the ascetic. The Asceticon,15 a series of questions and answers, 55 elaborate answers (traditionally known as the Greater Rules),16 and 318 shorter answers (the Lesser Rules).17 These quaestiones et responsiones are a compilation of what Basil taught during his visits to his own and related communities.

The Asceticon was intended for ascetics who wanted to experience fully the grace of the Christian sacraments of initiation. The sermons, on the other hand, were addressed to a mixed public: sympathizers, catechumens, and baptized persons. In many cases, the baptized (active Christians) were probably a minority of those present. Had not Basil himself – although born into a deeply Christian, aristocratic family – been baptized as an adult?

Prayer Rules from the New Testament Before we explore what Basil has to say about the Psalms, about praying without ceasing, and about ‘remembering God’, we will briefly look at Rule 56 of the Moralia, which is devoted to prayer.18 Basil has arranged 19 citations from the New Testament under seven headings: 1. 2. 3.

Persevering in prayer and vigils: Matt. 7:7–8 etc.; Luke 18:1–2 etc.; Luke 21:34–36; Col. 4:2; 1 Thess. 5:16–17. Giving thanks to God for the gifts that our body needs: Matt. 14:19; Acts 27:35; 1 Tim. 4:4. Prayer is neither chattering, nor asking for transient and unworthy things: Matt. 6:7–8; Luke 12:29–30.

14. Regulae Morales (CPG 2877), Greek text and ET in PPS 51, pp. 90–327. 15. Asceticon magnum (CPG 2875), in PG 31, cols. 901A–1305B; ET: Anna M. Silvas, The Asketikon of St Basil the Great (Oxford Early Christian Studies; Oxford, 2005), pp. 153–450. A discussion of various manuscripts and the text of parts of the Greater Asceticon can be found in Gribomont, Histoire du texte. 16. Regulae fusius tractatae, in PG 31, cols. 901A–1052C; ET (also in): Monica Wagner (ed.), Saint Basil: Ascetical works (FOTC 9; Washington, DC, 1962, 19501), pp. 223–337. 17. Regulae brevius tractatae, in PG 31, cols. 1052C–1305B. 18. Regulae Morales 56, Greek text and ET in PPS 51, pp. 210–17.

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How to pray, and in what state of soul: Matt. 6:9–10 etc. (the Lord’s Prayer); Matt. 6:33; Mark 11:25; 1 Tim. 2:8.19 Praying for one another, and for those who minister the Word of God: Luke 22:31–32; Eph. 6:18–20; 2 Thess. 3:1. Praying for our enemies: Matt. 5:44–45. Men pray with their heads uncovered, women with their heads covered: 1 Cor. 11:3–5 etc.

In other words: prayer demands a sober way of living; we should pray the Father that his Kingdom will come, because he gives what is needed; our prayers should not be verbose; we should give thanks for the gifts God gives us; prayer demands that we forgive each other; we should pray for each other, for our enemies, and for the ministers of the Word. It is highly likely that Basil regarded these verses quoted from the New Testament as the essential teachings about prayer.

The Prayer of the Psalms It is certain that the prayer of the Psalms had an important place in Basil’s piety and teaching. He regarded the Psalms as the school of prayer for everyone. His attention to the Psalms is not unique. In the course of the third, fourth, and fifth centuries, the Psalms became ever more important in the liturgy and in personal devotion, and an extensive literature about the Psalms developed: commentaries, sermons, and scholia.20 Praying and singing the Psalms, during the liturgy and in personal prayer, inescapably raised the question of their Christian interpretation. Can a Christian with full conviction pray Psalm verses, or

19. In this section of the Moralia, Basil is mainly concerned with the ‘state of the soul’, although bodily posture is also mentioned in Mark 11:25 (‘Whenever you stand praying’) and 1 Tim. 2:8 (‘I desire then that in every place the men should pray, lifting holy hands without anger or quarrels’). In De spiritu sancto 27.66, in the context of a discussion of oral traditions, Basil gives reasons for certain bodily postures: why prayer should be done facing east, and why it should be done standing rather than kneeling on Sundays and from Easter to Pentecost. The Council of Nicaea (325) had already decided, in canon 20, that the faithful should stand at prayer on Sundays and during the Easter period. See on Basil’s De spiritu sancto 27.66 also Nathan Witkamp’s contribution to this volume, ‘“In the Posture of One Who Prays”: The Orans Position in the Baptismal Rite of Theodore of Mopsuestia’, p. 192, nn. 4 and 5. 20. Rondeau, Les commentaires patristiques du Psautier (IIIe–Ve siècles), 2 vols. Basil is discussed in vol. 1, pp. 107–12.

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even whole Psalms?21 The New Testament showed one way in which the Psalms could be interpreted. Jesus Christ himself had explicitly mentioned them when teaching his apostles: ‘This is what I told you while I was still with you: Everything must be fulfilled that is written about me in the Law of Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms’ (Luke 24:44). The Psalms play a prominent role in the writings of the New Testament: they are quoted more often than any of the other books of the Jewish Scriptures. The literature of the Church Fathers on the Psalms should not be treated as scholarly or academic in nature. Sometimes it was, but even then the goal was pastoral: to help the people of God to sing the Psalms and to pray them on the basis of the salvation given by their risen Lord. And even if at times they apply quite diverse hermeneutical criteria to the interpretation of the Psalms, yet all preachers want to actualize salvation in Christ. Thus, their teaching involves a mystagogy of the Christian prayer of the Psalms – polyphonic, or even cacophonous. And Basil’s homilies on the Psalms are his mystagogical voice in this choir. The Psalms played a primary role in the prayer life of the monks, but they were also sung during the services in church. ‘Among us the people come early after nightfall to the house of prayer, … thus, having spent the night in a variety of psalmody and intervening prayers, …’, a proud Bishop Basil writes in one letter.22 And in his panegyric on his deceased friend, Gregory of Nazianzus describes the Eucharistic service on 6 January 371, when the Emperor Valens was present. For he [the emperor] entered the Church attended by the whole of his train; it was the festival of the Epiphany, and the Church was crowded, and, by taking place among the people, he confirmed the unity. The occurrence is not to be lightly passed over. Upon his entrance he was struck by the thundering roll of the Psalms, …23

21. This difficulty persists until today. For example, in the debate within the Roman Catholic Church about the possibility of omitting certain Psalm verses in the liturgy. Cf. Enzo Bianchi, La violenza e Dio (Milan, 2013). 22. Ep. 207: To the Clergy of Neo-Caesarea, in Courtonne, Lettres, vol. 2, p. 186; ET: Agnes Clare Way (ed.), Saint Basil: Letters, 2 vols. (FOTC 13 and 28; Washington, DC, 1951–1955), vol. 2, pp. 83–84. 23. Gregory of Nazianzus, Oratio 43.52: Panegyric on S. Basil, in Jean Bernardi (ed.), Grégoire de Nazianze: Discours 42–43 (SC 384; Paris, 1992), pp. 234–35; ET: Charles Gordon Browne and James Edward Swallow (eds.), Select Orations of Saint Gregory Nazianzen (NPNF II.7; Peabody, MA, 1994, 18941), p. 412, modified.

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While the Psalms are sung, the emperor sees Basil standing in prayer in front of the people: while Basil presided over his people, standing erect, as the Scripture says of Samuel [1 Sam. 19:20], with body and mind and eyes undisturbed, as if nothing new had happened, but fixed upon God and the sanctuary, as if, so to say, he had been a statue, while his ministers stood around him in fear and reverence. At this sight, and it was indeed a sight unparalleled, overcome by human weakness, his eyes were affected with dimness and giddiness, his soul with dread.24

In order to get a picture of Basil’s mystagogy of prayer, we will now look at his commentaries on Psalms 1, 114, and 44. Homily on Psalm 125 The homily that Basil wrote on Psalm 1 begins with a eulogy on praying the Psalms.26 It is a pastoral programme, in which the orator Basil, without stylistic frills, describes the blessings of such prayer. Let us now look more closely at his argument. a) Holy Scripture has the appearance of a pharmacy. It dispenses the medicines that we need for the healing of our passions and for our salvation. The Bible contains various literary genres: prophets, historical books, the Law, and books of wisdom. The Psalms, however, combine all of them. The Psalter speaks prophetically about the future, it brings to memory things from the past, it teaches the commandments, it prescribes what we should do. Each one can find in it the medicine he needs. This is the work of the Holy Spirit, who does this with the art of a pastor of souls (ψυχαγωγία). To pre-empt the conclusion: the mystagogy of the Church and of human pastors of souls should correspond to and harmonize with the psychagogy of the Holy Spirit, which is graciously given to us in and through the Psalms. The term ‘psychagogy’ refers to the function of the philosopher in Antiquity. The philosopher helps fellow human beings to lead a life that is good, beautiful, and wise, since he shows them the way and forms their souls.

24. Gregory of Nazianzus, Oratio 43.52, in SC 384, pp. 234–35; ET: NPNF II.7, p. 412, slightly modified. 25. Homilia in Psalmum 1, in PG 29, cols. 209A–228B; ET: Agnes Clare Way (ed.), Saint Basil: Exegetic Homilies (FOTC 46; Washington, DC, 1963), pp. 151–64. 26. Hom. in Ps. 1.1–2, in PG 29, cols. 209A–213C; ET: FOTC 46, pp. 151–54.

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b) It is difficult to live a virtuous life. The Holy Spirit therefore urges us to sing the Psalms. The beautiful melodies help us to retain the teaching of the Psalms. This is the pedagogy of the Holy Spirit. With a sound dose of realism, the Church Father writes: For, never has any one of the many indifferent persons gone away easily holding in mind either an apostolic or prophetic message, but they do chant the words of the psalms, even in the home, and they spread them around in the market place, and, if perchance, someone becomes exceedingly wrathful, when he begins to be soothed by the psalm, he departs with the wrath of his soul immediately lulled to sleep by means of the melody.27

Praying by singing Psalms soothes the passions, brings about harmonious love in the Church, chases away the Devil, induces help from the angels. People of all ages can sing the Psalms: a Psalm is ‘a safeguard for infants, an adornment for those at the height of their vigor, a consolation for the elders, a most fitting ornament for women.’28 In a pleasant way, through singing, we learn what is useful and what helps us forward. c) The Psalms not only teach us virtue, but they also initiate us into the mysteries of salvation. What, in fact, can you not learn from the psalms? Can you not learn the grandeur of courage? The exactness of justice? The nobility of self-control? The perfection of prudence? A manner of penance? The measure of patience? And whatever other good things you might mention? Therein is perfect theology, a prediction of the coming of Christ in the flesh, a threat of judgment, a hope of resurrection, a fear of punishment, promises of glory, an unveiling of mysteries.29

We recognize the cardinal virtues (also mentioned in Wisdom 8:7): courage (ἀνδρεία), justice (δικαιοσύνη), self-control (σωφροσύνη), prudence (φρόνησις), to which are added conversion and perseverance. The Psalms also announce the mystery of salvation, from the incarnation to the second coming of the Messiah, Jesus. d) Basil then briefly returns to the singing of the Psalms: the beautiful melodies used should not fan the passions. In sum, the Psalms teach us how to combat the passions, and exercise virtue, and they bring to our mind the past, the present, and the future of God’s salvific deeds. This last aspect is central to Basil’s pedagogy of prayer, as we will see. 27. Hom. in Ps. 1.1, in PG 29, col. 212BC; ET: FOTC 46, p. 152. 28. Hom. in Ps. 1.2, in PG 29, col. 212D; ET: FOTC 46, p. 153. 29. Hom. in Ps. 1.2, in PG 29, col. 213AB; ET: FOTC 46, p. 153.

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Homily on Psalm 11430 The short homily on Psalm 114 (from the time when Basil was a bishop) helps us to discover something of the way he exercised his pastoral care. Basil arrives at a martyrium, a shrine with the relics of a martyr, around noon. The congregation has been waiting for him since midnight, singing hymns (ὕμνων) in the meantime. The bishop apologizes for his late arrival: he visited another church the previous day, far away from the present one. He is very tired, and he looks it. Then he comments on Psalm 114, which they were singing when he arrived. A few thoughts from this sermon show how the prayer of the Psalms leads to true mystagogy. Basil states with reference to verse 1, ‘I have loved, because the Lord will hear the voice of my prayer’: those who because of the sonship (υἱοθεσία) have overcome fear, are able to say these words. And who have they loved? God, who is to be desired above everything else, even in affliction and fear of death (v. 3). This is also what Paul writes: ‘Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or hunger, or nakedness, or danger, or the sword?’ (Rom. 8:35).31 ‘Because he turned his ear to me’ (v. 2). God does not have physical ears. He helps us in our weakness, just as a physician inclines his ear to the mouth of a frail sick man. God understands such a prayer, even if it is a mere sigh of the heart. This is adduced by the silent prayer with which Moses cries out to God (Exodus 14:15).32 ‘In all my days I will call upon him’ (v. 2, ‘all’ added by Basil). We assume that, when we have prayed one day or even one hour, this will suffice to turn the evil in our lives into good. But it is not like that, the Psalmist prays all his life.33 Homily on Psalm 4434 The sermon on Psalm 44 is one of the finest that Basil has left us. We have the impression that he prepared this homily with much care, or else, that he wrote the sermon down himself afterwards on the basis of stenographic notes, by contrast with some of the other homilies on a Psalm, which seem to have been improvised.

30. Hom. in Ps. 114, in PG 29, cols. 484A–493C; ET: FOTC 46, pp. 351–59. Psalm 116 of the Masoretic text. 31. Hom. in Ps. 114.1, in PG 29, cols. 484C–485B; ET: FOTC 46, pp. 351–52. 32. Hom. in Ps. 114.2, in PG 29, col. 485BC; ET: FOTC 46, pp. 352–53. 33. Hom. in Ps. 114.2, in PG 29, cols. 485C–488A; ET: FOTC 46, p. 353. 34. Hom. in Ps. 44, in PG 29, cols. 388A–413D; ET: FOTC 46, pp. 275–95.

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In Basil’s view, the title of Psalm 44 (LXX) offers the key to its historical and spiritual content and message: ‘Unto the end for those who shall be changed, for the sons of Core for understanding, a song concerning the beloved.’ We will follow Basil in his argument. Who are they ‘who shall be changed’? They are the people (§§ 1–2). Our body goes through various stages from early childhood to old age. We also change in our soul, because the passions turn human beings into beasts. The final change, however, is that of the resurrection (1 Cor. 15:41–42). But our progress in virtue also changes us from day to day (Ps. 76:11; 1 Cor. 13:11; Phil. 3:13–14). This Psalm points to the ultimate goal: a life in virtue. Who is ‘the beloved’? None other than the Son, Jesus Christ, on the mountain of the transfiguration (Matt. 17:5): he who is loved by the Father, and loved by all creation. This is an incitement for us to grow in love, to love God with all that we are (cf. Luke 12:30). Through this love we become friends of Christ, and that is perfection. Basil then turns to the exegesis of verse 2 (in § 3): ‘My heart has uttered a good word.’ Some ascribe this statement to God the Father, Basil writes (does he mean Eusebius of Caesarea?), but he thinks it is the prophet himself who says this. If we eat God’s words, then the eructations of our heart are good things (cf. Matt. 12:35). ‘I speak my works to the king’ (verse 2). According to Basil, this part of the verse is also spoken by the prophet. The prophet intends to say that we ourselves should take the initiative to confess our sins (cf. Isa. 43:26). And the Church Father continues: ‘My tongue is the pen of a scrivener that writeth swiftly.’ As the pen is an instrument for writing when the hand of an experienced person moves it to record what is being written, so also the tongue of the just man, when the Holy Spirit moves it, writes the words of eternal life in the hearts of the faithful, dipped ‘not in ink, but in the Spirit of the living God’ [2 Cor. 3:3]. The scrivener, therefore, is the Holy Spirit, because He is wise and an apt teacher of all; and swiftly writing, because the movement of His mind is swift. The Spirit writes thoughts in us, ‘Not on tables of stone but on fleshly tablets of the heart’ [2 Cor. 3:3]. In proportion to the size of the heart, the Spirit writes in hearts more or less, either things evident to all or things more obscure, according to its previous preparation of purity. Because of the speed with which the writings have been finished all the world now is filled with the Gospel.35

We cannot describe the extensive exegesis of Psalm 44 in detail. Basil covers the beauty of the Lord Jesus Christ, his deity and his humanity (some verses of the Psalm refer to his divinity, others to his humanity); 35. Hom. in Ps. 44.3, in PG 29, col. 396AB; ET: FOTC 46, pp. 281–82.

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the Church; the word of God as a sharpened sword; God’s omnipotence, which reveals itself in the humility of the incarnation; the arrows, God’s words, which wound us like arrows of love (with a reference to S. of S. 2:5); the prophecy concerning Christ’s suffering, the descent into Hades, and the resurrection (verse 9); the Church as queen and bride, but also the soul of the believer (S. of S. 6:8: the dove). When Basil discusses Psalm 44:14 (‘All the glory of the king’s daughter is within’), he briefly speaks of prayer. Here, the Holy Spirit refers to the Church, he writes. The assertion urges us to penetrate to the inmost mysteries of the glory of the church, since the beauty of the bride is within. He who makes himself ready for the Father who sees in secret, and who prays and does all things, not to be seen by men, but to be known to God alone [cf. Matt. 6:1–6], this man has all his glory within, even as the king’s daughter.36

In Basil’s eyes, Psalm 44, when prayed and sung by a congregation of believers, contains a mystagogy, an initiation into the mystery of the triune God, of his deeds of salvation (mirabilia Dei), of our advancement in virtue unto perfect love. This is the pedagogy of the Holy Spirit. His interpretation of verse 14, ‘All the glory of the king’s daughter is within’, indicates that he believes that Jesus’ word about prayer in the inner room (Matt. 6:6) refers to prayer to the Father in the inner room of our heart. It is there that the praying Church, or the soul, contemplates the mysteries (cf. Rom. 16:25–26). In this way, prayer is a mystagogical praxis. See also the section on Basil’s ‘mystical prayer’ at the end of this article.

Praying without Ceasing An issue that appears several times in Basil’s writings is the interpretation of Paul’s injunction, ‘Pray without ceasing’ (1 Thess. 5:17). He explicitly deals with it in a passage in his panegyric for Saint Julitta.37 This was pronounced in or near the martyrium of Julitta († 304), not far from Caesarea, possibly on 31 July 372. On the previous day Basil had already preached on 1 Thess. 5:16–18.38 However, he had on this occasion

36. Hom. in Ps. 44.11, in PG 29, col. 412A; ET: FOTC 46, p. 293. 37. Homilia in martyrem Iulittam (CPG 2849), in PG 31, cols. 237A–261A; ET: PPS 50, pp. 109–22. 38. Homilia de gratiarum actione (CPG 2848), in PG 31, cols. 217B–237A; ET: PPS 50, pp. 97–107.

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only been able to cover verse 16, ‘Be joyful always’. After a brief introduction devoted to Saint Julitta, he continued his sermon of the day before. Basil’s commentary on 1 Thess. 5:17 was directed at a mixed public of both baptized and non-baptized Christians. Paul’s recommendation to ‘pray without ceasing’ was debated in ascetic and monastic milieus – which will be discussed below. Basil’s position is all the more remarkable. Prayer is a request that the faithful make to God to obtain some particular good. Such desires are not limited to words. After all, we do not believe that God needs to be reminded by words; he knows what is good for us without being asked. So what should we say? Limit prayer not to syllables, but to the intentions [προαιρέσει] of the soul, and a lifelong practice of virtue. This is the fullness of prayer’s power. Whether you eat, he says, or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God [1 Cor. 10:31]. When you sit down for a meal, pray. As you take bread, thank the Giver. When you are strengthening your weakened body by drinking wine, remember (μέμνησο) him who bestowed on you such a gift to cheer your heart and fortify your infirmities. Has the need for food been appeased, let the remembrance (μνήμη) of the benefactor not disappear with it. As you get dressed, thank him for what he has given you. When you wrap your cloak around your shoulders, so increase your love for God, who has provided us with clothing suitable for winter and summer, to maintain our life and cover our shame. Is the day at an end? So thank him who gave us the sun by which we can perform our daily work, and fire to enlighten the night, and who has bestowed on us all the rest of life’s needs. The night gives us other opportunities for prayer. Look up to the heavens and consider the beauty of the stars, and so give prayer to the Lord of visible things, and worship the Creator of all, who has made all by his wisdom [Ps. 103/104:24]. When you see living creatures dropping off to sleep, so again worship him, who cuts short our labors by forcing us into sleep, thus providing us with new strength through a brief rest. But we should certainly not devote the entire night to sleep. Don’t lose half of your life in sluggish slumber. Instead, divide the hours of the night between sleep and prayer. Sleep, in fact, ought to be a continuation of your devotional practices (μελετήματα … τῆς εὐσεβείας). … So then, you will pray without ceasing [1 Thess. 5:17], not by praying with words only, but by uniting yourself with God through all that you do in life. Indeed, your life should become an unceasing and uninterrupted prayer.39

Thus it is necessary to pray day and night throughout one’s life. In the view of this Church Father, the most ordinary actions can become an occasion to remember God. The book of creation and the book of Scripture invite the believer to give thanks. Being consciously turned to God makes it possible to pray constantly. 39. Homilia in martyrem Iulittam 3–4, in PG 31, cols. 244A–245A; ET: PPS 50, pp. 112–13, modified.

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As has been seen, ‘Pray without ceasing’ was a text that was debated in the ascetic movement: why should people not lead a radically contemplative life, thus obeying the instruction to pray without ceasing? Basil addresses this issue explicitly in Question 37 of the Asceticon: ‘Whether prayer and psalmody ought to afford a pretext for neglecting our work, what hours are suitable for prayers, and, above all, whether labor is necessary.’40 Basil starts by emphasizing that work, too, is commanded by the Lord and by the Apostle Paul. He refers to New Testament texts like Matt. 10:10 (‘the workman is worth his keep’) and 2 Thess. 3:6–10 (‘If a man will not work, he shall not eat’), but also to verses from Proverbs and Ecclesiastes, like Qoh. 3:1 (‘There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven’). And just as in the homily in remembrance of Julitta, he also urges the monks to combine prayer with daily activities: For prayer and psalmody, however, as also, indeed, for some other duties, every hour is suitable, that, while our hands are busy at their tasks, we may praise God sometimes with the tongue (when this is possible or, rather, when it is conducive to edification); or, if not, with the heart, at least, in psalms, hymns, and spiritual canticles, as it is written [Col. 3:16].41

After elaborating on this, he adds that this does not mean that we ‘should be negligent in observing those times for prayer customarily established in communities’,42 after which he briefly discusses the following seven prayer times: early in the morning, at the third, sixth, and ninth hours, when the day’s work is ended, at nightfall, and at midnight.43 And, ‘if some, perhaps, are not in attendance because the nature or place of their work keeps them at too great a distance, they are strictly obliged to carry out wherever they are, with promptitude, all that is prescribed for common observance’.44 So, wherever they are, the monks should observe these seven times of prayer.

40. Asceticon magnum: Regulae fusius tractatae 37, in PG 31, col. 1009B; ET: FOTC 9, p. 306. 41. Asc. magn.: Reg. fus. tract. 37.2, in PG 31, col. 1012C; ET: FOTC 9, p. 308. 42. Asc. magn.: Reg. fus. tract. 37.3, in PG 31, col. 1013A; ET: FOTC 9, p. 308. 43. See for a discussion of Basil’s view of the prayer times, J. Mateos, ‘L’office monastique à la fin du IVe siècle: Antioche, Palestine, Cappadoce’, Oriens Christianus 47 (1963), pp. 53–88, esp. ‘La tradition cappadocienne’, pp. 69–87. On pp. 78–79, Mateos argues that the last prayer time mentioned by Basil in answer 37 is the same one as the first, so that the total number is seven, not eight. 44. Asc. magn.: Reg. fus. tract. 37.4, in PG 31, col. 1013CD; ET: FOTC 9, p. 309.

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The three following questions deal with a number of specific issues relating to the combination of prayer and work. First, Basil argues that not all trades are appropriate:45 it should be possible to lead an undisturbed life, one’s products should not be harmful to other people, and the life of communal prayer should not be unduly hindered. In the next section, he addresses those whose work involves travel.46 One must not go far from home in order to sell one’s products, it is not seemly to make long journeys for the sake of some more profit. If it is indispensable to sell far away, then the brothers should travel together, recite Psalms and prayers on the way, stay in the same lodging, and observe the hours of prayer both at night and during the day. And in Question 40, Basil states what behaviour is required at the shrines of the martyrs:47 they are places of prayer, where commercial transactions are unseemly. The brothers should not participate therefore in the markets held near the martyria during religious festivals.

Remembering God In Question 37, Basil quotes Psalm 76:4 (LXX): ‘I remembered God and was delighted’,48 a verse he refers to more often.49 In other places he speaks of ‘the remembrance of God’; perhaps ‘remembering God’ is a better translation as it emphasizes its active character (μνήμη τοῦ Θεοῦ, memoria Dei).50 Remembering God, together with pleasing God, and living a life that glorifies God, is a pillar of the Christian way of life. We have seen that in his homily on Julitta, Basil urges his audience to remember (μέμνησο) him who gives us wine, and not to neglect the remembrance (μνήμη) of our Benefactor.51 For Basil, to remember God in all that we do and experience is a practical way of obeying the command to pray without ceasing. 45. Asc. magn.: Reg. fus. tract. 38, in PG 31, cols. 1016C–1017C; ET: FOTC 9, pp. 311–12. 46. Asc. magn.: Reg. fus. tract. 39, in PG 31, cols. 1017C–1020B; ET: FOTC 9, pp. 312–13. 47. Asc. magn.: Reg. fus. tract. 40, in PG 31, cols. 1020B–1021A; ET: FOTC 9, pp. 313–14. 48. Asc. magn.: Reg. fus. tract. 37.3, in PG 31, col. 1013B: ἐμνήσθην τοῦ θεοῦ, καὶ ηὐφράνθην. ET: FOTC 9, p. 309. 49. See, for example, Asc. magn.: Reg. brev. tract. 44, in PG 31, col. 1112A; ET: Silvas, The Asketikon of St Basil the Great, p. 297. 50. Hermann Josef Sieben, ‘Mnèmè Theou’, in Marcel Viller, F. Cavallera, and J. de Guibert (eds.), Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascétique et mystique: doctrine et histoire, vol. 10 (Paris, 1980), cols. 1407–14, places Basil’s understanding of the ‘remembrance of God’ in the context of the various meanings which the expression has had over the centuries. 51. See n. 39.

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In his homilies on the six days of creation, Basil also calls on the people to remember their Creator. On the morning of the second day, Basil ends his third sermon on the Hexaemeron with the remark that he will give his attentive hearers some time to reflect on his meditations. Those who are breadwinners may resume their work in the intervening time, and then return to the spiritual festival without worrying. Referring to Romans 1:20, he adds that ‘in all things visible, clear reminders (ὑπομνήματα) of the Benefactor grip us. We shall not give any opportunity for sins, nor shall we leave any place in our hearts for the enemy, if we have God as a dweller in us by our constant remembrance (τῆς συνεχοῦς μνήμης) of Him’.52 The Church Father encourages the Christian to remember God by continually bringing to mind his deeds of salvation (the mirabilia Dei): the creation, the covenants with Noah and the patriarchs, the covenant on Mount Sinai, the prophets, the incarnation of the Son of God, his life and teaching, his suffering, crucifixion, descent into Hades, resurrection, and ascension, the gift of the Holy Spirit, his return in glory. In Question 2 of the Greater Rule of the Asceticon, Basil speaks of the love of God, of his gifts to humankind, and of man’s response to Him. In this context he writes: Even if we did not know what He is from His goodness, yet from the very fact that we are made by Him, we ought to feel an extraordinary affection for Him and cling to a constant remembrance of Him (τῆς μνήμης αὐτοῦ διηνεκῶς), as infants do to their mothers. Furthermore, he who is our benefactor is foremost among those whom we naturally love.53

This is followed by a long list of gifts and benefits that God has bestowed upon us, both in creation and in the economy of salvation. Remembering God builds on a dynamic power, the diathesis (διάθεσις = disposition), which gathers together the imagination and the emotions of a human being, and reconciles him with himself and with God.54 But this is a task set for human beings, as Basil elucidates in his Asceticon:55 Whoever, therefore, would be truly a follower of God must sever the bonds of attachment to this life, and this is done through complete separation from and forgetfulness of old habits. … And having done this, we should watch over our heart with all vigilance not only to avoid ever losing the 52. Homilia in hexaemeron 3.10, in Stanislas Giet (ed.), Basile de Césarée: Homélies sur l’Hexaéméron (SC 26bis; Paris, 1968), p. 242; ET: FOTC 46, pp. 53–54. 53. Asc. magn.: Reg. fus. tract. 2, in PG 31, col. 912BC; ET: FOTC 9, p. 236. 54. See for a discussion of the terms μνήμη and διάθεσις and of their interrelationship: John Eudes Bamberger, ‘Μνήμη – διάθεσις: The Psychic Dynamisms in the Ascetical Theology of St. Basil’, Orientalia Christiana Periodica 34 (1968), pp. 233–51. 55. Michel Van Parys, ‘Memoria di Dio e preghiera in Basilio di Cesarea’, in Étienne Baudry et al., Basilio tra oriente e occidente (Magnano, 2001), pp. 111–25.

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Michel Van Parys OSB thought of God (τὴν περὶ Θεοῦ ἔννοιαν) or sullying the memory of His wonders (τὴν μνήμην τῶν θαυμασίων αὐτοῦ) by vain imaginations, but also in order to carry about the holy thought of God (τὴν ὁσίαν τοῦ Θεοῦ ἔννοιαν) stamped upon our souls as an ineffaceable seal by continuous and pure remembrance (διὰ τῆς διηνεκοῦς καὶ καθαρᾶς μνήμης).56

The role of the diathesis (disposition, affectus) is discussed in question and answer 157 of the Lesser Rules: Question: ‘With what diathesis should one serve God and just what is this diathesis?’ Response: ‘I would consider a good diathesis to be one which is an ardent desire [ἐπιθυμίαν] of pleasing God. A desire which is insatiable, deeply rooted and unchangeable. It may be procured by the alert and constant contemplation (θεωρίᾳ) of the majestic glory of God, by the reflections [λογισμοῖς] of a well-disposed mind, and by the unceasing memory (μνήμῃ) of the benefits bestowed upon us by God. By means of these practices there develops in the soul the state envisaged by the commandment “You shall love the Lord your God with your whole heart, with your whole strength and with all your mind” [cf. Mark 12:30 and] (Deut. 6:4). In this you will be imitating the man who exclaimed, “As the hart longs for the flowing fountains of water so does my soul long for you, my God” (Ps. 41:1). Now it is with this kind of diathesis that we must serve God. In this manner we shall fulfill the saying of the apostle, “What shall separate us from the love of Christ? Tribulation, or anxiety or persecution or nakedness or danger or the sword?” (cf. Rom. 8:35), etc.’57

Thus, on the one hand, the remembrance of God and his benefits produces the diathesis, the desire to please God. On the other hand, this desire is the power that makes the activity of remembering God possible. According to Bamberger, ‘memory [μνήμη] and diathesis [διάθεσις] not only openly influence each other but they even overlap in their functioning.’58 Petit adds that by speaking of the remembrance of God as an activity, Basil has attracted the criticism that this overstretches the capacity of the human nervous system (‘le système nerveux’), but, according to Petit, this is misunderstanding the Church Father’s intention. ‘Remembering God’ is not just an intellectual exercise, but first and foremost a natural response to God’s love and actions, in which the affections have their role to play.59 56. Asc. magn.: Reg. fus. tract. 5.2, in PG 31, col. 921AB; ET: FOTC 9, pp. 242–43, slightly modified. 57. Asc. magn.: Reg. brev. tract. 157, in PG 31, cols. 1185AB; ET: Bamberger, ‘Μνήμη – διάθεσις’, p. 245, slightly modified. 58. Bamberger, ‘Μνήμη – διάθεσις’, p. 246. 59. Pierre Petit, ‘Émerveillement, prière et Esprit chez saint Basile le Grand’, Collectanea Cisterciensia 35 (1973), pp. 81–108, 218–38, esp. pp. 98–105: ‘La mémoire de Dieu dépasse donc largement la seule faculté intellectuelle et l’attention; elle est en réalité une

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Basil’s Personal Example Basil’s mystagogy did not merely consist of teaching, but he showed by his own example what it meant in practice. In a letter which he sent to his friend Gregory of Nazianzus in 361, he describes the sort of life he wants to live in his community at Annesi.60 The letter contains almost all the elements that we have encountered so far. Basil writes how prayer and singing accompany all his activities throughout the day, his version of ‘prayer without ceasing’: A life of piety [Ἄσκησις δὲ εὐσεβείας] nourishes the soul with divine thoughts. What, then, is more blessed than to imitate on earth the choir of angels; hastening at break of day to pray, to glorify the Creator with hymns and songs, and, when the sun is brightly shining and we turn to our tasks, to accompany them everywhere with prayer, seasoning the daily work with hymns, as food with salt? For, the inspirations of the sacred songs give rise to a joyousness that is without grief.61

The thought of God leads to acquiring the virtues: When the mind is not engaged by external affairs, nor diffused through the senses over the whole world, it retires within itself. Then, it ascends spontaneously to the consideration of God [πρὸς τὴν περὶ Θεοῦ ἔννοιαν]. Illumined by that splendour, it becomes forgetful of its own nature. Since, then, it does not drag the soul down either to the thought of sustenance or to a solicitude for bodily apparel, but enjoys freedom from earthly cares, it turns all its zeal to the acquisition of eternal goods – pondering how to attain temperance and fortitude, justice and prudence, and all the other virtues, in which these four genera are subdivided,62 all of which prompt the earnest man to fulfill properly each separate duty. Meditation on the divinely inspired Scriptures is the 63 most important means for the discovery of duty. The Scriptures not only propose to us counsels for the conduct of life, but also open before us the lives of the blessed handed down in writing as living images for our imitation of life spent in quest of God.64 dimension profonde de toute la personnalité chrétienne, elle structure tout son être et toute son activité. Elle est, pourrait-on dire, sa respiration naturelle’ (p. 105). ‘Le système nerveux’ can be found on p. 101, and was introduced into the discussion of ‘remembering God’ by Irénée Hausherr. 60. Ep. 2: To His Friend Gregory, in Courtonne, Lettres, vol. 1, pp. 5–13; ET: FOTC 13, pp. 5–11. 61. Ep. 2.2, in Courtonne, Lettres, vol. 1, pp. 7–8; ET: FOTC 13, p. 7. 62. Basil mentions the four cardinal virtues once more (cf. n. 29): πῶς μὲν κατορθωθῇ αὐτῷ ἡ σωφροσύνη καὶ ἡ ἀνδρεία, πῶς δὲ ἡ δικαιοσύνη καὶ ἡ φρόνησις καὶ αἱ λοιπαὶ ἀρεταί ὅσαι, ταῖς γενικαῖς ταύταις ὑποδιαιρούμεναι. 63. The word καί comes before ἡ μελέτη in the Greek text in PG 32, col. 228B. In Courtonne’s critical text in Lettres, vol. 1, p. 8, καί is absent. The translation has therefore been altered from ‘also a most important means’ to ‘the most important means’. 64. Ep. 2.2–3, in Courtonne, Lettres, vol. 1, p. 8; ET: FOTC 13, pp. 7–8, modified.

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Basil also mentions explicitly that we should constantly ‘remember’ God: Prayers, too, following reading, take hold upon a fresher and more vigorous soul already stirred to a longing for God. And prayer which imprints in the soul a clear conception of God [τοῦ Θεοῦ ἔννοιαν] is an excellent thing. This abiding of God in our memory [διὰ τῆς μνήμης] is the indwelling of God. Thus we become in a special manner the temples of God when earthly thoughts cease to interrupt our continual remembrance of Him [τὸ συνεχὲς τῆς μνήμης], and unforeseen passions to agitate the mind, and when the lover of God, fleeing all these, withdraws with Him and, driving the passions which tempt him to incontinence, spends himself in the practices which lead to virtue.65

Towards the end of the letter, Basil applies ‘remembering God’ to meals: Not even at meal time should the mind neglect the consideration of God [ἐν τῇ περὶ Θεοῦ ἐννοίᾳ ἔχοντα], but should make the very nature of the food and the condition of the body receiving them an occasion of divine praise, marvelling how He who governs all things contrived the varied forms of food adapted to the particular need of the human body.66

In the eulogy that Gregory of Nyssa wrote for his brother Basil (1 January 381?),67 we encounter yet another aspect of Basil’s prayer life, which reflects what he writes in answer 2 of the Greater Rules. In answer 2, Basil speaks of ‘the innate power of loving’ that God has planted in each human heart, a desire which, ‘in a soul purified from all vice’, is directed towards God and his beauty. He is undeniably and deeply moved when he describes this mystical love in biblical terms such as ‘I am wounded with love’ (S. of S. 2:5) and ‘to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far’ (Phil. 1:23).68 In his eulogy, Gregory introduces a long comparison between Moses and Basil (sections 20–23).69 Just as the prophet, his brother was a mystic: Moses left Egypt after the death of the Egyptian [cf. Exod. 2:15] and meanwhile spent much time living by himself in retirement. This one [Basil] also left the turmoils of the city and this worldly circumstance, and was wont 65. Ep. 2.4, in Courtonne, Lettres, vol. 1, p. 10; ET: FOTC 13, p. 9. 66. Ep. 2.6, in Courtonne, Lettres, vol. 1, p. 12; ET: FOTC 13, p. 11. 67. Gregory of Nyssa, In Basilium fratrem (CPG 3185), in Pierre Maraval, Günther Heil, and Otto Lendle (eds.), Grégoire de Nysse: Éloge de Grégoire le Thaumaturge. Éloge de Basile (SC 573; Paris, 2014), pp. 228–90; ET: James Aloysius Stein (ed.), Encomium of Saint Gregory, Bishop of Nyssa, on His Brother Saint Basil, Archbishop of Cappadocian Caesarea (Patristic Studies 27; Washington, DC, 1928), pp. 1–61. 68. Asc. magn.: Reg. fus. tract. 2.1, in PG 31, cols. 909B–912A; ET: FOTC 9, pp. 234–35. 69. Gregory of Nyssa, In Basilium fratrem 20–23, in SC 573, pp. 270–83.

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in the most secluded region to philosophize with God. The former [Moses] was illumined by a light in the bush [Exod. 3:1–6]. We are able to speak of something akin to this vision in the case of the latter [Basil] also: that when it was night there came upon him praying in the house the glow of a light; and that light was something immaterial, illuminating his room by divine power, suspended from no material thing. … Many times we perceived that he [Basil] also was in the dark cloud [γνόφου] wherein was God. For what was invisible to others, to him the initiation into the mysteries [ἡ μυσταγωγία] of the Spirit made visible, so that he seemed to be within the compass of the dark cloud in which knowledge about God was concealed.70

The mystical experience to which Gregory alludes, was granted to Basil when he was praying in his house during the night. The wording reflects Gregory’s mystical teaching, but there is no reason to doubt the authenticity of the experience.

Conclusion Remembering God in gratitude is the heart of Basil’s mystagogy of prayer. It is supported by the prayer of the hours performed by the believing community, and by constant meditation (μελέτη) on the Bible. The beautiful concluding chapter of the Moralia gives us the broader context of this mystagogy of prayer.71 It offers a unique synthesis of the new way of life which the Christian practises in imitation of Jesus Christ, the new and real human being. The Bible shows the way, which is Jesus the Christ himself. The gift of the risen Lord, the Holy Spirit, is active as ‘psychagogue’ (ψυχαγωγία) in Holy Scripture, he takes the believer by the hand (χειραγωγία), and gives him the power to lead a life that is well-pleasing to God (εὐαρεστεῖν τῷ Θεῷ). A life that is well-pleasing to God: a battle against, and victory over, the unnatural passions; a life in faith, which is constantly aware of God and remembers his deeds of salvation, the creation, the recreation, and the return of Christ.

70. Gregory of Nyssa, In Basilium fratrem 21 and 22, in SC 573, pp. 272–74 and 278; ET: Stein, Encomium, pp. 43–45 and 47–49. 71. Regulae morales 80, Greek text and ET in PPS 51, pp. 312–27.

Chapter Eight

GREGORY OF NYSSA AS A MYSTAGOGUE: MACRINA’S FINAL PRAYER IN CONTEXT Nienke Vos

Introduction: Mystagogy and the Life of Macrina The Life of Macrina was written around 381 as an act of remembrance by the saint’s brother, the well-known Cappadocian Father Gregory of Nyssa. As we consider the mystagogical aspect of the work in this contribution, concentrating on the theme of prayer, Gregory appears in the role of mystagogue: we will explore this role. The idea to view a work of hagiography from a mystagogical perspective and to consider the author as a mystagogue was first introduced by the president of our Centre for Patristic Research (CPO), Paul van Geest. In a 2010 article,1 he explored the mystagogical aspects of Athanasius’ Life of Antony. Van Geest presents Athanasius in the role of a mystagogue and the Vita Antonii as a means towards the mystagogical formation of ascetic Christians. As they imitate the saint, they follow in his footsteps, being transformed in a process of conversion, 2 ascetic formation, 3 seclusion,4 identification with both the original Adam and Christ, 5 – ultimately – teaching and healing others ‘through the love of Christ’.6 Towards the end of his contribution, van Geest characterizes the aim of Athanasius’ mystagogy as ‘the restoration of Adam’s original state of soul, marked by imperturbability and serenity.’7 This theme is derived from chapter 14 of the Life of Antony.

1. Paul van Geest, ‘ “ … seeing that for monks the life of Antony is a sufficient pattern of discipline.” Athanasius as Mystagogue in his Vita Antonii’, in Paul van Geest (ed.), Athanasius of Alexandria. New Perspectives on his Theology and Asceticism (Leiden, 2010), pp. 199–221. 2. Van Geest, ‘Athanasius as Mystagogue’, pp. 207–208. 3. Van Geest, ‘Athanasius as Mystagogue’, pp. 208–11. 4. Van Geest, ‘Athanasius as Mystagogue’, pp. 211–13. 5. Van Geest, ‘Athanasius as Mystagogue’, p. 214. 6. Van Geest, ‘Athanasius as Mystagogue’, p. 218. 7. Van Geest, ‘Athanasius as Mystagogue’, p. 220.

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Significantly, this particular chapter from the Life of Antony contains a form of the verb ‘mystagôgeô’ (μυσταγωγέω): in chapter 14 we learn that – after a period of twenty years spent in ascetic solitude – ‘Antony appeared as from a shrine, initiated (into the mysteries; μεμυσταγωγημένος) and inspired by (the breath of) God (θεοφορουμένος)’.8 Gerard Bartelink has translated this as: ‘initié aux mystères et inspiré par un souffle divin’.9 It is telling that the same reference to divine inspiration also occurs in the Life of Macrina, chapter 17, as Macrina is said to be ‘theophoroumenê tôi hagiôi pneumati’ (θεοφορουμένη τῷ ἁγίῳ πνεύματι): ‘inspired by the Holy Spirit’, ‘inspirée par le Saint-Esprit’.10 In this passage from the Life of Macrina there is no form of the verb ‘mystagôgeô’, as in Vita Antonii, but we do find a closely related word, ‘kheiragôgia’ (χειραγωγία), as Gregory explains that ‘my soul seemed to be almost outside of human nature, uplifted as it was by her words and set down inside the heavenly sanctuaries by the guidance of her discourse.’11 The notion of kheiragôgia, of ‘guidance’ in spiritual matters, is typical of what happens in the mystagogical process. The mystagogue, in this case Macrina, takes her pupil, in this case Gregory, by the hand to initiate him into the mysteries of faith.12 Significantly, the author refers to a suspension or blurring of the boundaries between heaven and earth. For a moment, Gregory, describing himself as a character in the story, is allowed to view the realm of heaven while he is still alive on earth. It is this journey from earth to heaven which is the theme of the vita as a whole, but it is also the theme of Macrina’s Final Prayer, recounted in chapter 24.13 This prayer, which will be the focus of my article, contains the same notion of ‘kheiragôgia’ (mentioned in chapter 17), but in this case it is not Gregory who is ‘taken by the hand’ and guided by his sister 8. My translation. 9. Vita Antonii 14.2; ed. Gerard Bartelink, Athanase d’Alexandrie: Vie d’Antoine (SC 400; Paris, 1994), pp. 172–73. 10. Vita Macrinae 17, lines 26–27; Pierre Maraval (ed.), Vie de Sainte Macrine (SC 178; Paris, 1971), pp. 198–99. In this article, the abbreviation VMc refers to this edition by Maraval. 11. In this article, I will generally cite from the translation of the Life of Macrina by Kevin Corrigan: The Life of Saint Macrina by Gregory, the Bishop of Nyssa (Eugene, OR, 2001). The quotation here is on p. 35. 12. For the related concept of Macrina as a ‘Christian Socrates’ or a ‘Christian sage’, see, for instance, Patricia Wilson-Kastner, ‘Macrina: Virgin and Teacher’, Andrews University Seminary Studies 17 (1979), pp. 105–17, esp. pp. 110–17. 13. Strictly speaking, one could argue that this is not Macrina’s ‘final prayer’, for her actual final prayer is the evening prayer prayed inaudibly and ending at the moment of her death. However, the Final Prayer discussed in this article is the elaborately narrated prayer in chapter 24 prayed on her deathbed, which gradually becomes inaudible and continues in the form of ‘the evening prayer’ after the light has been brought in.

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Macrina. Rather, Macrina herself prays that an angel of light may ‘guide’ her soul from earth to heaven. Thus, it becomes clear that while we may consider the hagiographer as playing the role of a mystagogue, this role is initially performed by the saint who is described. It is important to note, however, that the saint – in turn – is also an initiate, or mystês, to begin with, initiated by a heavenly mystagogue: God or Christ. In this sense, a mystagogical movement emanates from the divine realm and touches the lives of saints, hagiographers, and ordinary Christians. As part of her own movement of continuous mystagogical initiation, Macrina asks for a shining angel to accompany her and guide her to the place of ‘anapsyxis’ (ἀνάψυξις), refreshment, another crucial term in Macrina’s Final Prayer. Before we attempt an analysis of this particular prayer in chapter 24, however, we must first reflect on the notions of mystagogy and prayer. Aided by this reflection, I will subsequently examine the different forms of prayer that are present in the Life of Macrina.

Mystagogy and Prayer What do we mean exactly by the term mystagogy? If we take our cue for instance from Gerard Bartelink’s translation, we may conclude that ‘mystagogy’ is an ‘initiation into the mysteries’, which I understand to mean ‘the mysteries of the Christian faith’, or perhaps in this case even more specifically: the mysteries of Christian asceticism – as for Athanasius Christianity was essentially an ascetic religion.14 I would argue that the same is true for Gregory of Nyssa: asceticism is at the heart of his theology and his Life of Macrina reflects this in many ways. Within the Netherlands Centre for Patristic Research (CPO), the following working definition of mystagogy is operative: Mystagogy is regarded as a guided process of transformation, in which believers acquire an inner balance by a certain order of life, in that they become more receptive to God’s being and operation, without losing touch with everyday life and the community of faith.15

14. See, for instance, the work of David Brakke, Athanasius and Asceticism (Baltimore–London, 1995). Chapter 3 is entitled ‘Asceticism in Athanasius’ Theology and Spirituality’; the first part of this chapter carries the telling title: ‘The Christian Life as an Ascetic Life’ (pp. 145–61). 15. Hans van Loon, Living in the Light of Christ: Mystagogy in Cyril of Alexandria’s Festal Letters (LAHR 15; The Mystagogy of the Church Fathers 4; Leuven, 2017), pp. 2 (n. 7) and 23.

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In the proceedings of the first international conference organized by the CPO, entitled Seeing through the Eyes of Faith: New Approaches to the Mystagogy of the Church Fathers, Paul van Geest presents the theme of mystagogy in an opening chapter called ‘Studying the Mystagogy of the Fathers: An Introduction’.16 He explains that the mystagogue tries ‘to make the mystês aware of the transcendent dimension of human existence and to bring about openness for the mystery of God that is as incomprehensible as it is near in the Person of Christ.’ This entails ‘both a transformation of the way of life as well as, in connection with this, an inner transformation.’ Van Geest continues: ‘In addition, in early Christian mystagogy, the personal development went hand in hand with the grafting into the community and the taking on of a new identity’.17 He then explains that rituals ‘were performed (…) to initiate catechumens into the mysteries of the faith, to accept them into the community and to introduce them into an order of life that is befitting for a Christian.’ Subsequently, he mentions a number of concrete elements: baptism, as the Christian rite of initiation, was preceded by a period of ‘Bible teaching, catechesis and exorcism’, while the initiates also ‘learned the practices of prayer and fasting.’ The preparatory process was then continued in postbaptismal catecheses – which were later called ‘mystagogical’ – signalling the ongoing journey of learning. In terms of lifestyle, asceticism had its place in this setting. New Christians also learned the Creed – the ‘confession of faith in Christ’.18 After baptism, the baptized experienced the ritual of the Eucharist for the first time, and they subsequently reflected upon it. Van Geest summarizes the ‘fixed elements of the mystagogical formation process’ as ‘interpretation of Scripture, catechetical formation and the explanation of the rituals’. 19 He then makes the following comment, which aptly describes what we will see in Macrina’s Final Prayer: Ideally, the formation process and the performance of the ritual together finally resulted in a merging of the horizon of salvation history, in which God is acknowledged as the Creator and Redeemer looking for [wo]man, and the horizon of the candidate’s personal history and the history of the community.20 16. Paul van Geest, ‘Studying the Mystagogy of the Fathers: An Introduction’, in idem (ed.), Seeing through the Eyes of Faith: New Approaches to the Mystagogy of the Church Fathers (LAHR 11; The Mystagogy of the Church Fathers 3; Leuven, 2016), pp. 3–22. 17. All quotations are from van Geest, ‘Studying the Mystagogy of the Fathers’, section 2 entitled ‘The rediscovery of mystagogy’. 18. The quotations are from van Geest, ‘Studying the Mystagogy of the Fathers’, section 4: ‘The mystagogical formation programme in Early Christianity’. 19. See van Geest, ‘Studying the Mystagogy of the Fathers’, section 4. 20. Van Geest, ‘Studying the Mystagogy of the Fathers’, section 4. My italics and addition in brackets.

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Before moving on to my own perspective on mystagogy, I want to include one last notion from van Geest’s introductory chapter which also relates particularly well to what occurs in the Life of Macrina, namely the ‘striving of the mystagogue to have the mystes share in the “experience” and the recognition of the apostles that the mystery of their existence lay hidden in Christ.’ Thus, everything is focused on a ‘formation process in the course of which the “reproduction” of “strange life”, i.e. the life of Christ in oneself, is brought about.’ Van Geest has derived this image of ‘strange life’ from Wilhelm Dilthey, and it resonates strongly with the mystagogical dynamics of the vita.21 This will become apparent below in the section entitled ‘The Final Prayer: Inscribing One’s Story into God’s’. In the context of mystagogy, I find it helpful to approach the issue from the perspective of the uninitiated: what did they have to be ‘initiated into’? If you stand outside the circle of the Christian community, what dimensions have to be opened up in order to understand what is going on inside the circle? For reasons of clarity, I am distinguishing between five aspects which call for initiation for those who wish to become members of the Christian community.22 These may of course be correlated to what I have described above in the context of van Geest’s work. What is required, then, of the ‘initiates’ is that they gain – first – an understanding of the liturgy, developing a willingness and an ability to participate in it, and – secondly – knowledge of the Scriptures, hearing or reading them, meditating upon them. Thirdly, they are expected to develop and practice a life of prayer; fourthly, they must also acquire a particular self-understanding based on the Christian tenets of faith, and – finally – it is assumed that they will live a life that is guided by Christian ethics. Of course, these elements are not mutually exclusive 21. See van Geest, ‘Studying the Mystagogy of the Fathers: An Introduction’, section 5: ‘Mystagogy, hermeneutics, spirituality, pedagogy and psychagogy.’ 22. The core elements of the Christian faith may be defined in many different ways. The letters of the Apostle Paul, for instance, are well known for their treatment, first, of ‘doctrine’, and then of ‘ethics’. Frances Young in her Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture (Cambridge, 1997) includes a very helpful circular diagram with different contexts of interpretation (all linked to various literary genres): in the centre Liturgy, Spirituality, and Prayer; in the following circle Homily and Hagiography; in the next ring Catechesis and Canons; then, Letters and Commentaries, and finally, in the outer circle, Doctrinal Debate and Apologetics (see pp. 219–20). Another useful study of the concept of ‘Christian initiation’ is by Maxwell E. Johnson, The Rites of Christian Initiation: Their Evolution and Interpretation (Collegeville, MN, 1989). He addresses various aspects of the initiatory process: the rituals involved but also the contents of both preparatory and post-baptismal instruction (including, for instance, the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and ethical issues. Chapters 1 to 5 cover the patristic period: pp. 1–176).

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and may shade into one another, as – for instance – both Scripture and prayer are part of the liturgy. Also, the Christian life as a whole may be construed as an act of prayer, while at the same time, a particular prayer may contain a particular self-understanding based on the Christian tenets of faith, that is, a specific theology. Both notions, life as prayer and prayer as an instance of theology, will figure prominently in my analysis and I will return to these in the course of this article. To summarize, mystagogy is multifaceted, as is prayer. Above, I suggested that prayer is one of the realms into which someone who wishes to become a Christian needs to be initiated. But what do we mean by ‘prayer’? We may understand prayer in a limited sense, as ‘the act of prayer’ that takes place in a setting that is either communal or solitary. It may be part of the liturgy or, on the contrary, set within a more domestic context. In the Life of Macrina, the liturgical and the individual or personal cannot really be separated as daily life is ‘punctuated (…) with the liturgy’ as Derek Krueger writes.23 Even a story as intimate as the one told in chapter 31 about the healing of a cancerous growth in Macrina’s chest takes places in a sanctuary, that is, the church, the panagiastêrion (παναγιαστήριον),24 which was part of the estate owned by Macrina’s family, and which was slowly converted into a monastic settlement.25 The notion of prayer, then, may be defined in a limited sense, but – as I suggested above – it may also take on more general connotations, as happens when one considers ‘life itself’ as an act of prayer. As we shall see, this is precisely how Derek Krueger understands both the literal life led by Macrina and the literary vita which her brother wrote about her.26 Thus, Krueger applies the notion of prayer in a wider sense to a life of holiness as well as to its subsequent hagiographical narration.

23. Derek Krueger, Writing and Holiness. The Practice of Authorship in the Early Christian East (Philadelphia, 2004), p. 113. Chapter 6 is devoted to the Life of Macrina and entitled: ‘Hagiography as Liturgy: Writing and Memory in Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Macrina’. See also note 30 with a reference to the work of Gerard Rouwhorst who has focused on the notions of liturgical, personal, and continuous prayer as well as on the development of the Eucharistic liturgy and the office of the hours. 24. VMc 31,24. 25. Cf. Susanna Elm, ‘Virgins of God’: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity (Oxford, 1994), pp. 82–102. 26. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, pp. 110–11, 114, 120–21, 124, 127–28, and especially p. 131: ‘As Gregory remembers it, Macrina’s prayer and life cease together because they were essentially equivalent. The implications for narration of such a life are clear. Hagiography repeats the act of prayer.’

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Prayer in the Life of Macrina27 After these reflections on the multi-dimensional character of both ‘mystagogy’ and ‘prayer’, we can now consider the different references to prayer that occur in the Life of Macrina. I will mention various instances before summarizing the different notions of prayer. To begin with, Macrina’s education is based on the study of Scripture in general, and of wisdom literature and the Psalms in particular.28 The Psalms, then, punctuate the rhythm of her life as she recites them ‘at the proper times of the day, when she rose from her bed, performed or rested from her duties, sat down to eat or rose up from the table, when she went to bed or got up to pray, at all time she had the Psalter with her like a good travelling companion who never fails.’29 As the household becomes ‘monasticized’, we read that ‘there was constant prayer (cf. 1 Thess. 5:17) and the unceasing singing of hymns, extended throughout the entire day and night so that this was both work and respite of work for them.’30 When her mother Emmelia dies, we find an instance of direct discourse in the form of a prayer in which she likens her children to the first fruits of the land, thereby introducing the important notion of human

27. See for this theme also the introduction by Pierre Maraval: Vie de Sainte Macrine, pp. 68–77. 28. VMc 3,15–26. 29. VMc 3,19–26. Translation by Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 23. Cf. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, p. 113. Maraval has pointed out that the connection of prayer times with various daily activities (getting up in the morning, working, eating, sleeping, and getting up at night) can be correlated with information in a letter written by Basil to Gregory of Nazianzen (Letter 2, see Maraval, Vie de sainte Macrine, p. 69). 30. VMc 11, 29–33. Translation by Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 30. In his contribution to this volume, entitled ‘From Sacrificial Reciprocity to Mystagogy: Communal and Individual Initiation through Prayer’, Gerard Rouwhorst discusses two aspects of early Christian prayer that he considers to be unique to the Christian tradition: a) the development of ‘prayers whose structure and content were more or less fixed, and that enjoyed an official and normative status in the community’, and b) ‘the introduction of new prayer rhythms’, especially the custom of saying the prayers mentioned ‘at fixed times during the day or week …’ The latter can be seen in this passage from the Life of Macrina. Indeed, the continuous praying of the Psalms described here fits the model that Rouwhorst proposes in the context of monasticism, since ‘the offices basically consisted of two elements: (twelve) Psalms, and readings from the Bible.’ Later, he adds: ‘Monks meditated on the Psalms and the rest of the Bible throughout the day, during their manual work, for instance when they were weaving ropes or baskets. The idea was that monks had to pray all waking hours, ceaselessly, without interruption. Monks prayed while working, and worked while praying.’ Traces of the former aspect, mentioned under (a), regarding fixed and normative prayer, can also be found in the Life of Macrina, namely in the Final Prayer with its Eucharistic overtones (see below in the sections on the Final Prayer).

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life as an offering, a form of sacrifice.31 This idea reappears in Macrina’s Final Prayer.32 Another instance of prayer as direct discourse occurs when Gregory visits Macrina when she has fallen ill: she thanks God for fulfilling her desire to see her brother.33 Here, prayer may be characterized as ‘thanksgiving’.34 A further reference to prayer concerns Macrina and Gregory’s dead parents: they are apparently believed to intercede for the living, in this case for Gregory himself.35 A few references concern the liturgical life of the monastic household that Macrina and her younger brother Peter lead.36 When Gregory arrives at the estate, his brother is not there but monks and virgins meet him at the church for prayers and a blessing.37 Another reference to the communal celebration of the liturgy is found in chapter 22, when Macrina – after their first conversation – exhorts her brother to visit the church in order to celebrate the night office, that is, ‘the evening thanksgiving prayers’ (πρὸς τὰς ἐπιλυχνίους εὐχαριστίας): the singing of the choir was calling us to the evening thanksgiving prayers, and the great Macrina sent me off to church too and withdrew herself to God in prayer. And the night was spent in these devotions.38 31. The death of Macrina’s mother is described in VMc 13. Lines 11–16 contain the prayer which is characterized by sacrificial language. In his contribution to this volume mentioned in the previous footnote, Gerard Rouwhorst points out that the connection between prayer and sacrifice was originally very tight in the ancient world. He later describes ‘the end of sacrifice’, or rather ‘the transformation of sacrifice’, explaining how this led to a gradual dissociation of the two. He focuses on Judaism and early Christianity. 32. Macrina, in VMc 24, line 46 (the closing words), defines herself as ‘an incense offering’ (Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 42). For more on this, see below: this section and the sections below entitled ‘The Final Prayer: Inscribing One’s Story into God’s’, ‘Biblical and Liturgical Allusions in the Final Prayer’, and ‘Hagiography and Liturgy: Writing and Holiness’. 33. VMc 17,9–12; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 35. 34. Cf. the notion of thanksgiving discussed below under the heading ‘Hagiography and Liturgy: Writing and Holiness’. 35. VMc 21,17–20; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 39. 36. See, for instance, VMc 11, lines 29–33; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 30. Brother Peter is mentioned for the first time in VMc 12. He is ‘of special assistance to this great goal of life’ (VMc 12,1–2; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 30.). Macrina becomes ‘everything’ to him: father, teacher, guide, mother, counsellor in every good’ (VMc 12,12–14; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 31). He was ordained to the priesthood by Basil: VMc 14,2–4. Peter’s leading role is also suggested in the story recounted in VMc 37–38; see esp. VMc 37,12. See also the reference to Susanna Elm’s ‘Virgins of God’ in note 25. 37. When Gregory arrives at the estate, Peter is absent (according to the story, he had left to meet Gregory, but via a different road, thus missing him; VMc 15,22–28). As has been seen, monks and virgins meet Gregory at the church for prayers and a blessing at his arrival. (VMc 16,1–9; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 34.) 38. VMc 22,3–6; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 39.

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Because of her illness, Macrina is unable to attend the evening prayers in church – prayers specifically associated with the lighting of the lamps. In his section on ‘prayer in the Life of Macrina’,39 Maraval includes the literal translation: ‘l’eucharistie du lucernaire’.40 He believes that the liturgical ritual of lighting the lamps, celebrated in church and accompanied by prayers, was at that time first and foremost a communal affair. Thus, he assumes that Macrina’s private prayer at this point in the narrative is motivated by her inability to physically attend church.41 After this night of prayer, then, begins the last day of Macrina’s life on earth. We read Gregory’s words: … it was as if an angel had providentially assumed human form, an angel in whom there was no affinity for, nor attachment to, the life of the flesh, about whom it was not unreasonable that her thinking should remain impassible, since the flesh did not drag it down to its own passions. For this reason she seemed to me to be making manifest to those then present that pure, divine love of the unseen bridegroom, which she had nourished secretly in the most intimate depths of her soul, and she seemed to transmit the desire which was in her heart to rush to the one she longed for, so that freed from the fetters of the body, she might be swiftly with him.42

The sun is setting, and Macrina – her bed turned towards the East – begins to pray.43 As readers, we are witnesses to her elaborate prayer in chapter 24, which will be analysed in the following sections. At this point, however, it is significant to note that in chapter 25, after the prayer, the narrator tells us that: … evening had come on and a light had been brought in. At once Macrina opened her eyes wide, directed their attention to the gleam of light and made it clear that she also wished to say the evening prayer of thanksgiving; but as her voice failed her, she realized her desire in her heart and in the movement of her hands, her lips moving in time with her inward impulse. When she had completed the prayer of thanksgiving, and by bringing her hand to her face for the sign of the cross, had indicated that she had finished her prayer, she took a deep breath, and with that, she died.44

39. ‘Realia christiana: prière et funérailles chrétiennes’: Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, pp. 68–89. 40. Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, p. 72. 41. Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, pp. 72–73. 42. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 40; VMc 22,27–37. 43. VMc 23. On the notion of ‘orientation’, see Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, pp. 78–80. Important aspects were: the situation of paradise, the return of Christ, the arrival of the angels (to escort the souls of the just to paradise). Maraval has qualified the context here as one of hope, also suggested by Macrina’s ‘haste’ to join her groom. 44. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 43; VMc 25,6–15.

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In this way, Macrina’s elaborate prayer in chapter 24 is framed by two references to evening prayer in the context of the lighting of the lamps. Maraval remarks that the final biblical reference in the prayer, which qualifies Macrina as ‘an incense offering before your face’ – is to Psalm 140/141: the Psalm specifically connected to ‘l’eucharistie du lucernaire’.45 Maraval also calls to mind Basil’s descriptions of the ritual in his treatise on the Holy Spirit. There, he indicates that during the night office the famous hymn Φῶς ἱλαρόν, ‘Joyful Light’, – about Christ as the Light – was sung.46 After Macrina has died, the women in her household begin their mourning rituals. Interestingly, one of their cries is especially related to the notions of ‘lamp’ and ‘light’, as they sing: The lamp of our eyes has been extinguished; the light to guide our souls has been carried off (…) With you even the night was illumined like day for us by your pure life. But now even the day will be changed to utter darkness.47

Once more, the language is reminiscent of the Psalms, as Psalm 139 says of God: ‘(…) the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is a light to you’ (Psalm 138/139:12). Also, the close association of this Psalm with the themes of creation and motherhood (verse 13: ‘you knit me together in my mother’s womb’) resonates with the fact that the virgins in the community had experienced Macrina as their mother.48 Gregory makes quite a statement by connecting the figure of his beloved sister very closely with both Christ (φῶς, ‘light’, cf. also John 1:4) and the Creator (Psalm 139). After Macrina has died, the story continues with references to the exclamations and songs of lamentation by the women in the community.49 Gregory tries to calm the women down by shouting: Look at her and remember the precepts she taught you, that you conduct yourselves in an orderly and graceful fashion in every circumstance. One 45. Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, p. 74. 46. The reference is to De spiritu sancto 73: see Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, p. 73, n. 1. Egeria also mentions the ritual in her travel journal: see Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, p. 73, n. 2. 47. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 44; VMc 26,23–29. 48. VMc 26,30–31; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 44. Some called her ‘mother and nurse’, the text says. 49. In his introduction to the edition of the Life of Macrina, Maraval has discussed the various aspects of ancient Christian funerals, such as the orientation of the dying person, the closing of both eyes and mouth after death, the ritual of conclamatio (loud lamentations), the dressing of the deceased, the wake, the procession, and the actual burial often accompanied by kissing the deceased or the tomb (Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, pp. 77–89: ‘La mort et les funérailles chrétiennes’).

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proper occasion for our tears her divine soul prescribed when she bade us weep only at the time of prayer. This is what we can also do now by changing wails of lamentation into a united singing of the psalms.50

In this passage, a connection is made between ‘tears’ and ‘prayer’: a connection illustrated by a story about Macrina which is told in the specific context of what follows, namely, the preparation of the saint’s body for burial. In the case of the women’s lamentations that Gregory wants to channel into prayer, prayer takes on the form of the Psalms. As has been seen, the narrative continues with information about the clothing of Macrina’s body for burial. During this activity, performed by Gregory and two women from the community, Vetiana and Lampadion, a story is told in the form of a flashback in chapter 31 about the saint herself being healed by God through prayer. This story demonstrates the connection between tears and prayer mentioned above. Macrina lies prostrate before God and weeps: the mud made from the soil and her tears heals her as her mother traces the sign of the cross across her chest. The healing leaves a tiny mark which then becomes the signal for constant thanksgiving, eukharistia (εὐχαριστία).51 As in the case of the lamenting virgins, the weeping is channelled into orderly prayer, here called ‘thanksgiving’. Another significant aspect of this scene is that Vetiana, when venturing to tell the story about Macrina’s miracle, brings a lamp close to the tiny mark, which resembles a scar, showing it to Gregory. The light of the lamp symbolizes enlightenment, as it helps both Gregory and the reader to understand Macrina better, but it is also reminiscent of the liturgical scenes of ‘the lighting of the lamps’ that we have encountered so far as well as suggestive of Macrina as both ‘light’ and ‘lamp’ – terms included in the dirge of the mourning virgins. After the miracle story has been told in retrospect, Gregory returns to the setting of the mourning: ‘the maidens’ psalmsinging, mingled with lamentation, echoed all around the place’.52 People arrive from all corners of the surrounding land, and it seems they are holding a wake: ‘So we spent the whole night singing hymns around her body, just as they do in celebrating the deaths of martyrs.’53 Again, the ‘singing of the

50. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 45. VMc 27,4–11. 51. In a very interesting article, Georgia Frank has analysed this passage and has drawn parallels between Macrina and Odysseus: ‘Macrina’s Scar: Homeric Allusions and Heroic Identity in Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Macrina’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 8:4 (2000), pp. 511–30. 52. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 49. VMc 33,1–3. 53. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 49. VMc 33,6–8.

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psalms’ is interrupted by ‘loud cries of grief’.54 The wake is followed by a procession, for which the women and men are separated into two groups. Gregory places the women ‘in the choir with the maidens and the men in the ranks of the monks’:55 thus, I managed to get from the two groups a rhythmical, harmonious unity in their singing of the psalms, just as in proper choral singing, a beautifully ordered blend because of the shared responses of all.56

A larger crowd, including the bishop of the region, Araxios, and other members of the clergy,57 accompanies the body of Macrina to the church of the Holy Martyrs, founded by her mother at Ibora.58 Gregory writes: … a large group of deacons and attendants led the way in rows, all with candles in their hands; and it was as if a liturgical procession (τις μυστικὴ πομπή) was taking place, since from beginning to end the psalms were sung beautifully in unison, as in the canticle of the three children.59

The story continues: they arrive at the church and enter it. They begin to pray, but again the mourners interrupt the prayer with loud lamentations.60 Yet: The master of ceremonies guided the people to prayer by intoning the customary prayers of the church, and they settled down into the position for prayer.61

Once the ‘formal prayer was completed’, it was followed by the performance of ‘all the customary funeral rites’. Gregory then tells us how he ‘fell upon the tomb and kissed the dust (…) downcast and tearful’.62 As Gregory travels back, he encounters a soldier from Sebastopolis and the vita ends with the narration of another miracle story, again told in retrospect, now by the soldier who recalls what happened to his daughter.63 In this case, the ill person is a girl suffering from an eye 54. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 49. VMc 33,9–10. 55. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 49. VMc 33,13–16. 56. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 49. VMc 33,16–19. 57. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 49. VMc 33,22–24. 58. Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, p. 39. 59. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 50. VMc 34,9–14. Maraval has suggested that Gregory was thinking here of the liturgical procession in the context of the rites of Christian initiation, including the reception of the Eucharist, during the Easter vigil. See Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, pp. 252–253. For the ‘song of the three children’, see Daniel 3:51 (LXX) = S. of III Ch. 1. This connection with the ritual of baptism reinforces the mystagogical dimension of the vita. 60. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 50. VMc 34,20–23. 61. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 50. VMc 34,32–34. 62. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 51. VMc 35,1; 36,1–4. 63. VMc 37–38.

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disease. Her parents visit Macrina, hoping that she would heal their daughter. The saint prepares an ointment, which the parents forget, however. Once they have left, they realize their omission. Nevertheless, the girl is healed, even without the medicine. The mother’s conclusion is that: the true medicine with which she heals diseases, the healing which comes from prayer, she has given us and it has already done its work, there’s nothing whatsoever left of the eye disease, all healed by that divine medicine!64

The father is then reminded of the miracles Christ performed in the gospels and exclaims: What a great thing it is when the hand of God restores sight to the blind, when today his servant heals such sicknesses by her faith in Him, an event no less impressive than those miracles!65

Gregory tells us that: ‘All the while he was saying this, his voice was choked with emotion and the tears flowed in his story.’66 Thus, once more, we encounter the conjunction of tears and thanksgiving. Another element also stands out, because the fact that this miracle involves the healing of eyes does not seem to be coincidental. Macrina had previously been described as ‘light’ and a ‘lamp’. When she died, the virgins had wailed: ‘The lamp of our eyes has been extinguished.’67 In the context of the ritual of the lighting of the lamps and evening prayer (in chapters 22 and 25), these words take on a deeper meaning. Here, towards the end of the work, Macrina’s identity as ‘lamp’ and as ‘light’, reminiscent of both Christ as ‘Φῶς ἱλαρόν’ and the luminous character of the Creator God (Psalm 139), is once more strengthened by the fact that light returns to the eyes of the girl on account of the saint’s prayer. At the end of this section on ‘Prayer in the Life of Macrina’, we can conclude the following. Three categories seem to emerge when we consider the different forms of prayer mentioned in the Life of Macrina. First, we find references to liturgical prayer offered in an explicitly ecclesiastical context, both in the church on the monastic estate of Annisa and

64. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 53 (my italics). VMc 38,23–27. 65. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 53. VMc 38,30–33. 66. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 53. VMc 38,34–36. For Gregory’s tears, cf. also the article by M.B. (Burcht) Pranger, ‘Narrative Dimensions in Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Macrina’, Studia Patristica 32 (1997), pp. 201–207. In this article, the author has included an analysis of the way in which Gregory gives himself a distinct role, especially towards the end of the vita: in chapters 36 and 37, Gregory moves from an attitude of distance, which generates suspense, to one of emotional connection, expressed in an outburst of tears. 67. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 44. VMc 26,23.

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in the church of the Holy Martyrs at Ibora.68 Secondly, various prayers are personal and extemporaneous in character – at least they are presented in this way. Thus, the prayers that Macrina and her mother utter more or less spontaneously fall into this category. Finally, I would distinguish a third category of prayer that is strictly related to healing. Two such instances occur involving the saint herself and a little girl as subjects of healing. In the following sections, I will concentrate on Macrina’s Final Prayer, which, although it is presented as a spontaneous extempore prayer, is a collage of Scriptural and liturgical phrases.69 It is also, as we have seen, embedded within the liturgical setting of the evening prayer and is therefore connected to the lighting of the lamps. As we will see, it captures the essence of the author’s theology while allowing the reader the possibility of echoing the prayer, thus making it his or her own. But first, let us focus on the prayer itself.

The Final Prayer: Introduction Macrina’s Final Prayer is introduced towards the end of chapter 23 with the following descriptive passage: Her bed had been turned towards the east, and she stopped conversing with us and was with God in prayer for the rest of the time, reaching out her hand in supplication and speaking in a low, faint voice so that we could only just hear what she said. This was the prayer and there is no doubt that it came to God and was heard by him. She said: …70

As we start analysing this prayer, we must keep a few things in mind. Firstly, Macrina is lying in an uncomfortable position on the floor on a wooden ‘plank covered in sackloth, with another plank supporting her

68. For more information on Annisa and Ibora, see Maraval, Vie de Sainte Macrine, pp. 38–44. 69. I thank Father Andrew Louth for the suggestion that Macrina actually could have uttered the prayer in this way since she was well-versed in both the Scriptures and the liturgy. While I agree with this, in this contribution my focus is on the intricate and literary structure before us in the form of this prayer as it is transmitted to us by Gregory. I will return to this issue of ‘historicity’ towards the end of the section entitled ‘Biblical and Liturgical Allusions in the Final Prayer’. Cf. also Elizabeth Clark’s article ‘Holy Women, Holy Words: Early Christian Women, Social History and the “Linguistic Turn”’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 6 (1998), pp. 413–30, esp. pp. 423–29. She analyses the similarities between Macrina’s and Gregory’s ideas, interpreting Macrina’s narrated views as representative of Gregory’s theology. 70. VMc 23,7–13; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, pp. 40–41.

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head’.71 It seems to me that this evokes an image of the cross: an image which will figure prominently in the Final Prayer. Secondly, – as we have seen in the previous section – the Final Prayer, while presented as a spontaneous act, is set within the context of the liturgy of evening prayer, involving the lighting of the lamps. It is followed by the liturgical evening prayer of thanksgiving, and when this is finished, Macrina breathes her last. Thirdly, Gregory’s introductory words deliberately state that the saint turned away from those present, focusing on God. She is said to speak ‘in a low, faint voice so that we could only just hear what she said …’72 These words add special colour to the scene – it is almost as if Gregory, and through him, we, the readers, are listening in on Macrina’s personal conversation with God. Were we meant to hear these words? Are we supposed to be witnesses to such an intimate occasion? Does the faintness of the voice invite us to strain even harder, as we try to catch the meaning of what she is saying? And what is she saying in prayer?

The Final Prayer: The Story of Salvation As has been seen, Macrina’s Final Prayer takes up the whole of chapter 24 and comprises 46 lines in Pierre Maraval’s Sources chrétiennes edition. It consists of two main sections, the first running from lines 1 to 20, and the second from lines 21 to 46.73 The first section primarily contains an account of salvation history. Macrina addresses God as ‘you’ and refers to herself and all of humanity collectively as ‘us’. Thus, the first sentence reads: ‘You have released us, o Lord, from the fear of death (τοῦ θανάτου τὸν φόβον).’ The reference to ‘the fear of death’ seems appropriate in the context of a deathbed. She continues:

71. VMc 16,15–16; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 34. 72. VMc 23,10–11; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, pp. 40–41. 73. See note 10. Elsewhere in this volume, Gerard Rouwhorst explains that in antiquity, Greek prayers usually had a tripartite structure: invocation of the deity was followed by a narrative part (pars epica) and a request. He states that this pattern is also the basis for early Christian Eucharistic prayers. (See his contribution ‘From Sacrificial Reciprocity to Mystagogy: Communal and Individual Initiation through Prayer’.) In Macrina’s Final Prayer, these structural elements can also be recognized, albeit in a different order: it seems that the prayer starts with an epic (narrated) part; it is then followed by an invocation and the request. Thus, the invocation seems to follow rather than precede the pars epica. In the first line of the prayer, God is indeed addressed, but in a very compact manner: as ‘You’ and by the phrase ‘O Lord’.

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As space does not allow for a full analysis, I will highlight a few elements from this passage. As has been seen, the section opens with the notion of the ‘fear of death’. This introduces the theme of ‘death’ (θάνατος) in the opening sentence. It is immediately followed by its counterpart, ‘life’ (ζωή), in the following sentences, which state that ‘the end of life here on earth’ is, in fact, ‘a beginning of true life for us’. The phrase ‘true life’, ζωή ἀληθινή, is – to my mind – reminiscent of the prologue to the Gospel of John.75 Thus, the polarity or duality of life and death is highlighted from the outset. Significantly, the word ‘life’ is also the final word of section 1,76 mirroring the notion of ‘true life’ from the second sentence of the prayer, thereby creating the literary figure of inclusion. The second aspect I wish to highlight concerns the notion of ‘creation’. It is mentioned in line 8 which reads: ‘You entrust to the earth our bodies of earth which you fashioned with your own hands.’ The Greek for ‘fashioning’ is διαμορφόω, which resonates with the verb μεταμορφόω occurring in the next line (9), where we read about the transformation of what is mortal and ugly into immortality and grace – or beauty (χάρις). Towards the end of the prayer, in line 44, the related noun μορφή is used referring to the ‘form’, but possibly also the ‘beauty’ of the soul which may be without ‘stain or blemish’ (a reference to Ephesians 5:27). It is clear that the significant pair of ‘creation’ and ‘recreation’, mirroring that of death and life, is present early on in the prayer. Both carry the prayer’s dynamic and propel it forward. 74. VMc 24,3–20; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 41. In the second line of the quotation the phrase ‘you entrust to the earth our bodies of earth’ may be understood as referring to a kind of pledge: it is a rendering of the Greek word παρακαταθήκη. Maraval translates: ‘en dépôt’ (p. 219). 75. John 1:4 identifies ‘the life’ and ‘the light of the people’ (NRSV); subsequently, this light is called ‘true’ in verse 9. Cf. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge, 1953), pp. 55, 72, 84, 203, 292–96. 76. VMc 24,20.

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The ‘recreation’ or ‘transformation’ of ‘creation’ is, of course, effected by the death and resurrection of Christ. As the prayer claims, he became curse and sin so that we might be saved from both these things.77 The Devil, as Christ’s adversary, figures prominently in this section, which speaks of crushing the head of the serpent and destroying the gates of hell. By defeating the serpent, or δράκων in Greek, Christ has opened up the way to resurrection. An interesting verb is used for this, namely, ὁδοποιέω, which literally refers to the making of a road, the construction of a path. As such, it supports the spatial imagery that is present in the prayer, which is also apparent later on when Macrina asks for the support of the angel of light, asking God that he may guide her towards heaven. At that point, the important word ‘χειραγωγία’ is used that I referred to in my introduction to this article. Of central importance to salvation is the cross, which is mentioned as a symbol towards the end of this section when Macrina states that God has provided the ‘sign’ (σημείωσις) of the cross as a protection against the adversary. In this way, the literal fight between Christ and the Devil, mentioned before, which Christ won on the cross, is taken up symbolically by the sign of the cross, thus making it effective in the lives of the faithful, who can defend themselves by using it. As has been seen, this notion of the ‘protection of life’, returns to the theme of death and life, which marks the opening sentences. Thus, it is clear that the closing sentences of section 1 repeat crucial elements from it, such as the notion of ‘life’ and the significance of the cross. At the same time, the colour of these terms changes as the general notion of ‘true life’ from line 3 now becomes personalized as ‘our life’ (note the personal pronoun). Similarly, the literal cross alluded to in lines 12 to 17 reappears in the following line as a symbol, as ‘the sign of the cross’. This new hue of the closing lines of section 1 in a sense announces and prepares for the character of section 2, which is more personal as it applies the theology from section 1 to Macrina herself. The tone of section 1 was descriptive, but this changes to the language of supplication in section 2. Thus, the closing lines of section 1 make the transition to the appropriation of the salvation history that has just been described.

77. Cf. Deuteronomy 21:23: ‘for anyone hung on a tree is under God’s curse’; the New Testament reference is a combination of Galatians 3:13 (‘Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written, “Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree”’) and 2 Corinthians 5:21 (‘For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God’). All quotations are from the NRSV.

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The Final Prayer: Inscribing One’s Story into God’s Story78 After calling upon God in line 21 as ‘eternal God’, Macrina introduces herself, making a few autobiographical statements: God eternal, upon whom I have cast myself from my mother’s womb, whom my soul has loved with all its strength, to whom I have consecrated flesh and soul from my infancy to this moment …79

This is a more elaborate invocation than the words in the opening line, ‘O Lord’. God is invoked here by reference to Macrina’s personal experience. In this way, the traditional tripartite structure of ancient Greek prayers, including an invocation, a narrated part, and a request, seems to have been modified.80 She then voices her important request: Put down beside me a shining angel to lead me by the hand to the place of refreshment where is the water of repose near the lap of the holy fathers.81

Refreshment in Greek is ἀνάψυξις – its related verb, ἀναψύχω is mentioned towards the end of the prayer in line 42, where Macrina asks to be forgiven so that she may ‘draw breath again’. When we consider this idea of ‘refreshment’ or, phrased differently, of ‘drawing breath again’, we may think of the literal state Macrina was in while she was dying: ‘out of breath’. In chapter 17, when she first meets Gregory and offers her prayer of thanksgiving at his arrival, the passage continues as follows: And so that she might not bring any despondency to my soul, she tried to stifle her groans and forced herself somehow to hide her tortured gasping for breath.82

This description of a literal gasping for breath adds to the impact of the words in the Final Prayer which speak of ἀνάψυξις – gaining relief, refreshment, and new breath. In addition, the phrase ‘lap of the holy fathers’ elaborates on the notion of relief – it is a reference to Jesus’ story about the rich man and the poor Lazarus, where Lazarus ends up in Abraham’s lap refreshed after a difficult life (Luke 16).83 The rich man is separated from Lazarus by an abyss, 78. Cf. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, p. 130: ‘a narration of Macrina’s own history, a narrative gesture that ultimately inscribes Macrina’s story into God’s.’ 79. VMc 24,21–25; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 42. 80. See note 73. 81. VMc 24,26–28; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 42. 82. VMc 17,12–14; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 35. Cf. above (in the section ‘The Final Prayer: Introduction’), my remark about Macrina lying on the wooden plank. 83. The story is told in Luke 16:19–31, see also below in the following section on biblical allusions.

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χάσμα in Greek, a term first mentioned in section 1 (line 14), recalling the Devil’s power over humans because of ‘the abyss of disobedience’ (τὸ χάσμα τῆς παρακοῆς); χάσμα is taken up again in section 2, line 35 (‘Let not the dreadful abyss separate me from your chosen ones’84), echoing the story of Lazarus, which is first alluded to at this point in the prayer: line 28. The following sentences, lines 29–34, allude to Genesis 3 and recall the story of ‘paradise lost’: You who have cut through the flame of the fiery sword and brought to paradise the man who was crucified with you, who entreated your pity, remember me also in your kingdom, for I too have been crucified with you, for I have nailed my flesh out of reverence for you and have feared your judgments.85

This passage, which echoes the theology of section 1, first recalls the creation story and the fact that after the fall, entry into paradise was barred: an angel with a fiery sword guarded it. There is another biblical reference subsequently, namely to the passion narrative in Luke 23,86 specifically to the sinner on the cross beside Christ who asked: ‘remember me when you come into your kingdom’. Here, the notion of ‘entry into paradise’, evoked by the mentioning of ‘the fiery sword’ from Genesis 3, is included in the question from the Gospel about ‘entering the kingdom’, to which Jesus responds in the Gospel: ‘Today you will be with me in paradise.’ At this point in the prayer, it is Macrina who repeats the words of the sinner on the cross. His question becomes her prayer: ‘Remember me also in your kingdom.’87 In a way, she also identifies with the sinner on the cross by claiming: ‘I too have been crucified with you.’ More precisely: by saying this, she in fact identifies with both the sinner and Christ. Her identification with Christ is based on her sharing of the cross in asceticism – it is part of her imitatio Christi. But 84. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 42. 85. VMc 24,29–31, Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 42. 86. See Luke 23:42–43 and also below in the following section on biblical allusions. 87. I thank Father Andrew Louth for reminding me that this sentence is part of the Orthodox liturgy. It occurs in the text of the Eucharistic liturgy traditionally attributed to John Chrysostom and Basil the Great, and is prayed by the faithful before they receive the Eucharistic gifts. A reference to the ‘thief on the cross’ is included. The liturgical wording, however, is slightly different from the scriptural text from Luke, which reads ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom’ (᾿Ιησοῦ, μνήσθητί μου ὅταν ἔλθῃς εἰς τὴν βασιλείαν σου). It is, however, almost identical to the wording used here in the vita: ‘Remember me, Lord, in your kingdom’ (Μνήσθητί μου, Κύριε, ἐν τῇ βασιλείᾳ σου; liturgy) compared to ‘Remember me also in your kingdom’ (κἀμοῦ μνήσθητί ἐν τῇ βασιλείᾳ σου; Macrina’s prayer). I return to this issue below when I consider the notion of liturgical remembrance or anamnêsis.

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it is important to note that she also identifies with the sinner, asking Christ to remember her as well. This may remind us of Dilthey’s notion of ‘strange life’, which van Geest introduced to clarify the mystagogical process: this is seen as ‘the “reproduction” of “strange life”, that is, the life of Christ in oneself’.88 Again, Macrina’s literal and physical position as she is dying underscores what is being said about ‘being crucified’: she is lying on an uncomfortable wooden plank – an image which alludes to the cross (VMc 16).89 The following lines recall the spatial imagery introduced before: first, ‘the abyss’ from the story of the poor Lazarus, and then the notion of a road suggested by both the verb ὁδοποιέω, from section 1, and the notion of χειραγωγία from section 2: Let not the dreadful abyss separate me from your chosen ones. Let not the slanderer stand against me on my journey.90

This highlights the importance of the ‘journey’, the ὁδός. The closing sentences of the prayer centre on the theme of ‘sin’ and ‘freedom from sin’: Let not my sin be discovered before your eyes if I have been overcome in any way because of nature’s weakness and have sinned in word or deed or thought. You who have on earth the power to forgive sins, forgive me, so that I may draw breath again and may be found before you in the stripping of my body without stain or blemish in the beauty of my soul, but may my soul be received blameless and immaculate into your hands as an incense offering before your face.91

Although sin is mentioned explicitly here, I think this passage breathes what I would call the optimism of asceticism – the belief that a life ‘without stain or blemish’ (cf. the reference to Ephesians 5:27 above) is possible, on the basis of the renunciation of ascetic living.92 Because of Christ’s victory on the cross, the soul may be ‘blameless and immaculate’ (lines 44–45), and as such may be received into the hands of God, the same hands (ταῖς χερσί) with which he first, in the beginning, ‘fashioned’ ‘our bodies of earth’ (line 8). 88. See note 21. 89. See the section ‘The Final Prayer: Introduction’. 90. VMc 24,35–37; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 42. 91. VMc 24,39–46; Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, p. 42. 92. For Gregory’s ‘optimism’, cf., for instance, Peter Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York, 1988), pp. 299– 301 as well as the work of Verna Harrison: ‘Allegory and Asceticism in Gregory of Nyssa’, Semeia 57 (1992), pp. 113–30 (esp. pp. 124–27) and ‘Gender, Generation, and Virginity in Cappadocian Theology’, Journal of Theological Studies 47 (1996), pp. 38–68 (esp. pp. 48–58).

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The prayer ends with a notion that is crucial to the vita as a whole, namely that of offering and sacrifice. It is mentioned in mother Emmelia’s Final Prayer in chapter 13, as Emmelia calls Macrina the ‘first fruits’ that she offers to God. In Macrina’s own Final Prayer the image is different, but it is nonetheless sacrificial: she compares her soul to incense rising before God’s face – a metaphor derived from Psalm 140/141 (LXX). As we have seen above in the section ‘Prayer in the Life of Macrina’, this Psalm is connected to the liturgy for the lighting of the lamps, in which the Final Prayer as a whole is embedded, so to speak. Before discussing the work of Derek Krueger, who explores this notion of offering and sacrifice in particular, as well as a number of other liturgical concepts vital to our understanding of the prayer, I will make a number of observations on biblical and liturgical allusions in the prayer.

Biblical and Liturgical Allusions in the Final Prayer When we consider the prayer as a whole, it becomes apparent that Gregory used Scripture selectively in composing it. In this section, I will use the references in the footnotes of the Sources chrétiennes edition. As we have seen, an important role is afforded to the story of creation with a reference to Genesis 3:24 (line 29). Other allusions to or citations from the Old Testament are to the Song of Songs (one reference in line 23: ‘whom my soul has loved’; cf. Song of Songs 1:7) and, mostly, the Psalms: Ps. 73/74:14 (line 13: ‘You have crushed the heads of the serpent’); Ps. 106/107:16 (lines 15–16: ‘having broken down the gates of hell’; cf. Matthew 16:18); Ps. 59/60:4 (line 18: ‘You have given to those who fear you a visible token’; here, Maraval’s edition has an incorrect reference to verse 16); Ps. 21/22:10 (line 22: ‘Upon whom I have cast myself from my mother’s womb’); Ps. 22/23:2 (lines 27–28: ‘the water of repose’); Ps. 118/119:120 (lines 33–34: ‘for I have nailed my flesh out of reverence for you and have feared your judgements’); Ps. 38/39:13/14 (line 42: ‘forgive me, so that I may draw breath again’); and Ps. 140/141:2 (lines 45–46: ‘as an incense offering before your face’).93 Other biblical references, then, are to the New Testament: to the gospel, for instance to the story of Lazarus and the passion narrative (lines 28 and 35, cf. Luke 16:19–31, and lines 29–31, cf. Luke 23:42–43). Two other 93. I have noted Maraval’s remark that this Psalm is traditionally connected to the lighting of the lamps during the evening liturgy in the previous section and in the section on ‘Prayer in the Life of Macrina’.

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gospel references are to Matthew 16:18 (lines 15–16: ‘the gates of hell’, see above) and 9:6 (line 41: ‘You who have on earth the power to forgive sins’; with a parallel in Mark 2:10). Most references, however, are to the epistles, Pauline or otherwise; in order of appearance: Hebrews 2:15 (in line 1–2: ‘the fear of death’), 1 Corinthians 15:52 (line 6: ‘at the [sound of] the last trumpet’), 1 Corinthians 15:53 (lines 9–10: ‘transforming with incorruptibility and grace what is mortal and deformed in us’), Galatians 3:13 and 2 Corinthians 5:21 (lines 11–12: ‘having become both on our behalf’), Hebrews 2:14 (lines 16–17: ‘and reduced to impotence the one who had power over death’; cf. the first reference in lines 1–2 to the following verse: Hebrews 2:15), Galatians 2:19 (lines 32–33: ‘for I too have been crucified with you’), Colossians 2:11 (line 43: ‘in the stripping off of my body’), and Ephesians 5:27 (lines 43–42: ‘without stain or blemish’).94 In his edition of the Vita Macrinae, Pierre Maraval has commented on these biblical references,95 also mentioning Eugenio Marotta’s interesting article in which he suggests on the basis of the prayer’s structure, that Gregory of Nyssa may have been inspired by Psalm 74 [LXX 73], verses 12–23, when he composed the prayer.96 Marotta has demonstrated convincingly how the Psalm’s language and syntax resonate in Macrina’s prayer. We may assume that both Gregory and Macrina were versed in the Psalms to such an extent that their vocabulary, structures, and rhythms fed into their speech, and Gregory’s subsequent treatment of that speech in his hagiographical work.97 Maraval has also explored reminiscences of liturgical formulae in the prayer.98 Various elements from the evening service are mentioned, for instance, calling to mind God’s salvific acts, and asking for forgiveness of sins.99 According to Maraval, the second, supplicatory part of the prayer contains many parallels with the liturgy for the dead: calling for the assistance of the angels, reception into the bosom of the fathers, and 94. Most of these references, and also some that are not included in Maraval, are listed in an article by Eugenio Marotta: ‘La base biblica della Vita s. Macrinae di Gregorio di Nissa’, Vetera Christianorum 5 (1968), pp. 73–88, especially on pp. 81–82 where he includes the Greek of both the Scriptures and the Vita Macrinae. See also the following paragraph (in my article) on Marotta’s hypothesis that Gregory used Psalm 73/74 as a kind of blueprint for the prayer. 95. Maraval, Vie de sainte Macrine, pp. 74–75. 96. Maraval, Vie de sainte Macrine, p. 74; reference to the article by Marotta (La base biblica, pp. 77–81); see note 94. 97. For reflections on writing and speech, cf. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, pp. 116– 120. 98. Maraval, Vie de sainte Macrine, pp. 75–77. 99. Maraval, Vie de sainte Macrine, p. 75.

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forgiveness of voluntary as well as involuntary sins. These themes are mentioned in the Apostolic Constitutions and in later versions of the Greek liturgy.100 At this point, however, we have to be aware of one particular problem: since the oldest liturgical sources at our disposal are more or less contemporaneous with the Vita Macrinae, this possibly begs the question of priority and literary dependence. In theory, material from Gregory’s work may have been incorporated into the liturgy, and not the other way around. Still, the dynamic which Maraval has presented of Gregory weaving traditional material, both biblical and liturgical, into his prayer, seems to me more likely, as liturgical texts often reflect older traditions. This viewpoint is also supported by the fact that similar themes can be found in funerary inscriptions: the angel of light, a place of refreshment, the bosom of the patriarchs, the formula ‘remember me in your kingdom’, a plea for the forgiveness of sins.101 In view of this, it is striking what Gregory does in the literary construction of the prayer, as he transforms the prayer for the dead, which is about the dead, into a prayer uttered by the voice of the living. The ‘he’ or ‘she’ in the liturgy for the dead becomes Macrina’s ‘I’, which in turn takes on an exemplary quality, which I will explore in my conclusion. Maraval ends his enumeration of sources by concluding that: ‘Toutes ces données sont habilement fondues par Grégoire en un texte parfaitement homogène et de grande qualité littéraire.’102 Although I follow him in approaching the Final Prayer as a literary creation by Gregory, I would like to observe, in support of a comment made to me by Father Andrew Louth, that it is possible that Macrina actually prayed a prayer like this. The historical events behind the text, however, are forever beyond our grasp.103 Before I conclude my contribution by explaining why I believe Gregory of Nyssa is operating as a mystagogue here, and why the Final Prayer can be considered to be a mystagogical text, I would like to contextualize the prayer by discussing parts of Derek Krueger’s enlightening analysis of the vita in his study Writing and Holiness: The Practice of Authorship in the Early Christian East.104

100. Maraval, Vie de sainte Macrine, pp. 75–76. Maraval refers to Apostolic Constitutions 8.41.2. Cf. also Krueger, Writing and Holiness, p. 130. 101. Maraval, Vie de sainte Macrine, p. 76. 102. Maraval, Vie de sainte Macrine, p. 77. 103. Cf. note 69. 104. See note 23. For a more elaborate treatment of Krueger’s work, see below: the following section on ‘Hagiography and Liturgy’.

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Krueger’s title already suggests that his focus is different from mine. His perspective is not mystagogical. Instead, he has examined how authors in Greek Christian Antiquity conceived of their authorship. In the case of Gregory of Nyssa and his composition of the Life of Macrina, Krueger has claimed that Gregory’s writing is liturgical. The chapter on Gregory and Macrina is therefore called: ‘Hagiography as Liturgy: Writing and Memory in Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Macrina’. Krueger points out that the liturgy, and especially liturgical prayer, both in the prayer of the hours and in the Divine Eucharistic liturgy, is defined by two elements, ‘remembrance’ and ‘thanksgiving’ – in Greek, the combination of ‘anamnêsis’ (ἀνάμνησις) and ‘eukharistia’ (εὐχαριστία).105 In addition, he emphasizes that ‘anamnêsis’, remembering, is an intrinsically narrative process: the acts of God are recounted – with a view to thanksgiving.106 He then explains that a similar dynamic defines the activity of describing the life of a saint: the sacred acts performed by the saint are recalled with a view to giving thanks for his or her life.107 In this sense, Krueger compares the activity of hagiographical writing to the liturgical prayer of anamnêsis and thanksgiving.108 He then shows how Gregory conceives of himself as mirroring the speech of the saint in his writing, as in the vita Macrina herself recounts her life and gives thanks. She is the one who, in the story, speaks and remembers, stating that remembering one’s life (and the lives of family members) must be done with a view to giving thanks to God.109 Thus, the biographical and autobiographical activities of the author and the saint show parallels to liturgical practice.110 A related notion appears in the course of the vita, and especially in the Final Prayer: the life of the saint is an offering: she sacrifices her life to God.111 As the saint prays her prayer in all its concreteness, it becomes apparent that her life as such is envisaged as a prayer. It is offered to God, as the bread of the Eucharist, as incense – pleasing to God.112

105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112.

Krueger, Writing and Holiness, pp. 128–29. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, pp. 127–29. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, pp. 130–31. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, p. 132. VMc 20,6–7; Krueger, Writing and Holiness, pp. 120–21. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, pp. 124–25; 127. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, pp. 130–31. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, p. 131; cf. p. 127.

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By extension, Krueger also sees the description of this life as an offering: if Macrina’s life itself represents an offering to God, the description of this life in the form of a vita can also be interpreted as an offering – comparable to the bread of the Eucharist.113 It means that the vita can be repeated and distributed like the ritual and the bread of the Eucharist. As a consequence, the hagiographer may be seen as a kind of priest: he offers the saint’s literary Life, the vita, to God.114 From a mystagogical perspective, however, the deepest connection between what happens in the liturgy and in the vita lies in the act of remembrance, the anamnêsis. This becomes clear when Krueger states: ‘A Christian narrative is also the story of God.’115 This statement, which integrates the life story of an individual with ‘the story of God’, that is, the Scriptures, in fact refers to what we would call ‘the mystagogical process’, which pertains to a merging of the narrative of the individual Christian, that is, one’s own life story, with the ‘story of God’ as recounted in the Scriptures.116 While the whole of the vita bears this Scriptural stamp, connecting the life of the saint to the Scriptures, the merging of these two becomes most apparent in the Final Prayer. There, as Krueger writes, Macrina ‘inscribes’ her story into God’s story.117 The readers of the vita may then be taken by the hand, in a process of ‘kheiragôgia’ (χειραγωγία), inscribing their stories into God’s story as well.

Conclusion In my view, then, the most daring mystagogical step that Gregory takes in the Vita Macrinae is in the realm of prayer, as he includes an intricate prayer, woven from biblical and liturgical threads, which the saint prays on her deathbed. The reader can subsequently appropriate the descriptions and the supplications of the prayer in the act of reading; an activity to which the use of the first person invites. The reader can repeat the words of Macrina’s prayer, as he or she would pray a Psalm or the Lord’s Prayer. In this way, Macrina’s prayer is interpreted as an exemplary prayer,

113. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, p. 132. 114. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, p. 132. 115. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, p. 121. 116. On ‘mystagogy’, see above, section 2 entitled ‘Mystagogy and Prayer’ in which I discus van Geest’s work ; see also note 20. 117. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, p. 130.

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which can, as Krueger suggests, be repeated and distributed.118 The reader can indeed pray the exact same words as Macrina in the vita, thereby extending the act of anamnêsis. In that case, not only are God’s story and Macrina’s story remembered, but the reader also calls his or her own personal story to mind, allowing all these stories to merge in the mystagogical sense mentioned above.119 In this particular prayer, we see Gregory the Mystagogue at work: he teaches his readers to pray, thereby guiding them to the core of Christianity: the movement from death to life, the transformation of body and soul – brought about by the victory on the cross and re-enacted in asceticism. In his mystagogical role, Gregory mirrors the patterns of Macrina’s mystagogy, because she had guided him first. But she, in turn, is also guided: by God – she asked for his angel of light. As she identifies with the sinner on the cross and asks ‘remember me also in your kingdom’, it seems that Christ is her true mystagogue. As in the case of Macrina, this journey of salvation may amount to both thanksgiving and the offering of one’s life as an offering of thanks. In the end, however, the ultimate act of anamnêsis is not performed by the saint, her hagiographer, or his readers – it is desired by the faithful as they ask their saviour: ‘remember me’. Thus, in the end, the ultimate act of anamnêsis is believed to be performed by Christ himself, as he remembers his own.120

118. Krueger, Writing and Holiness, p. 132. 119. See above, notes 20 and 116. Cf. also Krueger’s notion of inscribing one’s story into God’s, see note 78. 120. A more compact version of this article was published in Studia Patristica 95 (2017), pp. 165–74, entitled ‘“Teach us to pray”: Self-Understanding in Macrina’s Final Prayer’, which includes a discussion of an additional final prayer (namely, that of Polycarp in the Martyrium Polycarpi) and references to linguistics and narratology.

Chapter Nine

DESCENDING TO ASCEND: PRAYER AS INITIATION INTO DIVINE JUDGEMENT IN THE APOPHTHEGMATA PATRUM Joseph Lucas

In Late Antique Christian monasticism, there existed an interplay between scriptural exegesis and the mystagogy of prayer. Reading the Bible through the lens of asceticism, the monks looked for keys to understanding their spiritual practices. There are numerous biblical passages that deal directly with prayer, such as Jesus’ directive to ‘go into your closet to pray,’ which is generally interpreted in ascetical literature as entering into the heart when praying. But other passages are more subtle, such as Luke 18: ‘The Parable of the Publican and the Pharisee.’ And yet this parable greatly influenced the way in which monks have understood prayer. This is evident from one of the earliest and most popular ascetical texts, the Apophthegmata Patrum: Alphabetical Collection. Although the Gospel of Luke is quoted or alluded to roughly half as much as the Gospel of Matthew in this work, the parable is exceptional in that it is directly referenced four times throughout the text. The parable in its entirety reads: And [Jesus] spoke this parable unto certain which trusted in themselves that they were righteous (δίκαιοι), and despised others: ‘Two men went up into the temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican. The Pharisee stood and prayed, “God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unrighteous, adulterers, or even as this publican. I fast twice a week, I give tithes of all that I possess.” And the publican, standing afar off, would not even lift his eyes to heaven, but struck his chest, saying, “God be merciful to me a sinner.” I tell you, this man went down to his house vindicated (δεδικαιωμένος) rather than the other, for every one that exalts himself shall be humbled (ταπεινωθήσεται); and he that humbles himself shall be exalted (ὑψωθήσεται).’1

1. Luke 18:9–14.

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As interpreted by the Desert Fathers, this pericope is not simply a warning to avoid judging others; rather, it establishes a dynamic of how God will judge and vindicate (δικαιόω) his servants. For monks seeking God, the parable is transformed into a mystagogical equation which informs all aspects of their spiritual life: to exalt oneself through selfvindication leads to God’s condemnation, but to voluntarily descend through self-condemnation leads to God’s vindication. Through prayer and humility, the monk is initiated into divine judgement. As we examine the significance of Luke 18 in forming this monastic understanding of spirituality, we will simultaneously unpack a broader understanding of the matrix between prayer, humility and judgement. The history of the Apophthegmata Patrum is complicated and uncertain. The monks whose sayings are contained therein flourished in the fourth and fifth centuries. The largest number of sayings originates from the areas of Scetis and Nitria, located south of Alexandria in Egypt, with some sayings coming from regions farther down the Nile.2 It was there in the inhospitable conditions of the desert where the monastics settled in caves or huts. Some chose to live the anchoritic life, like Anthony the Great; while others settled around a wise elder, working and praying together as a community (later known as a coenobium).3 With the devastation of Scetis in 407/8, the process of compiling the sayings of the fathers likely began.4 Derwas Chitty writes, ‘Physical insecurity and a sense of moral decay gave impetus to the work, with the fear lest the great Old Men and their times be forgotten.’5 Interestingly, sayings associated with Abba Poemen account for one-seventh of the Alphabetical Collection, suggesting that his disciples may have been responsible for initiating the process of collation.6 However, scholarly consensus points to Gaza as the location where the final text was edited, a process likely completed by the end of the fifth century.7 As the Egyptian desert became increasingly hostile, and the monastics became vulnerable to attacks from bandits and warring tribes, many fled to Palestine to resume their ascetic 2. Benedicta Ward, The Sayings of the Desert Fathers (Saint Joseph: Liturgical Press, 1984), p. xviii. 3. Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony and Aryeh Kofsky, The Monastic School of Gaza (Leiden: Brill, 2006), p. 3. 4. Derwas Chitty, The Desert a City (Crestwood: SVS Press, 1966), p. 67. 5. Chitty, The Desert a City, p. 67. 6. Chitty, The Desert a City, p. 69. 7. Bitton-Ashkelony and Kofsky, Monastic School, pp. 6–8; Lucien Regnault, Les Pères du désert à travers leurs Apophtegmes (Solesmes: Abbaye Saint-Pierre de Solesmes, 1987), pp. 73–83; Graham Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993), 1–25; Douglas Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1993), pp. 86–87.

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life in a more suitable environment. Fear of losing the oral and written traditions they carried with them became the catalyst for compiling the Apophthegmata Patrum. Though the sayings reflect a diverse group of personalities from many backgrounds, representing different theological approaches, the collection as a whole exhibits a remarkable homogeneity. If we presume that the final edition was compiled and redacted by a single group in Gaza, then it is likely the editors would have selected those sayings that reflected their theological tendencies, and altered or omitted any that did not. What was copied and passed down to later readers was received as one, integral text: the first monastic manual. It is within this manual that we discover the earliest mystagogy of prayer derived from the ‘Parable of the Publican and the Pharisee’ – an idea that would influence subsequent ascetical literature. We begin with an apophthegma of Abba Ammonas: ‘[K]eep the word of the publican always in your heart, and you shall be able to be saved (δύνασαι σωθῆναι).’8 Throughout the Apophthegmata Patrum, the elders are approached with the request, ‘Give me a word that I may be saved.’ For every eager disciple who came to the desert, eternal salvation was the goal of their ascetic endeavour. They did not seek out sages to be amused by pithy witticisms; they were seeking a path to salvation. Like Jesus’ disciples in Mark 10:26, the monastics desired a personal answer to the query, ‘Who is able to be saved? (τίς δύναται σωθῆναι;)’9 According to Abba Ammonas, the monastic life modelled on that of the humble publican is the surest path to salvation. This ‘word of the publican’ is both a prayer (‘God be merciful to me a sinner’), and an action – a humbling of the soul before God. Amongst all the Christian virtues, humility is mentioned most frequently in the Apophthegmata Patrum. Humility is both the companion and goal of the spiritual life. An exemplar of humility was Abba John, called ‘the Dwarf’ on account of his short stature. Once, he was asked by his fellow monks, ‘Who sold Joseph?’ With the historia of Genesis in mind, one of the monks replied, ‘It was his brethren.’ Abba John responds, ‘No, it was his humility (ταπείνωσις) which sold him, because he could have said, “I am their 8. PG 65, col. 120; Ward, The Sayings, p. 26. Throughout this paper, citations from the Apophthegmata Patrum are loosely based on the translation of Benedicta Ward (cited above), but greatly revised or translated anew based on the text given in Migne’s Patrologia Graeca Cursus Completus. For the reader’s convenience, I will cite both sources throughout. On occasion, Ward draws additional sayings from the following work: Jean-Claude Guy, Recherches sur la tradition grecque des Apophthegmata Patrum (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1962). 9. Notice the similarity in grammatical construction between Mark 10:26 and Abba Ammonas’ statement.

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brother” and have objected; but, because he kept silence (σιωπῶν), he sold himself by his humility. It is also his humility which set him up as chief in Egypt.’10 Behind Abba John’s interpretation lays the ‘Parable of the Publican and the Pharisee’: ‘[E]very one that exalts himself shall be humbled (ταπεινωθήσεται); and he that humbles himself shall be exalted (ὑψωθήσεται).’11 In choosing the path of humility (equated here with silence, another monastic virtue) the patriarch Joseph is exalted. But something more profound is implied in the saying. Abba John does not refer to specific moments in which Joseph humbled himself; rather, he speaks of Joseph’s character in general. Joseph’s way of life radiates the virtue of humility. As the narrative in Genesis outlines, Joseph continually cooperated with God’s plan rather than opposed it. The resultant state of humility and meekness that led to his exaltation (as Pharaoh’s governor) may be taken as a metaphor for God’s exaltation and vindication, the same granted to the publican. Thus, the Desert Fathers envisaged humility as more than one virtue among many. As Abba Or states, ‘The crown of the monk is humble-mindedness (ταπεινοφροσύνη).’12 Humility is more than isolated acts; it becomes a state of being, reflected here by the coupling of ‘humble’ (ταπεινός) with ‘mindset’ (φρόνησις). Another definition of ταπεινός is ‘lowly,’ which characterizes a downward spiritual movement through repentance.13 Without entry into such a state, the efforts of the monk remain futile. In order to acquire true humble-mindedness, the Desert Fathers maintained an acute awareness of God’s impending judgement. Abba Anthony the Great tells his disciples, ‘Remember what you have promised God, for it will be required of you on the Day of Judgment (ἐν ἡμέρᾳ κρίσεως).’14 Abba Orsisius candidly cautions, ‘With difficulty shall we be able to escape the judgment of God (τὴν κρίσιν τοῦ Θεοῦ).’15 Abba Agathon advises, ‘At every hour, a man should be aware of the judgment of God (τῷ κριτηρίῳ τοῦ Θεοῦ).’16 Evagrius teaches, ‘Always keep your death in mind and do not forget the eternal judgment, then there will be no fault in your soul.’17 And Abba Silvanus receives a sobering vision of the perpetual judgement that confirms the previous sayings. While sitting with 10. PG 65, col. 212; Ward, The Sayings, p. 90. 11. Luke 14:11. 12. PG 65, col. 440; Ward, The Sayings, p. 247. 13. Consider the similar connection between the Latin ‘humus’ (ground) and the word ‘humility’, indicating this downward motion. 14. PG 65, col. 85; Ward, The Sayings, p. 8. 15. PG 65, col. 316; Ward, The Sayings, p. 161. 16. PG 65, col. 116; Ward, The Sayings, p. 24. 17. PG 65, col. 173; Ward, The Sayings, p. 64.

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some other monks, ‘he came into ecstasy (ἐγένετο ἐν ἐκστάσει) and fell with his face to the ground.’ When asked what he saw, he responds, ‘I was taken up to see the judgment (κρίσιν) and I saw there many of our kind coming to punishment (κόλασιν) and many laypersons going into the kingdom.’18 It is clear that the monks were not merely concerned about God’s judgement, but more specifically they feared the possibility of eternal condemnation (καταδίκη / κατάκρισις). To preserve spiritual vigilance or watchfulness (νῆψις) in prayer, the monastics were taught to continually meditate on death and the fearful judgement seat of Christ. The monks lived out daily the ‘inaugurated eschatology’19 of the earliest Christian communities, bringing the eternal judgement of Christ to the fore at every moment. Behind this eschatological vision is the biblical aphorism, ‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.’20 In the Apophthegmata Patrum, remembrance of judgement is synonymous with the fear of God. Abba Cronius, when asked, ‘Through what work (πράγματος) does a monk come to the fear of God?’ replies, ‘According to me, he should withdraw himself from every work and give himself to afflicting his body; and with all his strength, he should remember the departure (ἐξόδου) from his body and the judgment of God (κρίσεως τοῦ Θεοῦ).’21 Similarly, Abba Anthony teaches, ‘Always have the fear of God before your eyes; remember him who gives death (θανατοῦντος) and life (ζωογονοῦντος).’22 In contemplating death and judgement, Abba Anthony draws the end into the present; and with mindfulness of God’s judgement comes awareness of God’s constant presence. Turning to the Scriptures, the Desert Fathers looked for ways to avoid condemnation at the final judgement. The ‘Parable of the Publican and the Pharisee’ again provided the key. In a saying attributed to Epiphanius, we read: ‘The Canaanite woman cries out (βοᾷ) and is heard; and the woman with the issue of blood is silent and blessed; but the Pharisee cries out (κράζει) and he is condemned (κατακρίνεται); the publican does not open his mouth and is heard.’23 In the first example, the Canaanite woman and the haemorrhaging woman are compared. One cried out 18. PG 65, col. 408; Ward, The Sayings, p. 222. 19. The term ‘inaugurated eschatology’ was first introduced by Georges Florovsky in ‘Revelation and Interpretation’, in The Collected Works of Georges Florovsky, vol. 1 (Belmont, MA: Nordland, 1987), p. 36. Florovsky preferred this term over that coined by C.H. Dodd: ‘realized eschatology’. 20. Ps. 110/111:10; Prov. 9:10. 21. PG 65, col. 248; Ward, The Sayings, p. 115. 22. PG 65, col. 85; Ward, The Sayings, p. 8. 23. PG 65, cols. 165 and 197; Ward, The Sayings, pp. 57–58.

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from the depths of her soul, while the other preserved humble silence. Both acted in faith and humility and were in turn answered by Christ. In the second example, the arrogant and self-righteous Pharisee ‘cries out’, but in pretence. He has vindicated himself before God, usurping his master’s prerogative of judgement; but the humble self-condemnation of the publican invites God’s favour. In comparing these four characters, Epiphanius is not criticizing loquacity, nor commending silence as an end in itself (since both silence and speaking are presented in a positive light in the first example). It is the content of one’s words, thoughts and deeds that determines the judgement of God. The publican, who chooses to condemn himself to God rather than judge others, is hence vindicated. In contrast, self-vindication is depicted as an impediment to salvation. The same idea is indicated by a saying of Abba Poemen. We are told, ‘Abba Poemen said this about the slaves of Shimei (3 Kgs 2:39), “His mistake was to vindicate himself; whoever does that destroys himself.”’24 Like the Pharisee, Shimei does not admit his sin (in this case, his disobedience to Solomon, who had commanded he never leave Jerusalem). Instead, he directs blame back to Solomon. Poemen implies that Solomon would have spared Shimei had he accepted blame rather than defend himself. The Desert Fathers take this approach even further, rejecting not only vindication of one’s sins, but even the desire to rectify injustices against oneself: A brother who was wronged (ἀδικηθείς) by another brother came to Abba Sisoes, and he says to him, ‘My brother has wronged me for something and I want to avenge (ἐκδικῆσαι) myself.’ But the old man pleaded with him saying, ‘No, my child, leave vengeance to God.’ He said to him, ‘I shall not rest until I have avenged myself.’ The old man said, ‘Brother, let us pray.’ Then the old man arose and said, ‘God, we no longer need you to care for us, since we vindicate ourselves (ἐκδίκησιν ἑαυτῶν ποιοῦμεν).’ Hearing these words, the brother fell at the old man’s feet, saying, ‘I will not again vindicate myself (δικάζομαι) against my brother; forgive me, abba.’25

24. Guy, Recherches, p. 31; Ward, The Sayings, p. 195. The Greek text of the saying reads ‘sons/servants of Shimei’ (τοὺς παῖδας τοῦ Σεμεϊ), which may be a corruption or divergent reading of the biblical text. Poemen is apparently citing 3 Kings 2:39, which reads “δύο δοῦλοι τοῦ Σεμεϊ” (both in Rahlfs and Brenton LXX). Thus, in context, the saying refers initially to the two unnamed slaves of Shimei who went to Anchus (son of King Maacha), and then switches focus to their master Shimei. The slaves disobeyed, and in turn caused Shimei to disobey by leaving in order to bring them back home. In shifting attention from the slaves to their master, Poemen directs all blame to the latter. My gratitude to Dr. Hans van Loon for pointing out this textual divergence. 25. PG 65, col. 392; Ward, The Sayings, p. 212.

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This apophthegma ties together divine judgement with theodicy. The presence of injustice and evil in the world has prompted Christians in every age to question the righteousness and sovereignty ascribed to God. Abba Sisoes reminds the monk that ultimate justice depends on God, and the outcome shall be according to his will. Rather than seeking to vindicate himself against his brother, he must leave judgement to God. In another saying, Abba Agathon commends something similar. During a reading from Genesis, he overhears a fellow monk condemn the patriarch Jacob for his cunningness. Agathon replies, ‘Let be, old man. If God vindicates, who condemns? (Εἰ ὁ Θεὸς ὁ δικαιῶν, τίς ὁ κατακρίνων;).’26 This is nearly identical to Paul’s words in Romans 8: ‘God vindicates, who shall condemn? (Θεὸς ὁ δικαιῶν, τίς ὁ κατακρινῶν;)’27 It is God who chose Jacob and appointed him an heir to the covenant promises; and it is God who will vindicate Jacob at the last judgement. Abba Agathon interprets Romans in terms of God’s sovereign prerogative to judge his creatures, which precludes the monk’s right to condemn other persons. If it is right for a person to refrain from defending his actions, it is an even greater feat to condemn oneself. Whereas the former response is passive, self-condemnation is an active appropriation of repentance. Throughout the Apophthegmata Patrum, the prayer of the publican becomes a descent from self-vindication into the depths of prayerful repentance. It is simultaneously a movement away from judging others, and towards self-condemnation. Abba Poemen ‘said, groaning, “All the virtues come to this house (οἶκον) except one, and without that virtue it is hard for a man to stand.” Then they asked him, “What is it?” and he said, “For a man to blame himself (μέμψηται ἑαυτόν).”’28 His understanding of repentance is contained in the verb μέμφομαι, which literally means ‘to complain against.’29 The entrance to humility through self-condemnation is through the act of finding fault in oneself rather than others. The house that Poemen refers to is his own person; so it is himself whom he blames for not having acquired this virtue. Like a house built on an unstable foundation, a monk who does not complain against himself is unable to stand – a fall is inevitable. Abba John tells us something similar, stating, ‘We have put the light burden on one side, that is to say, blaming ourselves (ἑαυτοὺς μέμφεσθαι), and we have loaded ourselves with a heavy

26. PG 65, col. 116; Ward, The Sayings, p. 23. 27. Rom. 8:33–34. 28. PG 65, col. 356; Ward, The Sayings, p. 186. 29. A Patristic Greek Lexicon, edited by G.W.H. Lampe (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1969), p. 842.

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one, that is to say, vindicating ourselves (δικαιοῦν ἑαυτούς).’30 We may rightly ask, how is self-condemnation the lighter burden, when it would seem easier to justify one’s own actions? To vindicate oneself places one in opposition to God, and in the end results in condemnation at the last judgement, therefore making it the heavier burden. Thus, according to Abba John, we confuse the matter, not perceiving that blaming oneself is (in the outcome) the easier weight to bear. The Desert Fathers maintained an acute awareness of their unworthiness in the presence of God. Abba Matoes explains that, ‘The nearer a man draws to God, the more he sees himself a sinner. For when Isaiah the prophet saw God, he accused himself and called himself unclean (τάλαν καὶ ἀκάθαρτον ἔλεγεν ἑαυτόν).’31 The allusion is to the theophany in Isaiah 6, when the prophet ‘saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up’. Isaiah found himself standing in the presence of the living God, yet he could only think of his unworthiness: ‘Woe is me, I am undone! Because I am a man of unclean lips!’32 The prophet’s experience is confirmed by Abba Matoes. As the monk ascends to God in the spiritual life, he comes into contact with the holiness and purity of divinity. But this forces a comparison between himself and the other – between divinity and the fallen human condition – revealing how far the monk is from God. The closer the proximity to God, the more obvious sin becomes in contrast. In another saying Poemen says, ‘If a man blames himself, he is protected on all sides.’33 Self-condemnation also sets up a hedge of protection around the monk, almost like an amulet able to ward off temptation. We find the same theme in yet another of his sayings: ‘A brother said to Abba Poemen, “If I fall into a shameful transgression, my thought (λογισμός) devours and accuses me (κατηγορεῖ) saying: ‘Why have you fallen?’” The old man said to him, “At the moment when a man goes astray, if he says ‘I have sinned,’ immediately it will have ceased.”’34 Self-condemnation is repentance and the constant awareness of sin. The act of naming and confessing the sin has the power both to expunge it and to strengthen the monk so that he is less likely to fall prey to it again. The temptation immediately abates, and he is able to focus his attention once again on God. A saying of Amma Syncletica (one of the few Desert Mothers in the Apophthegmata Patrum) connects the action of self-condemnation with 30. 31. 32. 33. 34.

PG 65, col. 211; Ward, The Sayings, p. 90. PG 65, col. 289; Ward, The Sayings, p. 143. Isa. 6:5. PG 65, col. 345; Ward, The Sayings, p. 180. PG 65, col. 345; Ward, The Sayings, p. 181.

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the goal of humble-mindedness, interpreted once again through Luke 18: ‘Imitate the publican so that you will not be co-condemned (συγκατακριθῇς) with the Pharisee. Choose the meekness (πρᾶον) of Moses and you will find your heart which is stone changed into a fountain of water.’35 The second line explains the first; it is the meekness of the publican that saves him.36 According to Syncletica, the action of humbling oneself leads to a general state of humility, of which meekness and compassion (the conversion of the stony heart) are attributes. Like his fellow monks, Abba Xanthias believed that a prayer of selfcondemnation leads to salvation. He contrasts the positive words of the Good Thief with the negative deeds of Judas Iscariot. He tells his disciples, ‘The thief was on the cross and he was vindicated (ἐδικαιώθη) by a single word; and Judas, who was counted in the number of the apostles, lost all his labor in one single night and descended from Heaven to Hades. Therefore, let no one boast of his good works, for all those who trust in themselves fall.’37 Here the Good Thief secured his eternal vindication by the spoken word. But internal self-condemnation can also lead the monastic to hesychia, inner silence and stillness. Quoting Matthew 12:3, Abba Poemen states, ‘If man remembered that it is written: “By your words you will be vindicated (δικαιωθήσῃ) and by your words you will be condemned (καταδικασθήσῃ),” he would choose to remain silent (σιωπᾶν).’38 Abba Agathon concurs: ‘Whenever his thoughts urged him to judge something that he saw, he would say to himself, “Agathon, it is not your business to do that.” And thus his thought was silenced (ὁ λογισμὸς αὐτοῦ ἡσύχαζεν).’39 Judging himself, Agathon is able to resist the urge to judge others. But delving more deeply into this saying, we find that self-condemnation is also an entrance into the divine silence where the monk encounters God. A saying of Abba Moses offers further insight into the nature of voluntary self-condemnation. An inquirer asked the elder, ‘What of the fasts and vigils which a man does, what do they accomplish?’ He replied, ‘They enable the soul to be humbled (ταπεινωθῆναι). For it is written, “See my humiliation (ταπείνωσιν) and my travail (κόπον), and forgive all my 35. PG 65, col. 425; Ward, The Sayings, p. 233. 36. Although meekness is not exactly synonymous with humility, they are oftentimes used interchangeably in the Apophthegmata Patrum. 37. PG 65, col. 313; Ward, The Sayings, p. 159. The verb ἐδικαιώθη is aorist-passive, indicating an action that has occurred and been completed in the past, enacted by an external agent. In both the Septuagint and the New Testament, passive voice is often used to signify that God is the agent, and that the human party is the recipient of the action. 38. PG 65, col. 332; Ward, The Sayings, p. 173. 39. PG 65, col. 113; Ward, The Sayings, p. 23.

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sins” (Ps. 24/25:18). If the soul produces these fruits, through them God may have compassion on the soul.’40 Here the objective of asceticism is to acquire humility – it is not undertaken for its own sake. And he reveals something else by quoting the Psalm: humiliation is coupled with travail. It is through these ‘fruits’ (in the plural) that God has compassion on the soul, hence forgiving all of a person’s sins. There is a sense here that humility is acquired through an active engagement with strife and an acceptance of shame. Self-condemnation is both an internal process of descent, and an external embrace of hardships facing the monk. The lives of the Desert Fathers provide a testimony to their voluntary sacrifice of comfort and their acceptance of hardship and shame in order to find God. With his attention focused on his own sins, the monastic avoids seeing the sins of others. Caveats against condemning others are ubiquitous in the Apophthegmata Patrum. In a letter from Abba Moses to Abba Poemen we read, ‘The monk must die to his neighbor and never judge him at all, in any way whatever.’41 Abba Paphnutius asks his spiritual father Macarius the Great for a word, and is told, ‘Do no evil to anyone, and do not condemn (κατακρίνῃς) anyone. Observe this and you will be saved.’42 Likewise, Abba Isaac the Theban discovered the danger of judging others: One day Abba Isaac went to a monastery. He saw a brother falling (σφαλέντα) and he condemned (κατέκρινεν) him. When he returned to the desert, an angel of the Lord came and stood in front of the door of his cell, and said, ‘I will not let you enter.’ But he persisted, saying, ‘What is the matter?’ and the angel replied, ‘God has sent me to ask you where you want to cast the fallen brother whom you have condemned (ἔκρινας)?’ Immediately he repented and said, ‘I have sinned, forgive me.’ Then the angel said, ‘Get up, God has forgiven you. But from now on, be careful not to judge someone before God has judged him.’43

By placing himself in God’s position as judge, Abba Isaac has instead brought judgement upon himself. The action of God, mediated through an angel, is meant to bring the elder to repentance, not simply to make light of his sin. In effect, Abba Isaac is preemptively judged. But when he chooses the way of the publican rather than that of the Pharisee, he is spontaneously forgiven by God.44 40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

PG 65, col. 288; Ward, The Sayings, p. 142. PG 65, col. 288; Ward, The Sayings, p. 141. PG 65, col. 273; Ward, The Sayings, p. 133. PG 65, col. 240; Ward, The Sayings, p. 109–10. Cf. Isa. 64:6.

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A monk who prayerfully and diligently condemns himself and acquires true humility is also on the path to righteousness. (We must here remember that the verb ‘to vindicate’ and the noun ‘righteousness’ are cognates of the same Greek word: δίκαιος.) Abba Poeman states, ‘The will of man (τὸ θέλημα τοῦ ἀνθρώπου) is a brass wall between him and God, and a stone of stumbling. When a man renounces it, he also says to himself, “In my God, I pass over the wall” (Ps. 17/18:29). Therefore, if righteousness (τὸ δικαίωμα) is united with the will, a man can labor successfully.’45 Presenting us with yet another antinomy, Poemen teaches that the desire to pursue righteousness is within the grasp of a person only when he renounces his own desires. Man must redefine his will, submitting it to the righteous will of God. Righteousness (δικαιοσύνη) is depicted as a certain way of being and acting, but it is clear here that the righteousness of God precedes human righteousness, and persons must be ‘in’ (ἐν) God in order to ‘pass over the wall’. Frequently in the sayings of the Desert Fathers, the spiritual life is presented in terms of the acquisition of δικαιοσύνη. But the Desert Fathers also understand humility to be an important corrective to, and safeguard against, false righteousness. In an inspired parable that Abba Daniel receives from Abba Arsenius, we become spectators of a vision granted to the latter: [Arsenius] saw a temple and two men on horseback, opposite one another, carrying a piece of wood crosswise. They wanted to go in through the door, but could not because they held their piece of wood crosswise. Neither of them would draw back before the other, so as to carry the wood straight; so they remained outside the door. A voice said to the old man, ‘These men carry the yoke of righteousness with arrogance (ὑπερηφανίας), and do not humble themselves so as to correct themselves and walk in the humble way of Christ. So they remain outside the kingdom of God.’46

In relating this story to Abba Daniel, Arsenius is passing on the valuable lesson that righteousness and pride are antithetical. Arsenius contrasts external righteousness – the failing attributed to the Pharisees – with a true righteousness that is necessarily united to humility. 45. PG 65, cols. 333–36; Ward, The Sayings, p. 174. See Lampe, Lexicon, p. 770, for other instances of κάμνω as meaning ‘to win by toil or labor’, which best fits the context of this apophthegma. Cf. Epiphanius of Salamis, Panarion 80.4 (PG 42, col. 761C), where κάμνω is spoken of as ‘unto righteousness’ (εἰς δικαιοσύνην). 46. PG 65, cols. 100–101; Ward, The Sayings, pp. 15–16. It is interesting that ὑπερηφανία is ascribed to Satan and is listed as one of the sins he uses to destroy souls in Epistle of Barnabas 20.1. This document is generally dated to second-century Egypt, and perhaps was known by some of the Desert Fathers. Barnabas 20.2 goes on to describe sinners as ‘not knowing the reward of righteousness … nor judging righteously (κρίσει δικαίᾳ).’

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This brings us to another saying of Epiphanius, which references Luke 18: ‘God remits the debts of sinners who are penitent, for example, the sinful woman and the publican, but of the righteous man he even asks interest. This is what he says to the apostles, “Except your righteousness exceed that of the Scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matt 5:20).’47 Here the publican’s self-condemnation is synonymous with repentance. The action of the publican is set in opposition to the self-righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees. The saying is paradoxical: one’s righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees to enter the kingdom of heaven; and yet it is the penitent sinner who is pardoned of transgressions and granted salvation. Epiphanius does not resolve this tension, but leaves it to the ascetic, those who have ‘ears to hear’, to determine the meaning. Another saying that elaborates on vindication and righteousness belongs to Abba Anoub, but is contained within the sayings of Poemen.48 Anoub offers an explication of the verse, ‘All things are pure to the pure’ (Titus 1:15). He explains, ‘If a man really affirms this saying, and he sees the shortcomings of his brother, he makes his righteousness to swallow up the shortcomings (ποιεῖ τὴν δικαιοσύνην αὐτοῦ καταπιεῖν αὐτά). The brother says to him, “Of what kind is his righteousness?” The old man answered, “That he constantly blames himself (ἵνα πάντοτε καταμέμφηται ἑαυτόν).”’49 There are two complimentary components to this saying. First, there is Abba Anoub’s advice to the brother: purity is to see only the righteousness in others. In effect, humbling oneself is an active motion of placing oneself below others. Second, there is the praiseworthy trait of the other monk: his righteousness radiates from his self-condemnatory prayer. Like the publican, the monk is vindicated – deemed to be righteous – precisely because he does not consider himself so.

Reception in Later Ascetic Literature Now we will briefly examine how this spiritual approach influenced later ascetical literature in the Greek-speaking Christian East. For later generations, the Alphabetical Collection became favourite reading for ascetics throughout the Christian world, serving as a blueprint for both 47. PG 65, cols. 165–68; Ward, The Sayings, pp. 58–59. 48. In the Apophthegmata Patrum, the saying immediately before the present one is Poemen’s explanation of Titus 1:15. Abba Anoub’s interpretation, cited here, is in response to the same interlocutor who previously inquired of Poemen. 49. PG 65, col. 345; Ward, The Sayings, p. 181.

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eremitic and coenobitic monasticism. As the compilation and redaction of the Apophthegmata Patrum is generally ascribed to fifth-century Gaza, a product of the burgeoning monastic movement there, we can see their influence most acutely on three collections of writings, all attributed to the sixth- and seventh-century Levant: The Letters of Barsanuphius and John; Discourses and Sayings by Dorotheus of Gaza; and John Climacus’ Ladder of Divine Ascent. These will provide a starting point for examining the influence of the Desert Fathers on later readers. Barsanuphius was a monk from Egypt who later came to settle in the Thavatha region of Palestine.50 A monastic community sprung up around him, and he was later joined by Abba John. The two elders lived as anchorites in adjacent huts, both providing spiritual counsel to the monastic community that looked to them for guidance. Their advice was strongly influenced by the Desert Fathers, perhaps owing to Barsanuphius’ origins in Egypt. John Chryssavgis finds at least eighty direct references from the Apophthegmata Patrum in their Letters, and fifty instances in which the Desert Fathers themselves or their writings are referred to as an important foundation for the monastic life.51 Many of the same themes found in the Sayings – judgement (especially self-condemnation), humility, and the acquisition of righteousness – appear in the responses of Barsanuphius and John to various queries from monks, clergy and laypersons. To illustrate the similarity to the Desert Father’s views on prayer, humility and vindication, we shall cite two examples. The first is an answer to a question posed by the deacon in their monastic community. Barsanuphius explains that, in continually condemning yourself, your heart feels compunction in order to receive repentance. For, he who by the prophet said: ‘Be first to confess your sins, so that you may be vindicated’ (Isa. 43:26), this same one vindicates you and renders you innocent of every condemnation. Indeed, it says, ‘It is God who vindicates; who is it then that will condemn you?’ (Rom. 8:33) So, as I have on other occasions stated to you, acquire humility, obedience, and submission, and you shall be saved.52

This remarkable passage brings together all three themes examined in our study. In our second example, we see the ‘Parable of the Publican and the Pharisee’ employed to demonstrate the spiritual principle of 50. Bitton-Ashkelony and Kofsky, Monastic School, pp. 36–39. 51. Letters from the Desert, Barsanuphius & John, tr. and intr. John Chryssavgis (Crestwood: SVS Press, 2003), p. 50. 52. Chryssavgis, Letters, p. 109; Barsanuphe et Jean de Gaza: Correspondance, vol. II, Tome I, ed. P. De Angelis-Noah, F. Neyt, and L. Regnault (Paris: Institut des Sources chrétiennes, 2000), pp. 190–93 [SC 450].

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vindication by self-condemnation. Abba John responds to a brother who asks whether he should condemn another monk for sinning. He replies, ‘[W]e do not know whether through his repentance, the sinful brother will be more pleasing to God, like the publican who in an instant was saved through humility and confession. For it was the Pharisee who left condemned by his own arrogance.’53 John concludes, ‘[L]et us imitate the humility of the publican and condemn ourselves in order to be vindicated; and let us avoid the arrogance of the Pharisee in order not to be condemned.’ The parallels with the sayings of the Desert Fathers are remarkable. Abba Dorotheus was a disciple of Barsanuphius and John. In his Discourses and Sayings, he also frequently quotes from the Alphabetical Collection, and arranges his chapters according to themes emphasized by the Desert Fathers. In the chapter ‘On Fear of God,’ Dorotheus advises, ‘One forms a desire of God through fear of condemnation; this is … the starting point.’54 In the discourse ‘On Humility,’ Dorotheus again elaborates on the necessity of this virtue, and the means to acquiring it. At one point he states, ‘If a painful experience comes to a humble man, straightway he goes against himself, straightway he accuses himself as the one worthy of punishment, and he does not set about accusing anyone or putting the blame on anyone else.’55 Here Dorotheus ties humility with self-condemnation and refraining from judging others. In the discourse ‘On Refusal to Judge our Neighbour’, Dorotheus advances Luke 18 as evidence that judging others leads to condemnation. After citing the parable, he concludes, ‘It was then that he made a judgment. He condemned a person and the dispositions of his soul – to put it shortly, his whole life. Therefore, the tax-collector rather than the Pharisee went away vindicated.’56 He goes on to lament, ‘Why do we not rather judge ourselves and our own wickedness which we know so accurately and about which we have to render an account to God? Why do we usurp God’s right to judge?’57 Elsewhere, Dorotheus includes an entire discourse titled ‘On Self-Accusation,’ in which he quotes from the 53. Chryssavgis, Letters, p. 138; Barsanuphe et Jean de Gaza: Correspondance, vol. II, Tome II, ed. P. De Angelis-Noah, F. Neyt, and L. Regnault (Paris: Institut des Sources chrétiennes, 2001), p. 537 [SC 451]. 54. Dorotheos of Gaza: Discourses and Sayings, tr. and intr. Eric P. Wheeler (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1977), p. 109; Dorothée de Gaza: Oeuvres spirituelles, ed. L. Regnault and J. de Préville (Paris : Institut des Sources chrétiennes, 1963), pp. 220–21 [SC 92]. 55. Wheeler, Discourses and Sayings, p. 96; SC 92, pp. 192–93. 56. Wheeler, Discourses and Sayings, p. 132; SC 92, pp. 270–73. 57. Wheeler, Discourses and Sayings, pp. 132–33; SC 92, pp. 272–73.

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Alphabetical Collection nine times.58 And finally, in the discourse ‘On the Need for Consultation,’ he warns of the danger of self-righteousness, quoting the saying of Abba Poemen, examined above (‘The will of man is a brass wall standing between him and God’). Therein he equates the path to righteousness with relinquishing self-will and depending instead on the will of God.59 John Climacus was a near contemporary of Barsanuphius, John and Dorotheus. He worked out his salvation in the renowned monastery located on Mount Sinai. His ‘surname’ is derived from the title of his manual on the Christian spiritual life, The Ladder (κλίμαξ) of Divine Ascent, a text that likewise cites the Desert Fathers on numerous occasions. Correspondences with the latter are ubiquitous. Regarding judgement, John Climacus writes, ‘During prayer and supplication, stand with trembling like a convict standing before a judge, so that … you may extinguish the wrath of the just Judge.’60 He frequently advises self-condemnation as the means to acquiring ‘holy humility’;61 and he warns, ‘Do not be selfconfident until you hear the final judgment passed upon yourself.’62 Regarding the ‘Parable of the Publican and the Pharisee,’ John Climacus cites it twice. In the first instance, the Pharisee typifies the passion of pride and denial of God.63 And in the second instance, the Publican exemplifies humility: ‘He who asks God for less than his dessert will certainly receive more than he deserves. This is demonstrated by the publican who asked for forgiveness, but received vindication.’64 The emphasis is once again on the divine vindication of one who humbles himself in prayer. From the eighth century onwards, the corpus of Christian ascetical writings continued to multiply. The Apophthegmata Patrum, the writings of Barsanuphius and John, Dorotheus and John Climacus – along with classic works such as the Life of Anthony and John Cassian’s Institutes – were foundational for later ascetical literature. Although the traditions and teachings of the Desert Fathers became part of the common parlance of monasticism throughout Christendom, the principle of vindication by self-condemnation eventually disappeared in most places. Yet in the Eastern Orthodox Church, so much indebted to early monastic literature, a remnant of this early mystagogy has survived, being incorporated 58. Wheeler, Discourses and Sayings, pp. 140–48; SC 92, pp. 288–305. 59. Wheeler, Discourses and Sayings, pp. 123–24; SC 92, pp. 252–55. 60. The Ladder of Divine Ascent, translation by the Holy Transfiguration Monastery (Boston, 2001), p. 71; PG 88, col. 803. 61. The Ladder, p. 142; PG 88, cols. 971–72. 62. The Ladder, p. 140; PG 88, col. 967. 63. The Ladder, p. 138; PG 88, col. 966. 64. The Ladder, p. 159; PG 88, col. 999.

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into Byzantine hymnography65 and revived by later ascetics such as the contemporary elders Sophrony Sakharov of Essex66 and Paisios of Mount Athos.67 And so the reception history of Luke 18, and its elaboration as an initiation into God’s vindication and righteousness, continues into post-modernity.

65. For example, on the Sundays leading up to the Great Lent, Byzantine churches dedicate one Sunday to the ‘Publican and the Pharisee’. Some of the hymns in the Matins service preserve the tradition of vindication by self-condemnation. One such hymn is the Doxastikon of the Canon: ‘O Lord, you condemned the Pharisee who vindicated himself by boasting about his works; but you vindicated the publican who was humble, and who with sighs prayed for expiation.’ 66. For example, he interprets Luke 18 and concludes with, ‘[T]he more a man abases himself in self-condemnation, the higher God will exalt him’, see Archimandrite Sophrony Sakharov, We Shall See Him as He Is (Platina: St Herman Press, 2006), p. 78. See also my own work, Prayer of the Publican (Rollinsford: Orthodox Research Institute, 2011), pp. 83–88. 67. For example, he writes, ‘Those … who struggled spiritually … judging their own selves, are released from the trial of the righteous Judge on the Day of Judgment … When we seek to be justified in this life and avoid being rebuked, we reveal that the worldly way of thinking is still robust within us.’ See Elder Paisios of Mount Athos, Epistles, translated into English and published by The Holy Monastery Evangelist John the Theologian (Thessaloniki: Holy Monastery of the Evangelist John the Theologian, 2002), p. 142.

Chapter Ten

JOHN CHRYSOSTOM ON PRAYER, SONG, MUSIC, AND DANCE1 Henk van Vreeswijk

The Early Church used the term mystagogy for the instruction of the baptized in formalized prayers, dogma, and rituals that were kept hidden from the outside world: the ‘mysteries’. More broadly, the term also points to the transformational processes which early Christian authors envisioned to make an individual receptive to communication with the divine.2 In this ultimate movement emanating from God, Chrysostom calls baptism, as man’s answer, the first step in a long process of transformation. As Rylaarsdam puts it: The inner change and renewal of the image of God at baptism is the foundation of Chrysostom’s preaching on the Christian life. Chrysostom often quotes 2 Cor. 5:17 in his catechetical homilies as a reminder of the gift of transformation received at baptism. The starting point for the Christian life is grounded in the gracious, transforming work of Christ and the Spirit. Given our thick and sluggish nature, virtue must begin as the work of God.3

Worship plays an important part in this transformation. In ancient Israel worship already had an effect on people’s lives, according to Chrysostom. In a Letter to Olympias he writes, with reference to Israel’s exodus out of Egypt: ‘[Jews] overcame [their enemies] by playing their trumpets and singing Psalms. What happened was more a dance than a 1. I am grateful to my colleague Jaap Faber who offered corrective feedback on my English translation, and to Leo van Leijsen for his email regarding the text of a Letter to Olympias. Dr. Hans van Loon gave much support to drafts of this paper. 2. For a definition of mystagogy applied by the Netherlands Centre for Patristic Research (CPO), see Hans van Loon, Living in the Light of Christ: Mystagogy in Cyril of Alexandria’s Festal Letters (LAHR 15; The Mystagogy of the Church Fathers 4; Leuven, 2017), pp. 2 (n. 7) and 23. This definition is elaborated in Paul van Geest, ‘Studying the Mystagogy of the Fathers: An Introduction’, in Paul van Geest (ed.), Seeing through the Eyes of Faith: New Approaches to the Mystagogy of the Church Fathers (LAHR 11; The Mystagogy of the Church Fathers 3; Leuven, 2016), pp. 3–22, esp. pp. 6 and 20. 3. David Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy: The Coherence of his Theology and Preaching (Oxford Early Christian Studies; Oxford, 2014), p. 146.

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war, it was more an initiation (mystagogy) than a combat.’4 Going through the sea and the desert looked more like a dance than a war, it was a joyful journey with God’s help. Their journey must be compared with the joy of dancing, with a great festival. Playing trumpets and singing Psalms is a kind of initiation, just as is baptism.5 So the exodus from Egypt and the forty-year journey through the desert and all that happened in that period were steps in a process of growth in the Jews’ belief in God. The coming of Christ intensified this role of worship: it reorients people’s view of the world, providing a vision of a heavenly way of life on earth. In the worshipping community, heaven and earth are fused thanks to Christ’s ineffable adaptation (συγκατάβασις). O, who can tell of the bounties of Christ! On high, hosts of angels chant the divine doxology; here below, human beings array themselves in churches to sing after their example the same divine praises. On high, the Seraphim raise aloft the threefold hymn to holiness; here below, the congregation of humans direct this same hymn heavenwards. Beings from heaven and from earth become fused into one festive assembly: one thanksgiving, one exultation, one strain of blissful harmony. The inexpressible mystery of the Lord’s accommodating Incarnation (συγκατάβασις) has achieved this happy fusion, the Holy Spirit has woven this union together, this harmony of voices is the fruit of the Father’s kindly patterning. The beautiful timing of its parts it obtains from on high. Set in motion by the Trinity as by a kind of plectrum, it intones its exultant and blessed chorale, its angelic song, its incomprehensible symphony.6 The Lord is elevated above all nations (v. 4). Do you see once again the nations adopting his worship, and not simply one or two or three, but everyone in the whole world? What could be clearer than this inspired composition? Now, how is he elevated above all nations? Because we exalt him, not attributing elevation to him? Perish the thought; rather, in teachings, in worship, in adoration, in all other things, not forming any lowly notion, like the Jews, but far more exalted and more mighty. That, in fact, is what this worship is like: as far as heaven is elevated above earth, so far is this above the former. Hence he says, elevated above all nations. You see, in addition to elevating him in worship, we know also this fact, that it too is an instance of considerateness.7

4. Quod nemo laeditur 13.60–63 (CPG 4400), in A.-M. Malingrey, Jean Chrysostome: Lettre d’exil à Olympias et à tous les fidèles (SC 103; Paris, 1964), p. 124; ET: my own. 5. Chrysostom’s use of the term μυσταγωγία refers mostly to baptism and to the Eucharistic meal, e.g.: Expositiones in psalmos 48.7 (CPG 4413), in PG 55, col. 233; idem 111.7, in PG 55, col. 289; In psalmum 145.4 (CPG 4415), in PG 55, col. 224. 6. In illud: Vidi dominum hom. (CPG 4417), 1.1, in Jean Dumortier (ed.), Jean Chrysostome: Homélies sur Ozias (In illud, Vidi Dominum) (SC 277; Paris, 1981), pp. 44–46; ET: Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy, pp. 200–201. 7. Exp. in ps. 112.2, in PG 55, col. 302; ET: Robert C. Hill (ed.), St. John Chrysostom: Commentary on the Psalms, 2 vols. (Brookline, MA, 1998), vol. 2, pp. 70–71.

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God the teacher forms worshipping students in a festive assembly that unites heaven and earth. Through the sacraments and the teachings of salvation, Christ ‘welds together for us this life and the life to come.’8 The priest plays a key role in this process of teaching and learning, but as in Paul’s case, it is one of mimēsis. He imitates and participates in God’s adaptable communication of the true philosophy. Because of Christ’s ineffable adaptation, and because of baptism, new songs to God resound all over the world in prayers and choirs of the faithful; worship in heaven and worship on earth are united. It is in this context of worship as part of the transformational process, that I will discuss Chrysostom’s view of songs, music, and dance. I will start with three examples that Chrysostom holds up to the faithful: the heavenly host, martyrs, and monks. I will then discuss Chrysostom’s emphasis on singing and his rejection of instruments and dancing. And finally, I will look at the relationship between singing and spiritual transformation. Worship in Heaven and on Earth In Jesus Christ, the heavenly worship of the angels has been introduced on earth, worship in the Church participates in this, and our lives are transformed by it: We enter heaven when we enter the church; not in place, I mean, but in disposition. … For it is possible for one who is actually on earth to stand in heaven, and to see the things there, and to hear words from there. … Not only is it possible to learn … what we shall be after this, and how we shall then live, but also how we shall manage our present life. Our reason for entering into the chair of instruction is that from this place we may cleanse ourselves from the filth of the outer world.9

In a homily delivered on the feast of the martyr Philogonius, a bishop of Antioch in the first quarter of the fourth century, Chrysostom speaks about the heavenly celebrations. I say this because a feast is approaching which is the most solemn and awe-inspiring of all feasts. If one were to call it the metropolis of all feasts, one wouldn’t be wrong. What is it? The birth of Christ according to the flesh. In this feast namely Epiphany, holy Easter, Ascension and Pentecost have their beginning and their purpose.10 8. In Johannem homiliae 46.3 (CPG 4425), in PG 59, cols. 258–60; ET: Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy, p. 201. 9. In Joh. hom. 2.4, in PG 59, cols. 35–36; ET: Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy, pp. 200–201. 10. De beato Philogonio 6.3 (CPG 4319), in PG 48, col. 752; ET: Wendy Mayer and Pauline Allen, John Chrysostom (The Early Church Fathers; London–New York, 2000), p. 191.

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This homily was preached just before Christmas, 20 December, possibly in the year 386. It was also a market day, and merchants and peasants from the countryside were coming to the city to sell wheat and barley, sheep and cattle, and even clothes. This date was therefore important to the faithful and to all the inhabitants of the city.11 Chrysostom refers to the Magi, barbarians and foreigners who came from Persia to see Christ lying in the manger: ‘For if we’re present in faith we’ll certainly see him lying in the manger: this table fulfils the role of the manger. They [the Magi] brought incense; you must bring pure prayers, (which are) spiritual incense.’12 Pure prayers are needed on this feast day to give all glory to Christ and to the Father and to the Holy Spirit in songs and spoken words. The situation in Bethlehem at the time of the nativity and the feast of Philogonius are directly connected through a metaphor, and so are the assembled faithful and the choirs of heaven. And the crowd of those who come together (sc. in heaven) is both loftier and larger – it’s not composed of men from both towns and countryside, but in one place there are thousands of angels, in another millions of archangels, on one side there is a group of prophets, on another there are bands of martyrs, ranks of apostles, assemblies of the just, various communes of all those who’ve pleased God. The celebration is something truly wonderful, and greater than all (others) because the one who’s king over all this walks around in the middle of the celebration. For when Paul said: ‘To the thousands of angels in celebration’, he added, ‘and to the judge who is God of all’ (Heb. 12:23). Whoever saw a king appear at a celebration? On earth nobody has ever seen him. But in heaven those present see him continually to the extent that it’s possible, as, with his presence, he honours with the brilliance of his own glory all those who’ve come together. And while these celebrations (on earth) are often finished at midday, the celebration in heaven isn’t like that: it doesn’t wait for periods of months, or cycles of years, or a number of days, but it takes place continually, and all the blessings it contains don’t have an end, it knows no conclusion, it can’t be out of date or lose its effectiveness – it’s not subject to age or death. There’s no clamour there as there is here, no tumult, but everything is well-ordered and has an inherent discipline, just as in the case of a cithara: they send up to the Master of both parts of creation an elaborate rhythmical song sweeter than any other music, while the souls there perform the divine act of celebration as if in secret inner places and divine mysteries.13

11. Mayer and Allen, John Chrysostom, p. 184. 12. De beato Philogonio 6.3, in PG 48, col. 753; ET: Mayer and Allen, John Chrysostom, p. 192. 13. De beato Philogonio 6.1, in PG 48, col. 750; ET: Mayer and Allen, John Chrysostom, p. 187.

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Chrysostom believes that heavenly choirs are performing a song sweeter than any other music in an act of mystagogy.14 What is the meaning of these words in this context? Harkins has translated the above passage as: ‘There, as if it were in a hallowed sanctuary during the divine mysteries, the soul completes its ritual of initiation’. Harkins has commented in a note: ‘possibly a reference to baptism which makes one a child of God and heir to heaven’. He thinks of mystagogy as a process of transformation, just as baptism stands at the beginning of such a change.15 Mayer and Allen have translated the passage as: ‘while the souls there perform the divine act of celebration’.16 They have pointed to the perfection of heavenly worship because there are no disturbing influences as on earth. Shortly after the celebration of Pentecost, Chrysostom took part in a festival of the holy martyrs, and in his panegyric on the saints he pointed at the choirs of angels in heaven and their mystical songs:17 Next, with a large guard of honour they [the angels] escort them [martyrs] to the king of heaven, up to that throne that is full of considerable glory, where there are the cherubim and seraphim. … And so, since they have exhibited the greatest possible love, he [the king] greets them and they enjoy that glory; they take part in the choirs [of angels] and participate in the mystical songs.18

The martyrs sang the Sanctus in the Eucharistic liturgy on earth, and now they participate in the heavenly praise. It is the most holy ceremony of believers on earth, and of the Cherubim, Seraphim, the choirs of angels, and the martyrs, the inhabitants of heaven. They praise their Master with one pure voice, continually presenting their service. The fact that they are standing near the throne is a proof of their dignity. Just as on earth, where kings are surrounded by the most important people. They are gathered together with great rejoicing. When is the whole earth full of his glory? When the heavenly hymn descends to earth and the

14. De beato Philogonio 6.1, in PG 48, col. 750: καὶ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐκεῖ καθάπερ ἐν ἱεροῖς ἀδύτοις καὶ θείοις τισὶ μυστηρίοις τὴν θείαν τελουμένης μυσταγωγίαν; a more literal translation: ‘while the soul there performs/completes the divine mystagogy as if in sacred sanctuaries and certain divine mysteries’. 15. Paul W. Harkins, St. John Chrysostom: On the Incomprehensible Nature of God (FOTC 72; Washington, DC, 1984), p. 168, and note 15 (italics added). 16. Mayer and Allen, John Chrysostom, p. 187 (italics added). 17. Wendy Mayer and Bronwen Neil (eds.), St John Chrysostom: The Cult of the Saints (Crestwood, NY, 2006), pp. 217–18. 18. De ss. martyribus 3 (CPG 4365), in PG 50, cols. 711–12; ET: Mayer and Neil, The Cult of the Saints, p. 224.

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faithful reverently take part in the same melody and song of the choirs in heaven.19 From the day of their baptism onward, Christians are worshippers who stand in close relationship with all the inhabitants of heaven who are glorifying God. Chrysostom tells his congregation how the heavenly crowds are singing. Angels, archangels, prophets, apostles, and martyrs, all ordered in groups, send up their hymns to God in a wonderful elaborate rhythmical song sweeter than any music on earth. Their song is an initiation into the harmony and completeness of the world to come. His remarks are a call to his listeners to devote themselves to that heavenly celebration which is more harmonious and lofty than their own common practice. He points to a transformational process which makes them more receptive to this form of communication and of honouring God. Metaphorically, he compares the order of singing in heaven to the sweet music of a cithara, an instrument which he appreciates highly due to its beautiful sound and the harmony of its chords (τὴν συμφωνίαν τῆς ἁρμονίας).20

The Examples of Monks and Martyrs Monasticism is presented as the angelic life, ‘as a heavenly politeia rivaling the Hellenic ideal of the city and the benefits of Greek culture’.21 Some homilies on Matthew contain paragraphs on monks’ songs and prayers.22 They are most probably reminiscences of his own monastic 19. In Isaiam 6.2 (CPG 4416), in Jean Dumortier and Arthur Liefooghe (eds.), Jean Chrysostome: Commentaire sur Isaïe (SC 304; Paris, 1983), p. 264. 20. De Lazaro conciones 1 (CPG 4329), in PG 48, col. 963. See also Ad populum Antiochenum homiliae 4.2 (CPG 4330); De paenitentia homiliae 5.5 (CPG 4333); Exp. in ps. 41.1; 49.6; 143.4; 149.2; 150; In ps. 145.2; In Joh. hom. 1.2; In epistulam i ad Corinthios hom. 35.2 (CPG 4428). 21. Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy, p. 203. Cf. Comparatio regis et monachi 3 (CPG 4500); Adversus oppugnatores uitae monasticae lib. 3.11 (CPG 4307), in PG 47, col. 367; idem 3.18, in PG 47, col. 379; idem 3.19, in PG 47, col. 381. 22. Robert Taft, The Liturgy of the Hours in East and West: The Origins of the Divine Office and its Meaning for Today (2nd ed.; Collegeville, MN, 1993), p. 364: ‘The monks’ psalms were not chants of praise in the mouth of the Church, as in cathedral prayer, but God’s Word on which to meditate before turning to him with prayerful response. Only later is the monastic psalmody seen as the Church’s prayer to God, our message to him, thus approaching the cathedral notion of morning praise and evensong. … Of course the two ideas are not opposed, for God is indeed glorified in the liturgy by us – but only insofar as we are sanctified by his grace, for our glorification of him is his gift to us, not ours to him. But this shift of accent is worth noting, for we thus arrive at a cultic notion of monastic psalmody that is simply not found in monastic texts of the late fourth and early fifth century.’ See Reiner Kaczynski, Das Wort Gottes in Liturgie und Alltag

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days between 371 and 376.23 After they wake up, monks who live in the surroundings of Antioch start the day by singing the glory of God. They turn the night into day by their prayers of thanksgiving and Psalmsinging.24 The life of the monks looks much more like that of the angels in heaven. Immediately after waking up they form a chorus, and all of them together, with a clear conscience and from one mouth, in hymns praise the glory of God the Creator for his mercy. Is there a distinction between the angels and the choir of these men, who on earth praise God and sing: ‘Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good pleasure in people’? When they have sung their songs, they kneel down and praise the Lord.25

In a baptismal instruction, he refers to Syriac-speaking monks from the countryside near Antioch.26 Therefore, let us not look simply at their appearance and the language they speak, while we overlook the virtue of their lives. Let us observe carefully the angelic life they lead and the love of wisdom shown in their way of life. They have driven out of their lives all soft and gluttonous self-indulgence. They have not only put these things aside but also all the slack conduct commonly found in the cities. They eat only as much as can suffice to sustain life, and all the rest of their time they occupy their minds in hymns and constant prayers, imitating in this the angels’ way of life. Just as those immaterial powers have for their one and only task to sing in every way the praises of the Creator of all things, so too these wonderful men support the needs of the body only because they are bound to the flesh, but all the rest of the time they devote to hymns and prayers. They have said a long farewell to the ostentation of the present life and, by the excellence of their conduct, they strive to lead their subjects to imitate them. Who could count them as blessed as they deserve to be counted blessed? They have no share in the world’s teaching, but they have been taught the true wisdom and have shown in deeds the fulfilment of the Apostle’s word: The foolishness of God is wiser than man.27

der Gemeinden des Johannes Chrysostomus (Freiburger theologische Studien 94; Freiburg–Basel–Vienna, 1974), pp. 89–111. 23. Taft, Liturgy of the Hours, p. 80: Chrysostom provides a description of the monastic office in Antioch before 397. 24. In Matthaeum hom. 55.6 (CPG 4424), in PG 57, cols. 547–49; ET: my own. 25. In Matt. hom. 68.3, in PG 57, cols. 643–44; ET: my own. 26. Paul W. Harkins, St. John Chrysostom: Baptismal Instructions (ACW 31; New York, 1963), pp. 281–82, note 4. 27. Catecheses ad illuminandos, hom. 8.4–5 (CPG 4472), in Antoine Wenger (ed.), Jean Chrysostome: Huit catéchèses baptismales inédites (SC 50bis; Paris, 2005), pp. 249– 50; ET: ACW 31, pp. 120–21.

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These faithful on earth, assembled in worship, join the heavenly powers.28 Their buildings are the dwelling places of the saints, where endless Psalms are chanted, holy vigils are held, and spiritual teaching is imparted to the members. The Church is full of those pious human beings, who are filled with the fear of God and thus desire to be martyrs and seek the future life (instead of the present one), in order to have intimate communion with the saints. Members of the Church realize that their possessions are with Christ (God) in heaven, according to Heb. 10:34. In the Church, Christians receive great lessons in virtue and prudence from the patience and faith of the saints, and the former learn to imitate the latter.29 One of the martyrs who were held up as examples to the faithful was Romanus, most probably a member of the clergy of Caesarea, who was martyred under Diocletian in the early fourth century when he passed through Antioch.30 In a homily delivered on the feast of this saint, Chrysostom describes Romanus as ‘a man without his tongue’ (because it was cut out) and yet as ‘a spiritual flute (αὐλός)’. Where now are those who don’t believe in the resurrection of the body? See! His [Romanus’] voice both died and rose again, and both these things occurred at a single moment in time. And yet this is a far greater thing than the resurrection of the body. For there, the bodies’ elementary substance is a fixed principle, while only the combination of parts breaks down; here the very basis of the voice was removed, yet even so it became in turn more brilliant. And yet, if you remove the reeds of a flute, the instrument afterwards lies useless. But not so the spiritual flute. Instead, even with its tongue removed, not only was it not voiceless, but it released an even more melodious and mystical tune, and to greater astonishment. And again, in the case of a cithara, if one just takes away the plectrum, the player becomes idle, the art useless, the instrument pointless. Yet here it is nothing like that, but entirely the opposite. For truly his mouth was a cithara, his tongue a plectrum, his soul a player, and his confession an art. Yet even when his plectrum was removed – I mean his tongue – neither the player, nor the art, nor the instrument became useless, but everything demonstrated its own capacity. ‘Out of the mouth of infants and babes you have furnished praise’ (Ps 8:2–3a). And so then [it was] out of the mouth of infants and babes, now out of a tongueless mouth. Then [it was] an immature creature, now a vacant mouth. Then the root in the children was tender, but the fruit

28. See also In illud: Vidi dominum hom. 1.1; 1.2; 1.3; 6.4 (CPG 4417). In Matt. hom. 19.5 (CPG 4424); In epistulam ad Ephesios hom. 14.4; 23.3 (CPG 4431). 29. Gus George Christo, The Church Identity Established through Images according to Saint John Chrysostom (Patristic Theological Library 2; Rollinsford, NH, 2006), p. 105. 30. Mayer and Neil, The Cult of the Saints, p. 227.

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perfected. Here even the root itself was removed and the production of fruit not hindered. For voice is a tongue’s fruit.31

In this sermon on the annual day of commemoration of the martyr, Chrysostom elevates this hero into an instrument of God’s glory. The life and death of this spiritual flute are his instruments. Chrysostom uses a metaphor to emphasize a more melodic and mystical tune that is proper to the meeting of the angels and the faithful in worship. Heaven and earth come together in singing holy hymns to God. Just as the young children in Psalm 8 bear perfect fruit, so did Romanus. In bringing their praises to God, the martyrs and the angels and the members of the congregation on earth are all perfectly united together.32

Singing and Instruments It is remarkable that Chrysostom, when referring to heavenly hymns and to singing monks, does not mention any accompanying instruments except as metaphors. The question arises: does Chrysostom regard vocal music as the exclusive form of glorifying God in heaven and on earth? Does he systematically overlook accompanying musical instruments when interpreting biblical texts? Does he regard instruments only as metaphors and in that way emphasize vocal music? To answer these questions, we will see how he deals with instruments whenever they appear in texts from the Old and New Testaments, in the context of the local culture. In a sermon preached at the reburial of the relics of martyrs in Drypnia, near Constantinople, during his period as bishop of Constantinople, he speaks about the instruments that Miriam and the women used after they had crossed the sea (Exodus 15:20–21): She [Miriam] did this [sang a song] wielding cymbals; you’ve done it with your mind and soul resounding louder than a trumpet. … She did this leading forth a single nation of like tongue; you’ve done it leading countless nations of different tongues. I say this because you’ve led forth for us countless choruses, who struck up the psalms of David, some in the Roman

31. In s. Romanum 1.4 (CPG 4353), in PG 50, cols. 611–12; ET: Mayer and Neil, The Cult of the Saints, pp. 235–36. 32. De statuis hom. 6.5 (CPG 4330), in PG 49, cols. 87–89. See also De ss. martyribus 1 (CPG 4357); In illud: Habentes eundem spiritum (2 Cor. 4:13), hom. 1.4 (CPG 4383); Exp. in ps. 148.1 (CPG 4413); In ps. 145.3 (CPG 4415); Catechesis de iuramento II.9.59–61 (CPG 4461), in Auguste Piédagnel and Louis Doutreleau (eds.), Jean Chrysostome: Trois catéchèses baptismales (SC 366; Paris, 1990), p. 204.

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Singing is the only element that matters. Cymbals are metaphors of the spirit and the soul of the singers, their voices sound louder than a trumpet. The singing of people in Constantinople is not limited to Hebrew or Greek, as the main languages of the books of the Bible, but Roman, Syriac and other languages are also suited to sing the songs of David. They all hold the same lyre, that of David. This metaphor underlines the unity of their singing, but it is no indication of an instrument that accompanies the singing. In the Book of Psalms harp and lyre generally accompany songs sung to God.34 In Greek culture, the theatre was the central place of singing, music, and dance, and singers were usually accompanied by instruments. These forms were familiar to Chrysostom’s audience. Despite these practices the bishop’s message is clear: vocal music is better than other forms of music. Although he does not pronounce a verdict on instruments, he indicates his preference by emphasizing songs and singing. Often, Chrysostom uses instruments as metaphors of something else. We have already seen that Romanus’ tongue was compared to a plectrum. This image returns elsewhere: Let no harpist, no lyre player be so attentive to the proceedings, at the moment of going on stage, fearful of some dissonance being played, as we at the point of our entrance [by prayer] to the assembly of the angels. Let the plectrum be our tongue, which would utter nothing unpleasant but only harmonious and tuneful sounds accompanied by due attention. 35

Chrysostom compares the appropriate attention to worship with that of musicians in the Greek theatre before they go on stage. When they engage in worship, the faithful make their entrance into the assembly of the angels. Their tongues produce only harmonious and tuneful sounds; he uses the metaphor to call on them to be attentive listeners.

33. ‘Vndecim nouae’ hom. (1) Homilia dicta postquam reliquiae martyrum 2.3 (CPG 4441), in PG 63, cols. 471–72; ET: Mayer and Allen, John Chrysostom, p. 91. 34. Exp. in ps. 4.4; 46.5; 49.6; 136.1; 146.2; 150 (CPG 4413). Chrysostom mentions the flute as an instrument, e.g., In ps. 145.3 (CPG 4415). 35. Exp. in ps. 4.4, in PG 55, col. 46; ET: Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 1, p. 53.

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In his commentaries on Psalms 149 and 150, Chrysostom gives a reason for why he takes instruments in Old Testament texts as metaphors: This was the way in olden times, too, they were taught to sing praise to God in harmony, trained on all occasions for love and concord: Let them make melody to him on drum and harp. Some commentators also take the mention of these instruments in a spiritual sense and say that the drum implies the mortification of our flesh, while the harp has reference to heaven, this instrument being played on high, not here below, like the lyre. I would say this, on the other hand, that in ancient times they were led by these instruments owing to the dullness of their thinking and their recent conversion from idols.36 Then it is that a person becomes a tuneful lyre, offering to God a kind of harmonious and spiritual melody. Those instruments were entrusted to them at that time for that reason, on account of their frailty and to temper their spirits in line with love and harmony, and to stir up their minds to perform with satisfaction what contributed to their welfare, and were intended to lead them to great zeal through such persuasion. To cope with their sluggishness, indifference and despondency, God planned to awaken them by this device, injecting sweetness of music into the stiffness of their resistance.37

Some commentators (e.g. Origen) interpreted instruments in a spiritual sense. Chrysostom’s more historical comment is as follows: there is a difference in time between the Old Testament and now, the time of the Church. To praise the name of God with drum and harp, and to make music with instruments, is the way of former times. Jews were people of dullness of thinking, their conversion from idols had only happened a short time ago. In his own age, however, musical instruments are associated with paganism and with a perverted form of worship. Even at a time of Christian rulers, The theory is the same: in place of the ruler, the inhabitants of the city pay honor to the idols. The inducement to worship is the revelry, the daily and nocturnal feasts, the flutes and kettledrums, the license to use obscene language and to act even more obscenely, gluttony to the point of bursting, delirium from intoxication, degeneration into most shameful madness. These disgraceful expenditures are keeping the decrepit system of error from total collapse.38 36. Exp. in ps. 149.2, in PG 55, col. 494; ET: Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 2, p. 377. 37. Exp. in ps. 150, in PG 55, col. 497; ET: Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 2, pp. 382–83. 38. De s. Babyla contra Iulianum et gentiles 43 (CPG 4348), in M.A. Schatkin, Cécile Blanc, and Bernard Grillet (eds.), Jean Chrysostome: Discours sur Babylas (SC 362; Paris, 1990), p. 144; ET: Margaret A. Schatkin and Paul W. Harkins, Saint John Chrysostom: Apologist (FOTC 73; Washington, DC, 1983), pp. 99–100.

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So Chrysostom has an enduring problem of convincing his flock to decide to overcome their old habits in the name of Jesus Christ and to live a new life in an old world as born-again Christians. He thinks of his era as a new era with new rules. One of these rules is: there should be no instruments in the congregation to accompany the songs. In his opinion the time of the instruments in worship has passed, praising God is a fully spiritual activity, exclusively performed by vocal music.39 Instruments occur in great number in Psalm 150:3–5: ‘Praise him with trumpet sound; praise him with harp and lyre! Praise him with drum and dance; praise him with strings and instrument! Praise him with tuneful cymbals; praise him with loud clashing cymbals! Let all breath praise the Lord.’40 Once more Chrysostom interprets them literally for the period of the Old Testament, but figuratively for the faithful in his own time: He [the Psalmist] ‘activates all the instruments, and urges music to be offered on them all, inflaming and stirring up their mind. So just as he urges the Jews to praise God with all the instruments, so he urges us to do so with all our bodily parts – eye, tongue, hearing, hand.’41 The instruments are interpreted as metaphors to underline the need of parts of the body to praise God. Feet are praised when they run, not after wickedness but for the performing of good works. But he does not mention feet as parts of the body that can be used for dancing, just as Miriam and the women did at the Red Sea. Another question arises: is there vocal and instrumental music in heaven (Rev. 5:8, citharas; 8:2, trumpets), but no accompanied singing? Some of the texts mentioned above hint at the singing of the heavenly angels without accompanying instruments. The following text also suggests this, when it compares singing in the theatres with that of the monks: Come let us also therefore compare the company that is made up of harlot women, and prostituted youths on the stage, and this same that consists of these blessed ones in regard of pleasure, for which most of all, many of the 39. Chrysostom’s opinion is in accordance with the tradition of the Eastern Churches from the beginning. See Johannes Quasten, Musik und Gesang in den Kulten der heidnischen Antike und christlichen Frühzeit (LQF 25; Münster, 1930), p. 100; James W. McKinnon, The Church Fathers and Musical Instruments (PhD diss., Columbia University; New York, 1965), pp. 171–209; Kaczynski, Das Wort Gottes in Liturgie und Alltag, pp. 263–64; Egon Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography (2nd ed.; Oxford, 1998), pp. 29–45. 40. English translations are taken from Albert Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright (eds.), A New English Translation of the Septuagint and the Other Greek Translations Traditionally Included under That Title (New York–Oxford, 2007). 41. Exp. in ps. 150, in PG 55, col. 497; ET: Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 2, p. 382.

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careless youths are taken in their snares. For we shall find the difference as great as if anyone heard angels singing above that all-harmonious melody of theirs, and dogs and swines howling and grunting on the dunghill. For by the mouths of these Christ speaketh, by their tongues the devil. But is the sound of pipes joined to them with unmeaning noise, and unpleasing show, when cheeks are puffed out, and their strings stretched to breaking? But here the grace of the Spirit pours forth a sound, using, instead of flute or lyre or pipes, the lips of the saints.42

The choirs of the monks that sing hymns of glory to God are like the angels, singing their all-harmonious melody. Metaphorically, the grace of the Spirit on the lips of these holy men on earth takes the place of the sounds of flute, lyre, or pipes on the stage in the theatre.

No Dancing, but Silent Reverence Not only should Christian singing be unaccompanied by instruments, according to Chrysostom, neither is there any place for dancing in the congregation. In his exposition of Psalm 148 he refers to Moses, who after crossing the sea sang with the Israelites, ‘Let us sing to the Lord, for gloriously he has glorified himself’ (Exodus 15:1), and to Miriam, who ‘took the tambourine in her hand, and all the women went out after her with tambourines and dances’ (Exodus 15:20), but he omits the dances and merely mentions vocal singing: ‘It is possible also to give glory through the tongue, as Moses also gave glory with Miriam in the words: “Let us sing to the Lord: he is gloriously glorified”’.43 The same thing applies to his commentary on Psalm 149:3, ‘Let them praise his name with a dance; with drum and harp let them make music to him.’ Chrysostom reads the word for dance (ἐν χορῷ) in the text and comments that ‘Note once again as well this harmony shining through: choirs have the purpose of allowing everyone in concert to offer praise with one accord.’ And these choirs are the singing congregations in Antioch.44 So he emphasizes the importance of song in worship, stresses that choirs need harmony, but overlooks the element of dance from the text. Is this a mere omission? I think it is a deliberate choice. 42. In Matt. hom. 68.4, in PG 57, col. 645; ET: Philip Schaff (ed.), Chrysostom: Homilies on the Gospel of Saint Matthew (NPNF I, 10; Peabody, MA, 1994), p. 418. 43. Exp. in ps. 148.1, in PG 55, col. 486; ET: Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 2, p. 366. 44. Exp. in ps. 149, in PG 55, col. 494; ET: Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 2, p. 377.

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Chrysostom denounces dancing explicitly in a sermon on wedding ceremonies. He warns against licentious dancing at such feasts in the city, which is typical of non-Christians and is a temptation for the members of his own congregation. What need is there for dancing? Dances are found in the pagan mysteries, but among us there is silence and decency, modesty and peacefulness. The mystery we celebrate is a great mystery. Out with the harlots, out with the unclean! How great a mystery it is! Two come together and form one. Why no dancing when the bride enters? Why no cymbals? Why only profound silence and calm? When you gather, making not a lifeless image or the image of an earthly creature but becoming the image of God himself, why do you introduce such a pagan uproar, disturbing those present and filling their souls with shame and confusion? … Tell me, do you celebrate the mystery of Christ and then invite the devil? … Where flutists are, there Christ is not. Even if he should come, he first expels the flutists and only then he does wonders [cf. Matt. 9:23–24]. What can be more disagreeable than such diabolical pomp?45

The celebration of the mystery of Christ (the wedding) is not compatible with typical forms of the pagan mystery such as dancing, the presence of harlots, flutists, and cymbals. Chrysostom calls these forms ‘such diabolic pomp’. Instead of the pagan noise he argues for deep silence, modesty, and peacefulness in wedding celebrations. The image of God which is imprinted upon the faithful has no need of dancing.46 The call to reverent silence which permits the words of the songs to sink in recurs several times in Chrysostom’s writings. His commentary on Psalm 8 contains the following passage: Now keep silence, and listen carefully. In the theater, when satanic choirs sing, a deadly silence falls so that people may hear those dreadful songs. The choir is supported by men acting and dancing, some unholy musician among them leads them in the performance, some pernicious satanic song is performed, celebrating an evil and disgusting demon. In this church, on the contrary, the choir is composed of holy men, the choirmaster is the inspired author, the song comes not from satanic impulse but from spiritual grace, it is not a demon that is celebrated but God. … After all, we are fellow worshippers with the powers above. Those heavenly choirs, 45. In epistulam ad Colossenses hom. 12.5 (CPG 4433), in PG 62, cols. 387–88; ET: Lawrence J. Johnson, Worship in the Early Church: An Anthology of Historical Sources, 4 vols. (Collegeville, MN, 2009), vol. 2, p. 187. 46. See also In Acta apostolorum hom. 24.4 (CPG 4426), in PG 60, col. 19, where Chrysostom blames his hearers: ‘here you come, not to a diversion, not to act in dance, and yet you stand disorderly. Don’t you know that you are standing in company with angels? With them you chant, with them you sing hymns, and do you stand laughing?’; ET: Charles Marriot, Homilies on the Acts of the Apostles by John Chrysostom (Gorgias Occasional Historical Commentaries 17–18; Piscataway, NJ, 2011), p. 355.

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you see, both Cherubim and Seraphim, have this charge, to sing God’s praise constantly. Singers from those choirs appeared even on earth in the company of shepherds at their watch.47

It is quite remarkable that Chrysostom mentions the silence in the theatre as an example of what worship in church should be like. This holy practice is based on that of the angels, which we know about through their singing near Bethlehem. ‘Praise him’ is an obligation for all in heaven and on earth, and that singing needs deep silence. More than once in his homilies Chrysostom complains about noise during the services. In the theatre, that disgusting place, there is deadly silence when the audience listens to a pernicious song. But here in the holy congregation we listen to the voice of God and yet there is a lot of noise. In his mystagogy the preacher does not hesitate to shock his audience. But he also refers to the hymns in the monastic hours, those songs of splendid beauty: ‘They [monks] … sing the prophetic hymns in great harmony, with clean melodies. Neither a lyre, nor a flute, nor any other musical instrument, can make us hear such a sound, as the singing saints do in deep rest and isolation. And their songs are appropriate and full of the love of God.’48 Chrysostom wants to transform his congregation by the example of the piety and beauty of the monks’ singing. He confronts his faithful with monks in the performance of their worship in deep calm and full of concentration. There is no clamour there as there is here, no tumult, but everything is well-ordered and has an inherent discipline. It may be added that it seems that Chrysostom’s view of song, music, and dance is not merely typical of his personal theology and belief, but that his views are shared by his orthodox colleagues Ambrose, Augustine, and Basil of Caesarea.49

47. Exp. in ps. 8.1, in PG 55, col. 106; ET: Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 1, p. 154. See also In Matt. hom. 25.3; 35.1; In ascensionem d. n. Iesu Christi 4 (CPG 4342), in PG 50, col. 449. In Col. hom. 3.4 (CPG 4433), in PG 62, cols. 321–23; idem, 9.3, in PG 62, cols. 364–66. 48. In 1 Tim. hom 14.4 (CPG 4436), in PG 62, cols. 575–77; ET: my own. 49. See Johannes Eberhardt and Ansgar Franz, ‘Musik II’; Antonio Roumpi, Ourania Zachartzi, and Maria Alexandru, ‘Musik III’, in Georg Schöllgen (ed.), Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum (Stuttgart, 2013), vol. 25, cols. 247–345. Frank R. Trombley, Hellenic Religion and Christianization C. 370–529, vol. 2 (Boston–Leiden, 2001), pp. 120– 22, referring to letters of complaint by Basil of Caesarea in 372 on the style of singing and dancing of young men and women at the festival of Venasa in the region around Caesarea. Johnson, Worship in the Early Church, vol. 2, p. 19: Ambrose of Milan, De Helia et ieiunio 15.55. Idem, vol. 2, p. 24: Ambrose of Milan, De Abraham II.6.42–43. Idem, vol. 3, p. 79: Augustine of Hippo, Sermon 305A: On the Solemnity of the Martyr

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Chrysostom calls the faithful to sing the glories of God, but also underlines that their singing should be a sign of the presence of the Spirit, and of a new way of thinking and living. Referring to Ephesians 5:18–19 (‘And do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit, addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with your heart’),50 he speaks of singing as a gift of the Spirit in the hearts of the faithful: ‘Passover is a spiritual drunkenness. St. Paul does not say: take part in the Spirit, but: be filled by the Spirit. Fill your thinking with the Spirit as a bowl, up to the rim, that the Devil cannot add anything more; … be filled with the Spirit in Psalms, hymns, spiritual songs, of those you are filled today.’51 Praying and singing to the glory of God are the outcome of an inner drive of the heart, a spiritual inspiration. If our hearts are filled with the Spirit, there is no place left that can be filled by the Devil. Psalm 146/147:1 prompts him to argue that their songs should be accompanied by a transformation of their lives: Praise the Lord, because a psalm of praise is good (v. l). Previously, in Psalm 144 he said, ‘Great is the Lord and highly to be praised,’ and had a lot to say about his glory. Here, on the other hand, he shows that praising in itself is good and the psalm responsible for many good things: it separates his mind from the earth and gives his soul wings, rendering them light and airborne. Hence Paul also says, ‘Singing and making melody in your hearts to the Lord.’ May praise be pleasing to our God. A different version, ‘Alleluia, because singing to God is good.’ What is the meaning of May praise be pleasing to our God? May it be acceptable he is saying: it is not sufficient simply to sing for the song to be pleasing to God; rather, there is need also of the singer’s life and prayer and strict observance. 52

And similarly in his commentary on Psalm 149:1: ‘Praise of him in the assembly of the holy ones. Do you see how he [God] is looking for thanksgiving in life and action, and draws these people into the chorus of those singing praise? It is not sufficient, you see, to give thanks in word only if virtue in action does not accompany it.’53 Chrysostom is positive about Lawrence. Idem, pp. 80–81: Augustine of Hippo, Sermon 311: On the Feast of the Martyr Cyprian II.5, and Sermon 326: On the Feast of the Martyrs. 50. Translations of New Testament texts in the New Revised Standard Version Bible. 51. De resurrectione d. n. Iesu Christi 2 (CPG 4341), in PG 50, cols. 435–36; ET: my own (italics added). 52. Exp. in ps. 146.1, in PG 55, col. 475; ET: Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 2, p. 350. 53. Exp. in ps. 149.1, in PG 55, col. 493; ET: Hill, Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 2, p. 376.

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‘singing and making melody to the Lord with your heart’,54 but also stresses the need of prayer and the careful following of God’s rules. Those who want to be pleasing to God have to devote their whole lives to him. Here he underlines the relationship of prayer and song with mystagogy, and he stresses the importance of living in accordance with the will of God. Singing as an expression of a changed life is also present in a sermon preached after the earthquake of 398, in which Chrysostom compares the singing of citizens in the streets of Antioch to Paul’s and Silas’s hymns in prison: How were you harmed by being grieved for a short time? You became angels instead of humans. You were moved toward heaven, even if not in place, at least in character. … No one assaults his neighbor, no one goes off to satanic symposiums. The houses are pure; the marketplace has been cleansed. Evening arrives, and nowhere are there choruses of young men singing the songs of the theater. Yet there are choruses, though not of licentiousness; choruses, but of virtues. And it is possible to hear the singing of psalms in the marketplace, and [to hear] those sitting at home, one singing psalms, another hymning. Night arrives, and all [run] to the church, the waveless harbor, the calm that has been freed of waves. I was thinking that, after the first or second day, sleeplessness had overcome your bodies. But as it is, your yearning increases to the degree that your sleeplessness is strained. Those who were singing psalms to you grew weary, and you are renewed. Those singing psalms to you grew exhausted, and you were strengthened. Tell me: where now are the wealthy? Let them learn the philosophy of the poor. For they sleep, but the poor do not sleep on the ground, but bend their knees, mimicking Paul and Silas. But they sung psalms and shook the prison; you sung psalms, and made the city that was shaken firm. The outcomes are contrary to the circumstances, yet both are for the glory of God.55

The earthquake changed the daily lives of the inhabitants of Antioch, in a kind of mystagogical way. Chrysostom notices a change of mind in the metropolis; people had begun to perform new practices. He gives examples to explain his point: symposiums have no visitors any longer, and you can hear and see the joy of heaven in the marketplace and in the houses. There are choruses, but now of young men who are singing songs of virtue instead of the songs of the theatre. There may be some rhetorical exaggeration in this, but it is clear that he is very happy with this alteration after days of living in fear and trembling. 54. See also Exp. in ps. 149; 150; In I Tim. hom. 14,4. Cf. Johnson, Worship in the Early Church, vol. 1, p. 260 (Clement of Alexandria, The Tutor of Children II.4.41); vol. 2, p. 19 (Ambrose of Milan, De Helia et ieiunio XV.55). 55. De terrae motu (CPG 4366), in PG 50, col. 715; ET: Bryson Sewell, http://www. roger-pearse.com/weblog/?s=de+terra+motu (28 August 2013). The same reference in Exp. in ps. 41.1; Hom. in Genesim 30.6 (CPG 4409); In ps. 145.3; In Eph. hom. 8.8 (CPG 4431).

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He also refers to what happened in the jail at Philippi. Songs of thanksgiving were the sign of a great inner freedom of the apostles in spite of their difficult situation. Singing the glory of God is not only part of church services, but it is present in the city of Antioch and at family tables. Rich people in Antioch sleep, but the poor bend their knees, following the example of Paul and Silas. As they sang, the prison in Philippi shook. The faithful now sing Psalms and make the shaken city firm. There are differences in situation between the apostles in prison and the people in the metropolis after the earthquake, but their singing the glory of God is a sign of a new development.

Concluding Remarks Prayer and singing play an important role in John Chrysostom’s mystagogy, in his attempts to put his congregation on the way of transformation to a new relationship with God and Christ.56 The heavenly prayers and songs of the angels and the martyrs are the prototypes, and the praises and practices of the monks are held up as examples through which he wants to renew his congregation. He declares instruments to belong to former times. In the current age, praising God is a fully spiritual activity that has to be performed by vocal music. When instruments are mentioned in the Scriptures, he either ignores them or turns them into metaphors. They stand, for example, for the parts of our bodies. But the feet are only praised when they run, not after wickedness, but to do good works. Therefore, dancing is out of the question; when it occurs in Scripture, for example, in Exodus 15, he omits the statement in his interpretation. The ultimate aim of his mission is to build up a reformed church in a transformed city, both of which should reflect and embody the central tenets of Christianity. Chrysostom’s rhetorical skills are constantly stretched in an effort to achieve it.57

56. See also In Joh. hom. 26.1; In I Cor. hom. 3.3; 7.9; 24.5; In 1 Tim. hom. 6.2. 57. The subject of a reformed church in a transformed city is discussed in more detail in my forthcoming PhD dissertation on the contribution of John Chrysostom to the growing church, and that of Libanius to the relics of paganism in Antioch at the end of the fourth century, with special attention to music and song. See also Aideen M. Hartney, John Chrysostom and the Transformation of the City (London, 2004), pp. 177–81; Jaclyn L. Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity: John Chrysostom and His Congregation in Antioch (Cambridge, UK, 2006), pp. 90–92; 113–15; Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy, pp. 218–27.

Chapter Eleven

‘IN THE POSTURE OF ONE WHO PRAYS’: THE ORANS POSITION IN THEODORE OF MOPSUESTIA’S BAPTISMAL RITE Nathan Witkamp

1. Introduction By the end of the fourth century, Christian initiation had developed into an awe-inspiring1 rite of passage involving not only the soul, but the body as well. The baptismal rite as known to Theodore of Mopsuestia – described in his three baptismal homilies2 – is an interesting example of such a life-changing ritual experience. Perhaps due in part to his elaborate writing style, Theodore dedicates much more attention to the physical postures taken by the candidates during the rite than do other sources from Syro-Palestine. What is of prime interest here is that this West Syrian mystagogue explicitly mentions that the candidate is standing or 1. Cf. Edward Yarnold, SJ, The Awe-Inspiring Rites of Initiation. The Origins of the R.C.I.A (2nd ed.; Collegeville, 1994). 2. The Homiliae catecheticae (Liber ad baptizandos) 12–14 (out of sixteen in total). The text is extant only in one fourteenth-century Syriac manuscript (Birmingham, Selly Oak Colleges’ Library, Mingana Syr. 561, fols. 81r to 116r), which was discovered and published by Alphonse Mingana, together with an English translation: The Commentary of Theodore of Mopsuestia on the Lord’s Prayer and on the Sacraments of Baptism and the Eucharist (WS 6; Cambridge, 1933) (contains homilies 11–16). A French translation together with a facsimile of the Syriac manuscript can be found in Raymond Tonneau, O.P. and Robert Devreesse (eds.), Les Homélies Catéchétiques de Théodore de Mopsueste (ST 145; Vatican City, 1949). A German edition, without the Syriac text, can be found in Peter Bruns, Theodor von Mopsuestia. Katechetische Homilien (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1995). In this paper I have used Mingana’s Syriac text and English translation, and have critically compared it with the editions by Tonneau and Devreesse, and Bruns where necessary. Tonneau and Devreesse divided the text into sections. Although this system is helpful (and I have also used it in the present paper), it is not very precise. For practical reasons, therefore, the reference to Mingana’s edition consists of both page and line number (separated by a colon, for example 56:10). For an elaborate study of Theodore of Mopsuestia’s baptismal rite and mystagogy, see Nathan Witkamp, Tradition and Innovation: Baptismal Rite and Mystagogy in Theodore of Mopsuestia and Narsai of Nisibis (PhD dissertation, Evangelische Theologische Faculteit, Leuven, and Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam, 2016).

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kneeling ‘with outstretched arms in the posture of one who prays’ during a substantial part of the rite, viz. the exorcisms, the penitential prayer, and the apotaxis/syntaxis. Even a superficial reading shows that the physical pose taken by the initiand is an integral part of the ritual as a whole. The aim of the present paper is to clarify in what way the orans (or orant) position impinges upon the nature of the ritual as such. In this quest, we are particularly concerned with Theodore’s mystagogy of the gesture and how this supports the baptizand both in fathoming and experiencing the spiritual truth of the ritual. To be better able to understand and evaluate Theodore’s approach, we first have to put things into context by discussing the early Christian praying posture in general, with special attention to its interpretation.

2. The Early Christian Orans Position and its Meaning

Early Christian sources attest both standing and kneeling for prayer. Standing was the more common posture, though, especially during church assemblies.3 Thus, referring to a clearly communal setting, Justin Martyr and Cyprian mention that the assembly stands up for prayer.4 This picture is confirmed by the Church Orders. The Didascalia Apostolorum instructs its readers that ‘when you stand up to pray, the leaders may stand first, and after them the laymen, and then also the women.’5 And according to the Apostolic Constitutions it is fitting that – in preparation for the Eucharist – ‘all rise up with one consent and, looking towards the east, after the departure of the catechumens and the penitents, pray to God …’.6 3. Cf. L. Edward Philips, ‘Prayer in the First Four Centuries A.D.’, in: Roy Hammerling (ed.), A History of Prayer. The First to the Fifteenth Century (Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition 13; Leiden, 2008), p. 50. 4. Justin mentions that, after the reading and exposition of the Scriptures, they ‘all stand up together and offer prayers …’ (Apologia I.67.5; Miroslav Marcovich, Iustini Martyris apologiae pro christianis (Patristische Texte und Studien 38; Berlin, 1994), p. 129; ET: Leslie William Barnard (ed.), St. Justin Martyr. The First and Second Apologies (Ancient Christian Writers 56; Mahway, 1997), p. 71. Cf. Cyprian, De dominica oratione 31; Basil of Caesarea, De spiritu sancto 27.66. 5. Didascalia Apostolorum XII; Arthur Vööbus, The Didascalia Apostolorum in Syriac (CSCO 407; Scriptores Syri 179; Louvain, 1979), p. 144; ET: ibid., vol. 408 (180), p. 131. The same passage also attests the early Christian custom to pray facing the East. Cf. Origen, De oratione 32; Basil of Caesarea, De spiritu sancto 27.66. 6. Constitutiones apostolorum 2.57.14; Marcel Metzger, Les Constitutions Apostoliques I. Livres I et II (SC 320; Paris, 1985), p. 316; ET : W. Jardine Grisbrooke, The Liturgical Portions of the Apostolic Constitutions. A Text for Students (Alcuin/GROW Liturgical Study 13–14; Grove Liturgical Study 61; Bramcote, 1990), p. 16.

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Kneeling, on the other hand, was required for particular circumstances, as Origen testifies: As for bending one’s knees, this is required when a man is going to confess his sins before God and beseech Him for the healing of His forgiveness. One ought to know that this is the attitude proper to one who humbles and submits himself, as Paul says: For this cause I bow my knees to the Father, of whom all paternity in heaven and earth is named. Spiritual genuflection, so called because all beings submit to God in the name of Jesus and humble themselves before Him, is, I think, signified by the Apostle in the words: In the name of Jesus every knee should bend of those that are in heaven, on earth, and under the earth.7

In a similar way, although he disallows kneeling on the Lord’s Day and between Easter and Pentecost, Tertullian acknowledges that it is appropriate for ‘ordinary days’, and especially for the first prayer at dawn and for periods of fasting.8 Eusebius of Caesarea in his Church History mentions that James, the brother of Jesus, prayed on his knees so frequently, imploring forgiveness for the people, that his knees became as hard as those of a camel.9 And in his biography of Constantine, he narrates that 7. Origen, De oratione 31.3; Paul Koetschau, Origenes Werke 2. Buch V-VIII gegen Celsus/Die Schrift vom Gebet (Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte 3; Leipzig, 1899), pp. 396–97; ET: John J. O’Meara, Origen. Prayer, Exhortation to Martyrdom (Ancient Christian Writers 19; New York, NY, 1954), pp. 131–32 (his italics). 8. ‘Also in the matter of bending the knee the prayer experiences variety of observance by a certain few who on Saturday abstain from kneeling. As this dissension is even now on trial before the churches, the Lord will give his grace, that they may either yield, or else establish their judgement without offence to others. We however, as we have received , on the day of the Lord’s resurrection alone have the duty of abstaining not only from that but from every attitude and practice of solicitude, even putting off business so as to give no place to the devil. The like also in the period of Pentecost, distinguished by the same established order of exultation. But on ordinary days who would hesitate to prostrate himself to God, at least at the first prayer with which we enter on daylight? On fasts moreover, and stations, no prayer is to be performed without kneeling and the rest of the attitudes of humility: for we do not only pray, but also make supplication and satisfaction to God our Lord’ (De oratione 23; Dietrich Schleyer, Tertullian: De baptismo – Von der Taufe, De oratione – Vom Gebet (FC 76; Turnhout, 2006), p. 266; ET: Ernest Evans, Tertullian’s Tract on the Prayer (London, 1953), pp. 32–33. Cf. De corona 3. Tertullian shows that the early Christian practice of prayer was diverse (Cf. Philips, ‘Prayer’, p. 50) – as in many other matters – and it was only at the Council of Nicaea (ad 325) that an effort was made to standardize the practice: ‘Forasmuch there are certain persons who kneel on the Lord’s Day and in the days of Pentecost, therefore, to the intent that all things may be uniformly observed everywhere (in every parish), it seems good to the holy synod that prayer be made to God standing’ (Canon 20; Charles Joseph Hefele and H. Leclercq, Histoire des conciles d’après les documents originaux 1.1 (Paris, 1907), p. 618; ET: NPNF 2.14, p. 42). 9. Historia ecclesiastica 2.23.6.

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the Emperor Constantine prayed daily in a kneeling position to humble himself before God.10 But whether standing or kneeling, early Christians normally adopted a distinctive stance. Although the evidence is abundant, two examples must suffice here. Origen informs us that: Further, while there are many ways of bodily deportment, there can be no doubt that the position of extending one’s hands and elevating the eyes is to be preferred above all others; for the position taken by the body is thus symbolic of the qualities proper to the soul in the act of praying. This we say should be, except under particular circumstances, the normal position taken …11

Likewise, Tertullian remarks in his Apology that: Looking up to Him, we Christians – with hands extended, because they are harmless, with head bare because we are not ashamed, without a prayer leader because we pray from the heart – constantly beseech Him on behalf of all emperors.12

To sum up, Christians usually prayed with their arms stretched out from the body, lightly bent at the elbows, with the palms of the hands turned upwards, and their eyes gazing heavenward.13 Figures in this orans pose are frequently depicted in early Christian art, especially in the catacombs.14 How widely dispersed this custom was, is demonstrated by Aphrahat, the fourth-century ‘Persian Sage’ who lived beyond the eastern border of the Roman Empire. In his fourth Demonstration, he says: 10. Vita Constantini 4.22. In the Greco-Roman practice it was more common to stand, since kneeling, bowing, and prostrating were considered ‘too “oriental”’ (Columba Stewart, ‘Prayer’, in Susan Ashbrook Harvey and David G. Hunter (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies (Oxford, 2008), p. 747). Thus the Christians, probably dependent on the Jewish practice, differed on this point from the custom of the day. 11. Origen, De oratione 31.2; GCS 3, p. 396; ET: O’Meara, Prayer, p. 131. 12. Tertullian, Apologeticum 30.4; Tobias Georges, Tertullian: Apologeticum – Verteidigung des christlichen Glaubens (FC 62; Freiburg im Breisgau, 2015), p. 208; ET: Rudolph Arbessmann, Emily Joseph Daly, and Edwin A. Quain, Tertullian, Apologetical Works, and Minucius Felix, Octavius (FOTC 10; New York, NY, 1950), p. 86. Arbessmann, Daly, and Quain mention that the head of the sacrificer was usually covered in the Roman ritual (p. 86, n. 2). Cf. De oratione 23, De baptismo 20.5, Adversus Marcionem 3.18, and Adversus Iudaeos 10.10. 13. In addition to the quotes above, see Odes of Solomon 21.2, 27.1–3, 35.7, 37.1, 42.1– 2; Clement of Rome, Epistula ad Corinthios 2.3, 29.1; Epistula Barnabae 12.2; Minucius Felix, Octavius 29.6; Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 7.40.1–2, and Eusebius of Caesarea, Vita Constantini 4.15. 14. For some examples, see Jeffrey Spier (ed.), Picturing the Bible: The Earliest Christian Art (New Haven, 2007), pp. 176, 179, 181–82, 185, 192. For a general description of the orans in early Christian art see Robin Margaret Jensen, Understanding Early Christian Art (London, 2000), pp. 35–37.

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‘When Daniel stood up in the pit to pray, they [the lions, NW] also spread out their hands to heaven like Daniel.’15 Not only did the early Christians use a distinctive praying posture, they also agreed that their physical pose must be in harmony with the inner disposition of their heart or of the related spiritual reality. This basic conviction is articulated by Origen in the above quotation, where he says that extended hands and elevated eyes are to be preferred ‘for the position taken by the body is thus symbolic of the qualities proper to the soul in the act of praying’. We have also encountered Origen’s opinion already that kneeling ‘is required when a man is going to confess his sins before God and beseech Him for the healing of His forgiveness’. It was exactly on account of its penitential character that Tertullian objected to kneeling on Sundays, the day of the celebration of the Lord’s rising from death.16 The Apostolic Constitutions provide an illustrative example of the harmony between gesture and spiritual reality within a baptismal context: After this [that is, the post-baptismal anointing] let him [that is, the newlybaptized] stand up, and pray the prayer which the Lord taught us. Of necessity he who is risen [again] ought to stand up and pray, because he that is raised stands upright.17

The relation between the seen and unseen becomes especially visible in connection with the gesture of the outstretched hands. It is commonly known that the Christian posture of prayer was essentially the same as that of Greco-Roman Antiquity, including Judaism.18 However, the 15. Demonstratio 4.9; Ioannes Parisot, Patrologia Syriaca 1.1 (Paris, 1894), col. 156; ET: Kuriakose Valavanolickal, Aphrahat Demonstrations I (Mōrān ’Eth’ō Series 23; Kottayam, 2005), p. 84. 16. See note 8 above. 17. Constitutiones apostolorum 7.45.1; Marcel Metzger, Les Constitutions Apostoliques III. Livres VII et VIII (SC 336; Paris, 1987), p. 106; ET: Grisbrooke, Apostolic Constitutions, p. 70 (additions between brackets are his). 18. See especially Theodor Klauser, ‘Studien zur Entstehungsgeschichte der Christlichen Kunst II’, JAC 2 (1959), pp. 115–31; ‘III’, JAC 3 (1960), pp. 112–33; ‘VII’, JAC 7 (1964), pp. 67–76. And further: D. Plooij, ‘The Attitude of the Outspread Hands (‘Orante’) in Early Christian Literature and Art’, The Expository Times 23 (1912), p. 200; Franz Joseph Dölger, Sol Salutis. Gebet und Gesang im christlichen Altertum mit besonderer Rücksicht auf die Ostung in Gebet und Liturgie (Liturgiegeschichtliche Forschungen 4/5; Münster Westfalen, 1920), pp. 238–44. See also his ‘Beiträge zur Geschichte des Kreuzzeichens V: 9. Christusbekenntnis und Christusweihe durch Ausbreitung der Hände in Kreuzform’, JAC 5 (1962), p. 5. Cf. Stewart, ‘Prayer’, p. 747; Paul Corby Finney, ‘Orant’, in Everett Ferguson (ed.), Encyclopedia of Early Christianity (2nd ed.; New York, 1999), p. 831b; Ferguson, ‘Prayer’, in Encyclopedia of Early Christianity, p. 938b; O’Meara, Prayer, p. 226, n. 665. Some biblical examples can be found in 1 Kgs 8:22, 54; 2 Chr. 6:13; Pss. 28:2, 44:20, 88:9, 143:6; 1 Tim. 2:8.

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Christians interpreted the gesture in a radically different way. As early as the Odes of Solomon we read: ‘I stretched out my hands and sanctified my Lord (€üäà ĀýËù), for the spreading of my hands is his sign. In my outstretched position I formed the upright cross’.19 Likewise, Tertullian says concerning the position of the hands: ‘We however not only lift them up, but also spread them out, and, modulating them by the Lord’s passion, in our prayers also express our faith in Christ [by this specific posture, NW]’.20 When Christians stretched out their hands for prayer, they depicted the cross, the symbol of Christ and his passion.21 As a visible pointer to the unseen, this posture itself becomes a testimony, or, as Tertullian puts it, the cross shape expresses ‘our faith in Christ’ (lit.: et orantes confitemur Christo). The stretching out of the hands is a confession of Christ. As D. Plooij22 and F.J. Dölger23 already indicated, the awareness of the connection between posture and confession is especially important 19. 27.1–3; text and ET: Gie Vleugels (with Martin Webber), The Odes of Solomon. Syriac Text and English Translation with Text Critical and Explanatory Notes (Mōrān ʼEthʼō Series 41; Kottayam, 2016), pp. 115–16. Cf. Ode 42.1–2. 20. De oratione 14; FC 76, p. 242; ET: Evans, Prayer, pp. 18–19 (cf. Dölger, ‘Geschichte des Kreuzzeichens‘, p. 6). Cf. De oratione 17: ‘Moreover we shall the rather commend our prayers to God by worshipping with restraint and humility, not even lifting the hands too high but raising them temperately and meetly, not even holding up our eyes in presumption’ (FC 76, p. 246; ET: Evans, Prayer, pp. 20–21). Partly on the basis of Tertullian’s testimony, some scholars have concluded that the Christian practice differed somewhat from that of the surrounding culture. Adapting their posture to the shape of the cross, they would have stretched out their arms more horizontally, distinguishing themselves from pagans and Jews, who would have raised their arms more ‘vertically and in parallel’ (Jerome D. Quinn and William C. Wacker, The First and Second Letters to Timothy. A New Translation with Notes and Commentary (The Eerdmans Critical Commentary; Grand Rapids, 2000), p. 210–11. See also Dölger, ‘Geschichte des Kreuzzeichens’, pp. 5, 7–9; cf. his Sol Salutis, pp. 243–44 (1925)). 21. In addition to the quotes above, see for example Tertullian, De oratione 39.4, where he mentions that birds make the sign of the cross with their wings instead of hands. Cf. Minucius Felix, Octavius 29.6. In Apologeticum 30.7, Tertullian describes the connection between martyrdom and the praying posture thus: ‘So, then, as we kneel with arms extended to God, let the hooks dig into us, let the crosses suspend us: the very posture of a Christian in prayer makes him ready for every punishment’ (FC 62, p. 210; ET: Arbessmann, Daly, and Quain, Apologetical Works, p. 87). Eusebius tells us the story of a young martyr who stretched out his hands in the form of the cross and prayed to God (Historia ecclesiastica 8.7.4). Cf. Ambrose, De virginitate 1.2.7. The earliest reference to the symbolism could be John 21:18–19 (cf. George R. Beasley-Murray, John (Word Biblical Commentary 36; 2nd ed.; Nashville, 1999), pp. 408–409). It was also clear to many early Christian writers that Moses raising his hands in Ex. 17:11–12 was a symbol of the cross (for example: Epistula Barnabae 12.2; Justin Martyr, Dialogus cum Tryphone 90.4–5). See further on this Dölger, ‘Geschichte des Kreuzzeichens’, pp. 7–9. 22. ‘Outspread Hands’, p. 268. 23. Geschichte des Kreuzzeichens, p. 10; Die Sonne der Gerechtigkeit und der Schwarze. Eine religionsgeschichtliche Studie zum Taufgelöbnis (Fotomechanischer Nachdruck der

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in a baptismal setting. It was Plooij24 in particular who argued that the orans posture – the stretching out of the hands – had a meaning in its own right and that it did not necessarily imply an act of prayer. The starting point for his research was his observation that of the several loci of the posture in the Odes of Solomon, only Ode 37.1 clearly involves a prayer. He then looked for a Sitz im Leben of this symbolic gesture independent of prayer, and found it in the syntaxis, the baptismal confession of Christ. Plooij indicated the praxis of the stretching out of hands during this act of adherence to Christ/God in the old Armenian25, Coptic26, and Ethiopic27 rites of baptism, and also in Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite28. From this perspective, he looked afresh at depictions of the orans figures in early Christian art and concluded that it makes perfect sense to view them essentially as symbols of the baptismal confession, especially in cases where the context is clearly baptismal. To the latter category belong, for example, frescos depicting Noah in the ark and the three men in the fiery oven. Plooij contended that, although the ritual must have been practiced in East and West, it was retained for a longer period in the East. Later developments would then have seen the combining of the confession of Christ with the Trinity and ultimately the replacement of the former by the latter, which made the posture unintelligible, resulting in its disappearance. Plooij’s view does not seem to have received the attention it deserves. Of special interest here is that, in addition to the sources identified by Plooij, Theodore’s rite serves as another witness of the stretching out of hands during the syntaxis, which Plooij could not know, since he wrote 1918 erschienenen 1. Auflage, vermehrt um hinterlassene Nachträge des Verfassers) (LQF 14; Münster, Westfalen, 1971), p. 9. 24. ‘Outspread Hands’, pp. 199–203, 265–69. 25. ‘Then he turns the catechumen to the east, and bids him raise his eyes to heaven and stretch out his hands, confessing the one Godhead of the holy Trinity …’ (according to the variant reading in the Vatican manuscript which Conybeare labels ‘B’, see F.C. Conybeare, Rituale Armenorum (Oxford, 1905), p. 92, n. a.; ET: E.C. Whitaker, Documents of the Baptismal Liturgy, revised and expanded by Maxwell E. Johnson (Collegeville, 2003), p. 80. 26. ‘After this they shall be turned to the East, with both their hands uplifted, saying thus: I profess you, O Christ my God …’ (ET: Whitaker, Documents, p. 135). 27. The Ethiopic rite ‘is primarily a translation of the Coptic Rite’ (Whitaker, Documents, p. 132). 28. ‘Then he turns him eastward with eyes raised and hands lifted to heaven and he commands him to submit to Christ and to all divinely granted sacred lore’ (De ecclesiastica hierarchia II.2.6; Günter Heil and Adolf Martin Ritter, Corpus Dionysiacum II. De coelesti hierarchia, De ecclesiastica hierarchia, De mystica theologia, Epistulae (PTS 36; Berlin, 1991), p. 72; ET: Colm Luibheid (ed.), Pseudo-Dionysius, The Complete Works (The Classics of Western Spirituality; Mahwah, 1987), p. 203).

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before the discovery and publication of Theodore’s catechetical homilies in 1932/33.29 In the discussion below we will further explore the strength and explanatory power of Plooij’s thesis. With these things in mind, we will turn now to the baptismal rite as it was known to Theodore of Mopsuestia.

3. The Orans Position in Theodore of Mopsuestia To become initiated into the Church, Theodore writes, the baptizand travels through several ritual stages. After instruction and formal enrolment, the candidates are exorcized by specially appointed exorcists 30 ? Although the whole procedure probably comprised sev(¿çÚãÎã). eral sessions distributed over different days, Theodore portrays it as one ? coherent ritual, a ‘ceremony of exorcism’ (ÀĀÚãÎã) or ‘lawsuit’ 31 (¿çÙx). In this courtroom scene, the exorcist plays the role of ‘advocate’32 to defend the baptismal candidate against the Devil, who claims 29. Another witness can be found in Proclus Constantinopolitanus, Hom. 27, Mystagogia in baptisma, VIII.50: ‘As one who is in want you raise your hands towards heaven that you may come to know …’, followed by what seem to be allusions to the syntaxis, the anointing, baptism, and the ritual vesting with the tunica alba; F.J. Leroy, L’Homilétique de Proclus de Constantinople (ST 247; Vatican City, 1967), p. 193; ET: J.H. Barkhuizen, ‘Proclus of Constantinople, Homily 27: μυσταγωγία εἰς τὸ βάπτισμα’, Acta Patristica et Byzantina 14 (2003), p. 15. 30. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Homiliae catecheticae 12.22; in Alphonse Mingana, The Commentary of Theodore of Mopsuestia on the Lord’s Prayer and on the Sacraments of Baptism and the Eucharist (WS 6; Cambridge, 1933), p. 159:23; ET: idem, p. 31:5. When Theodore addresses the whole group of candidates, he speaks of multiple exorcists: ‘Because you are unable by yourselves to plead against Satan and to fight against him, ? the services of the persons called exorcists (¿çÚãÎã) have been found indispensable, as they act as your surety for Divine help. They ask in a loud and prolonged voice …’ Yet when discussing the exact procedure he addresses the individual initiand in the singular and only mentions one exorcist (the ‘advocate’). See the quote below and: ‘… and when by God’s decision the Tyrant has submitted and yielded to the shouts of the exorcist  (Áüžçé) and been condemned … you are brought (ĀÂüù) by duly appointed persons to the priest, as it is before him that you have to make (ËÃï … ßà Œx|) your engagements and promises to God’. We may infer from this that each candidate was exorcised by a single exorcist and that there were multiple exorcists because there were multiple candidates, who were being exorcised simultaneously. 31. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 12.17–25; WS 6, pp. 155:7–161:22; ET: WS 6, pp. 26:27–33:3. The terms ‘ceremony of exorcism’ and ‘lawsuit are used in Hom. cat. 13.1; WS 6, p. 164:14; ET: WS 6, p. 35:5–6. For a comparison of Theodore’s ‘lawsuit’ with that of Narsai, see Nathan Witkamp, ‘A Critical Comparison of the So-called “Lawsuit” in the Baptismal Rites of Theodore of Mopsuestia and Narsai of Nisibis’, Vigiliae Christianae 65/5 (2011), pp. 514–42. 32. The individual exorcist is called ‘advocate’ (Áüžçé), see Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 12.26; WS 6, p. 162:1; ET: WS 6, p. 33:8. Mingana translates this, somewhat

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to be his rightful owner and accuses him before God, the Judge.33 The posture taken by the baptizand during the ritual is described by Theodore as follows: In this same way when the words called the words of exorcism are pronounced you34 stand perfectly quiet …35 You stand, therefore, with outstretched arms in the posture of one who prays, and look downwards and remain in that state in order to move the judge to mercy. And you take off your outer garment and stand barefooted …36 You stand also on garments of sackcloth so that from the fact that your feet are pricked and stung by the roughness of the cloth …37

The candidate stands ‘naked’ (without his outer garment)38 and barefoot on sackcloth39 (cilicium) in order to show within himself ‘the state of the cruel servitude’ in which he ‘served the Devil for a long time’40. With a reference to Isaiah 20:3–4, Theodore speaks of ‘this picture of captivity’.41 The purpose of the prickly sackcloth is that, Theodore informs the candidate, … you may remember your old sins and show penitence and repentance of the sins of your fathers, because of which we have been driven to all this wretchedness of iniquities, and so that you may call for mercy on the part of the judge and rightly say: ‘Thou has put off my sackcloth and girded me with gladness’.42

freely, as ‘exorcist’. Cf. Hom. cat. 12.23; WS 6, p. 160:8; ET: WS 6, p. 31:20. 33. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 12.22; WS 6, pp. 159:21–160:2; ET: WS 6, p. 31:3–12. Cf. Hom. cat. 12.18; WS 6, pp. 156:6–157:2; ET: WS 6, pp. 27:24–28:14. 34. Āæs. The ‘you’ in this and the following quote is always singular. 35. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 12.23; WS 6, p. 160:10–12; ET: WS 6, p. 31:25–26. 36. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 12.24; WS 6, p. 160:18–21; ET: WS 6, p. 31:35–38. 37. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 12.25; WS 6, p. 161:3–4; ET: WS 6, p. 32:12–14. 38. ‘Outer garment’ is a literal rendering of the Syriac ¿Ùü ¿ýÎÃà (WS 6, p. 160:20), which leaves no doubt that the candidates were not fully naked at this stage of initiation; they were still wearing their undergarment or tunic (χιτών/èُÎÝ). 39. The sackcloth is a rug or garment of goatskin, also known as a cilicium (κιλίκιον) after Cilicia where it was originally made (A. Hermann, ‘Cilicium’, in Theodor Klauser, Ernst Dassmann, and Georg Schöllgen (eds.), Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 3 (Stuttgart, 1957), cols. 127–36). For this reason, the whole ritual during which the initiands stood on a sackcloth is also known as ‘the rite of the cilicium’. Cf. Johannes Quasten, ‘Theodore of Mopsuestia on the Exorcism of the Cilicium’, Harvard Theological Review 35 (1942), p. 210; cf. Thomas M. Finn, The Liturgy of Baptism in the Baptismal Instructions of St. John Chrysostom (The Catholic University of America Studies in Christian Antiquity 15; Washington D.C., 1967), p. 80. 40. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 12.24; WS 6, p. 160:21–22; ET: WS 6, p. 31:32:1–2. 41. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 12.24; WS 6, p. 160:24; ET: WS 6, p. 32:5. 42. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 12.25; WS 6, p. 161:4–8; ET: WS 6, p. 32:14–19.

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So the whole scene symbolizes the former sinful state of the initiand and aims to evoke in him an attitude of penitence.43 Of special importance for present purposes is the assertion that the candidate stands ‘with outstretched arms in the posture of one who ? ? prays’ (¿ćàøãx ¿çÙsx ¿ćäÞé¾ÂßÙËÙs ßà èÔÚþò ËÝ). There is one marked difference, however, between the common position of prayer and the candidate’s posture. We can infer from Tertullian, Origen and others that it was customary to look upwards while praying.44 As we will discuss below, this heavenward gaze during prayer is also attested by Theodore for two rituals of the second rite of the cilicium – the prayer and the apotaxis/syntaxis. With regard to the exorcism, however, Theodore explicitly says that the initiand looks downwards, and not without reason. The purpose of this posture is ‘to move the judge [God, NW] to mercy’. As such, the whole ritual has the characteristic of a penitential prayer. Although the candidate is instructed to remain silent, it is his physical appearance that ‘speaks’ for him and ‘calls for mercy’. To put it differently, he is praying without words. The notion that the stretching out of hands was often seen as a sign of the cross, could certainly deepen our understanding of what it means here to ‘move the judge to mercy’. It makes perfect sense for the initiand to identify with and confess Christ within a baptismal setting of dying and rising with Christ.45 It is all the more remarkable, therefore, that Theodore leaves the opportunity completely unused to apply this rich mystagogical idea. The exorcisms are followed by a recitation of the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer. The first ritual of the second rite of the cilicium, the penitential prayer, occurs thereafter.46 Again, the baptizand stands barefoot on 43. The cilicium may be seen as a type of the garments of skin which the first pair of humankind received to cover their nakedness. Quasten, ‘Exorcism of the Cilicium’, p. 218; Jonathan Z. Smith, ‘The Garments of Shame’, History of Religions 5/2 (winter 1966), pp. 231–32. Cf. Col. 3:9. 44. See above. 45. See Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 12.6–7; WS 6, pp. 147:20–148:6; ET: WS 6, p. 20:15–27 and Hom cat. 14.5; WS 6, pp. 183:22–184:6; ET: WS 6, p. 52:2–15. 46. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.2–4; WS 6, pp. 165:6–166:16; ET: WS 6, pp. 36:5–37:14. The whole of the second rite of the cilicium consists of three parts: (a) penitential prayer, (b) apotaxis/syntaxis, and (c) anointing of the head (beginning of the À|s, the ‘mystery’, or ‘sacrament’, see Hom. cat. 13.17; WS 6, pp. 176:24–177:4; ET: WS 6, p. 46:5–12). In the present form there is no doubt that these rituals constitute a liturgical unity. This is particularly evident from the bodily movements. At the beginning of the prayer the candidate genuflects and remains in this posture during the apotaxis/ syntaxis and the anointing, after which he is raised to his feet and his sponsor spreads a linen cloth, the orarium, over his head.

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sackcloth without his outer garment and with his arms outstretched ‘in the posture of one who prays … in the likeness of the posture that fits the words of exorcism’. This time, however, he does not remain standing, but kneels on the sackcloth, while he keeps his upper body erect and looks up to heaven. In this posture, the initiand prays to God and implores ‘deliverance from the ancient fall and participation in the heavenly benefits’. Subsequently, ‘the persons who are appointed for the service’47, approach the candidate and, on behalf of God, reply that his prayers have been answered.48 Theodore gives the following mystagogy of the kneeling posture: As we have all of us fallen into sin and been driven to the dust by the sentence of death, it is right for us to ‘bow our knees in the name of Jesus Christ,’ as the blessed Paul said, and to ‘confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God His Father.’ In this confession we show the things that accrued to us from the Divine nature through the Economy of Christ our Lord, whom (God) raised up to heaven and showed as Lord of all and head of our salvation. Because all these things have to be performed by us all, who ‘are fallen to the earth’ according to the words of the blessed Paul, it is with justice that you, who through the Sacrament become partakers of the ineffable benefits, to which you have been called by your faith in Christ, bow your knees, and make manifest49 your ancient fall, and worship God, the cause of those benefits.50

By concentrating on man’s fall, the prayer completes the exorcisms, which focused on man’s servitude to Satan. Together, they ritualize the baptizand’s liberation from the consequences of Adam’s disobedience. Nevertheless, the general atmosphere of the prayer is not quite as dark as that during the exorcisms. Having been released from Satan’s lordship, the candidate no longer points his eyes to the ground but to heaven. This expression of freedom and confidence towards God is covered by the concept of παρρησία in Theodore’s theology. Its basic meaning is š ÀĀþäý âïx èÚàz (WS 6, p. 166:7). Deacons or priests. 47. èÚäÚé 48. Contrary to the exorcisms and the apotaxis/syntaxis, this prayer was probably a group ceremony, since the baptizands are always addressed in the plural here. For example: ‘You stand (…{ĀÚäÚù) barefooted on sackcloth while your outer garment ? (…ÎÝĀÚêݏ) is taken off from you (…ÎÞçã), and your hands (…ÎÞÙËÙs) are stretched towards God in the posture of one who prays.’ 49. …{ĀÙÎÑã. Or: ‘declare’, ‘demonstrate’, ‘profess’. See J. Payne Smith (ed.), A Compendious Syriac Dictionary (Eugene, 1999; previously published by Oxford University Press, 1902), p. 129a. 50. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.3; WS 6, pp. 165:17–166:2; ET: WS 6, p. 36:19–32. John Chrysostom’s baptismal rite contains a similar ritual, although its aim is different as it is a prayer of thanksgiving. See Catechesis ultima ad baptizandos (CPG 4462; Papadopoulos-Kerameus 3), 21–22, and Catecheses ad illuminandos, hom. 2 (CPG 4466; Stavronikita 2), 18.

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‘freedom of speech’51 and in secular Greek it ‘is the right of free citizens or the privilege of true friends’52. However, Theodore does not apply παρρησία to inter-human relationships, but restricts it ‘to the sphere of the relation between God and man’.53 Van Unnik gives the following description of the use of παρρησία in Theodore’s Catechetical Homilies: … parrhèsia is an expression for the new life of Christians; the ‘freedom of the children of God’ who, by the work of Jesus Christ, are no longer separated from the Almighty, Holy and Eternal God, and who, as citizens of God’s world, converse with Him as their Father. It is a gift of the Holy Spirit which is enjoyed here in the sacraments and prayer.54

Theodore particularly elaborates on παρρησία in relation to the anointing of the forehead55 – symbolizing the open relationship with God – but the heavenward gaze already expresses the same idea. Despite the uplifted eyes, the kneeling posture indicates that the deliverance from evil has not been fully realized at this stage of the rite. By kneeling, the candidates manifest or profess56 their fallen state. Like Origen57 did before him, Theodore underpins the kneeling with an appeal to Phil. 2:10. But what is most interesting here is that Theodore, unlike Origen, also quotes the confessional part of Phil. 2:11. By ‘this confession’ (ÀĀÙx{ Áxz) the baptizand proclaims God’s work of salvation through the risen and exalted Lord Jesus Christ. So, kneeling has a strongly declaratory nature; by this posture, the catechumen confesses Christ and demonstrates his fallen state. The Christ-centred and confessional nature of the prayer fits the confessional feature of the common praying posture remarkably well. It must be noted, however, that the confession is connected to kneeling and not to the stretching out of hands. Although the confessional character of the posture almost asks to be made explicit here, Theodore entirely ignores it. Nevertheless, the whole scene clearly shows that the candidate worships and confesses with soul and body, with and without words. 51. G.W.H. Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon (Oxford, 1961), p. 1044b. 52. W.C. van Unnik, ‘Παρρησία in the “Catechetical Homilies” of Theodore of Mopsuestia’, in W.K.M. Grossouw et al. (eds.), Mélanges offerts à Mlle Christine Mohrmann (Utrecht, 1963), p. 14; cf. Lampe, Greek Lexicon, p. 1044b. 53. Van Unnik, Παρρησία, p. 17. 54. Van Unnik, Παρρησία, pp. 16–17. Cf. Sebastian Brock, The Holy Spirit in the Syrian Baptismal Tradition (Gorgias Liturgical Studies 4; Piscataway, 2008), p. 70: ‘In a baptismal context the word means “freedom to speak to God,” “confidence,” and above all the freedom to address God as “Father”.’ 55. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.18; WS 6, pp. 177:15–178:6; ET: WS 6, pp. 46:26–47:7. 56. See note 49 above. 57. Origen, De oratione 31.3; GCS 3, p. 397; ET: O’Meara, Prayer, p. 131.

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The penitential prayer is followed by the apotaxis and syntaxis, the renunciation of Satan and the adherence to the Trinity. Theodore expressly states that, having been delivered from Satan’s servitude, the initiand is able now to renounce him with his own words.58 The words that are spoken are: ‘I abjure Satan and all his angels, and all his service, and all his deception, and all his worldly glamour; and I engage myself, and believe, and am baptised in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’59

Theodore’s formulas do not directly address the recipients (Satan, Trinity) – unlike other sources in the East do60 – but are instead phrased in an impersonal way. The creedal character of the syntaxis is similar to that of the Apostolic Constitutions.61 Like other fourth-century mystagogues, Theodore uses contractual or covenantal terms to describe the apotaxis/syntaxis.62 The candidate repudiates the old pact with Satan and 58. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.5; WS 6, p. 167:8–13; ET: WS 6, pp. 37:35– 38:3. ? Ÿ Ÿ 59. zĀðý ÍáÞÂ{ zĀþäýÍáÞÂ{€z Îݾćáã… {ÍáÞÂ{ ¿çÔê ¿æs üóÝ Ÿ ¿æs Ëäï{ ¿æs èäÙÍã{ ¿ćäÚù ¿æs åÚúã{ ÀĀÚçäáï ÍáÙx ÛÚïÎÓ ÍáÞÂ{ .¿ýxÎùx ¿Ð{{ ÁüÂ{ ¿Âs åþ (Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.5; WS 6, p. 166:22–25; ET: WS 6, p. 37:21–24). 60. See note 73 below. 61. The formulas of the Apostolic Constitutions are: ‘I renounce Satan, and his works, and his pomps, and his angels, and his inventions, and all things that are subject to him. … And I associate myself to Christ: and I believe, and am baptized into … [a Trinitarian Nicene-like Creed follows]’ (Ἀποτάσσομαι τῷ σατανᾷ καὶ τοῖς ἔργοις αὐτοῦ καὶ ταῖς πομπαῖς αὐτοῦ καὶ ταῖς λατρείαις αὐτοῦ καὶ τοῖς ἀγγέλοις αὐτοῦ καὶ ταῖς ἐφευρέσεσιν αὐτοῦ καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς ὑπ’ αὐτόν. … Καὶ συντάσσομαι τῷ Χριστῷ· καὶ πιστεύω καὶ βαπτίζομαι εἰς…; Constitutiones apostolorum 7.41.2–4, in SC 336, pp. 96, 98; ET: Grisbrooke, Apostolic Constitutions, p. 67). There are interesting parallels between these formulas and those of Theodore. Firstly, both sets of formulas are in the third person. Secondly, both formulas of adhesion have the wording: ‘And I associate/engage myself … and I believe, and am baptised in(to) …’. Thirdly, both syntaxes have a creedal character with the distinction that the formula of the Constitutions includes a complete creed, while Theodore’s only mentions the Trinity. Alois Stenzel, Die Taufe. Eine genetische Erklärung der Taufliturgie (Innsbruck, 1958), p. 105, n. 99, contends that the ritual of the Constitutions – an expansion of the adherence with a complete Creed – represents a younger stage in the development of the syntaxis in the East. 62. To characterize the former relationship with the Devil, Theodore uses €Îæ (agreement, contract, covenant), a key term which also typifies the new bond with the Trinity (Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.5; WS 6, p. 167:17; ET: WS 6, p. 38:9. Payne Smith, Syriac Dictionary, p. 616b. Cf. Michael Sokoloff, A Syriac Lexicon: A Translation from the Latin, Correction, Expansion, and Update of C. Brockelmann’s Lexicon Syriacum (Winona Lake, 2009), p. 1654a-b. The (formula of) apotaxis/syntaxis is described as ? ? ? ? €Îæ{ÀĀÙx{, and ÀĀÙx{x{¿ äÚùx{ €Îæ, but more regularly as €Îæ{ ¿äÚù ? (or ¿äÚù{ €Îæ). The notion of a covenant is also expressed by the formula of the syntaxis, saying: ‘and I engage myself (¿ćäÚù ¿æs åÚúã{) …’. The Afel of the verb „Îù with ¿ćäÚù has the meaning of ‘to make a covenant’ (Payne Smith, Syriac Dictionary, p. 495a; Sokoloff, Syriac Lexicon, p. 1332b). Theodore does not elaborate on the

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establishes a new agreement with God. By uttering the covenantal expression ‘and I engage myself (¿ćäÚù ¿æs åÚúã{) …’ the initiand solemnly dedicates himself to the Trinity. With an appeal to Heb. 11:6 – ‘the person who draws nigh unto God ought to believe that He is’63 – Theodore affirms the importance of the additional phrase ‘And I believe’. As the Divine nature and the good things prepared for man through Christ are invisible and unspeakable, he who approaches baptism needs strong faith in order to believe without doubt.64 By adding ‘and I am baptised’, the baptizand expresses his belief and hope in the benefits of baptism to attain citizenship of heaven.65 The formula concludes with the confession of the Trinity – the cause of everything, who creates and renews – as it is in the Trinitarian names that the candidate will be baptized and will symbolically receive the benefits which he will experience in reality in the future.66 There is little doubt that the baptizand remains in the same bodily position as during the preceding prayer. Not only does the apotaxis/ syntaxis directly succeed the prayer, Theodore also explicitly states with regard to the adherence: These engagements and promises you make in the posture which we have described above,67 while your knee is bowed to the ground both as a sign of adoration which is due from you to God, and as a manifestation of your ancient fall to the ground; the rest of your body is erect and looks upwards towards heaven, and your hands are outstretched in the guise of one who prays so that you may be seen to worship the God who is in heaven, from whom you expect to rise from your ancient fall.68

Although the sackcloth is not mentioned again, it is most likely that the candidate was still kneeling on this symbol of sin. So, the postures adopted during the prayer and during the syntaxis are exactly the same, and we have no indication that the position during the intermediate

notion of baptism as a contract as such, as Chrysostom does for example (cf. Finn, Liturgy of Baptism, pp. 93–95 and Hugh M. Riley, Christian Initiation. A Comparative Study of the Interpretation of the Baptismal Liturgy in the Mystagogical Writings of Cyril of Jerusalem, John Chrysostom, Theodore of Mopsuestia and Ambrose of Milan (Studies in Christian Antiquity 17; Washington D.C., 1974), pp. 92–94, 96–101). 63. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.14; WS 6, p. 174:17; ET: WS 6, p. 44:10–11. 64. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.14; WS 6, pp. 174:18–175:1; ET: WS 6, p. 44:12–20. 65. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.14; WS 6, p. 175:1–11; ET: WS 6, p. 44:21–32. 66. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.15; WS 6, p. 175:12–25; ET: WS 6, pp. 44:33– 45:14. 67. Concerning the preceding penitential prayer. 68. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Hom. cat. 13.16; WS 6, pp. 175:25–176:5; ET: WS 6, p. 45:15–22.

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apotaxis is different.69 Moreover, since kneeling is both ‘a sign of adoration’ and ‘a manifestation of’ the fallen state, the posture seems fit both for the abjuration and the confession. Nevertheless, it is noteworthy that Theodore explicitly repeats his mention of the posture with reference to the adherence, but remains totally silent on it in relation to the renunciation. This may indicate that Theodore was uncomfortable with the situation and was unable to meaningfully relate the praying posture to the apotaxis. By stretching out his hands ‘in the guise of one who prays’, the candidate is ‘seen to worship the God who is in heaven’. Such a posture is indeed more appropriate for the profession than for the renunciation.70 It seems that Theodore was confronted with an inheritance he was not able to cope with successfully. Let us now look more closely at the syntaxis. Theodore inspires the baptizand to make his adherence from a basic attitude of adoration71, 69. A similar posture for both the renunciation and adherence is attested by John Chrysostom: Catechesis ultima ad baptizandos (Papadopoulos-Kerameus 3), 21–22, in R. Kaczynski (ed.), Johannes Chrysostomus: Catecheses baptismales–Taufkatechesen, 2 vols. (FC 6; Freiburg im Breisgau, 1992), pp. 240, 242 (= 2/3, 4); and Cat. ad ill., hom. 2 (Stavronikita 2), 18, in FC 6, p. 348 (= 3/2, 18). Some have proposed that – in harmony with the rite of Jerusalem – Theodore’s and Chrysostom’s rituals involved the candidates for the renunciation turning to the West, and the candidates for the profession turning to the East (e.g. Harkins, Baptismal Instructions, p. 224, n. 47; Finn, Liturgy of Baptism, pp. 99, 106). I fully agree with Riley, however, that such a harmonizing tendency yields ‘a rather cumbersome ceremonial action, given the brief formula of renunciation and commitment and the apparently large number of candidates. The candidates would first kneel, facing the West, make the renunciation, then all stand, turn to the East, kneel down again, and then make the act of commitment’ (Riley, Christian Initiation, p. 81, n. 178. Cf. Day, Baptismal Liturgy of Jerusalem, p. 53). 70. In my PhD thesis, Tradition and Innovation (see n. 2), I argue that the positioning of the apotaxis/syntaxis between the prayer and the anointing is a later development. In this process, the apotaxis was probably squeezed between the prayer and the syntaxis, and finally adopted the posture of the surrounding rituals. This is all the more likely when we realize that the renunciation of Satan was in some cases already accompanied by the raising of one or two hands, as in the Jerusalem Mystagogiae (1.2), the euchologion Barberini gr. 336 (fols. 131r–131v), and Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita’s De ecclesiastica hierarchia (II.2.6). Unlike the praying posture, this gesture was probably a sign of rejection (Hans Kirsten, Die Taufabsage. Eine Untersuchung zu Gestalt und Geschichte der Taufe nach den altkirchlichen Taufliturgien (Berlin, 1960), p. 84). Pseudo-Dionysius explicitly says that the initiand has ‘his hands outstretched in a gesture of abhorrence’ (Heil and Ritter, De ecclesiastica hierarchia, p. 72; ET: Luibheid, ‘Ecclesiastical Hierarchy’, p. 202). Interestingly, Pseudo-Dionysius not only attests this raising of the hands during the apotaxis, but also that the subsequent syntaxis was made in a praying posture (see quote in note 28 above). We may conjecture, then, that Theodore’s rite was formerly similar to that of Pseudo-Dionysius, with a raising of hands both during the syntaxis and apotaxis. Although these gestures may have differed somewhat and definitely had an opposite meaning, we can imagine that, when the context demanded it, the transition from one to the other was relatively easy to make. 71. ÀËÆé, rendered with ‘adoration’, and ËÆé, ‘to worship’ come from the same root, meaning ‘to adore’, ‘to worship’ (Payne Smith, Syriac Dictionary, p. 360a).

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signified by kneeling and stretching out his hands. At the same time, the kneeling position indicates that he is sinful. His heavenward gaze expresses his hope that God will deliver him from his fallen state. This mixed character of the ritual shows that the initiand is approaching as a vulnerable confessor, fully dependent on God’s mercy. Out of such a disposition of the heart, the candidate recites the words ‘I engage myself, and believe, and am baptised …’, and so attaches himself to God. We must note, though, that the formula itself is more like an oath (‘I engage myself’) or a creed (‘and believe’) than a prayer. The impersonal wording and the missing recipient of the phrase ‘I engage myself’ (to … ?)72 also create tension between the praying posture and the formula. In an effort to explain this phenomenon, it is worth considering Plooij’s thesis mentioned above. If Plooij is right, the stretching out of hands in Theodore’s rite was initially an act of confession of Christ that supported adherence to Christ.73 In relation to the latter, it has been argued by others that the syntaxis was indeed originally made to Christ.74 In Theodore’s case, this can be further sustained by the following. Firstly, John Chrysostom’s rite attests to a syntaxis only to Christ; it lacks any Trinitarian phrase.75 This is relevant because his rite is similar to, but also more archaic76 than Theodore’s. It is not impossible, therefore, that an earlier stage of Theodore’s syntaxis looked like Chrysostom’s. Secondly, as already indicated above, Theodore’s formula lacks a recipient 72. It is normally said to whom the engagement is made. See below. 73. Which was probably directly addressed to Christ, as in Chrysostom (Cat. ad ill., hom. 2 (Stavronikita 2), 20–21, in FC 6, p. 348 (= 3/2, 20–21); ET: Harkins, Baptismal Instructions, p. 51) and Proclus of Constantinople (Mystagogia in baptisma 2.3, 3.13–14; Leroy, Proclus de Constantinople, pp. 188–89; ET: Barkhuizen, ‘Proclus of Constantinople’, pp. 5, 7). Antoine Wenger, Jean Chrysostome. Huit Catéchèses Baptismales. Introduction, texte critique, traduction et notes (SC 50; Paris, 1958), p. 82 also contends that the personal form is the more primitive one. The Syro-Palestinian sources further indicate that a personal confession of Christ was always accompanied by a personal rejection of Satan. The opposite was also true; an impersonal syntaxis normally went together with an impersonal apotaxis, the only exception being the Jerusalem Mystagogical Catecheses, where an impersonal (and creed-like) syntaxis is combined with a personal renunciation. So, if Theodore’s syntaxis was originally personal, his apotaxis would also have been personal 74. For example Stenzel, Taufe, p. 105 and n. 99. 75. Καὶ συντάσσομαί σοι, Χριστέ (Cat. ad ill., hom. 2 (Stavronikita 2), 20–21, in FC 6, p. 348 (= 3/2, 20–21); ET: Harkins, Baptismal Instructions, p. 51). 76. First of all, Chrysostom’s rite still has the old Syrian pattern without a postbaptismal anointing. Secondly, Chrysostom has four terms in the apotaxis (including ‘Satan’), one fewer than Theodore. As the formulas usually expand over time (Kirsten, Taufabsage, p. 59ff), Chrysostom’s wording seems the more archaic. Thirdly, Chrysostom’s syntaxis is a simple engagement to Christ, whereas the sources indicate that the formula tends to grow in order to balance the usually more elaborate apotaxis (Stenzel, Taufe, p. 105, n. 99).

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of the phrase ‘I engage myself …’, which is quite unnatural. In the Apostolic Constitutions the recipient is Christ.77 Based on the high level of similarity between Theodore’s syntaxis and that of the Apostolic Constitutions, it is possible, even likely, that in an earlier stage Theodore’s adherence was similar to that of the Church Order, and contained not only a Trinitarian creedal phrase, but also an engagement to Christ. When the Trinitarian character of the ritual increased, the term ‘Christ’ was eventually dropped from the formula. The different stages of Theodore’s formula would then have been as follows: a) a purely Christological form, b) the addition of a Trinitarian and creedal part, combined with or followed by an impersonal phrasing, c) the omission of ‘Christ’, resulting in a completely Trinitarian formula.78 During this process, the nature of the formula became less and less Christological. It is obvious that this created increasing tension between the formula and the stretching out of hands as a sign of Christ and the cross. To resolve this situation, Theodore reinterpreted the gesture as the common prayer posture, but suppressed the now inappropriate confessional nature as a reference to Christ’s passion. This also explains why Theodore never denotes the posture as a confession of Christ in the preceding rituals, although the context at times seems to invite this.

4. Conclusion Theodore of Mopsuestia’s baptismal rite is portrayed as a rather physical ritual in which the body is involved as much as the soul. In this way, the initiand not only undergoes but fully participates in the ritual. The 77. See note 61 above. Cf. the euchologion Barberini gr. 336 (fols. 131r–131v). 78. A next phase can be seen in the formula of the Jerusalem Mystagogical Catechesis, where the ‘I engage’ (συντάσσομαι) has been dropped and the wording is completely creedal: ‘I believe in the Father and in the Son and in the Holy Spirit and in one baptism of repentance’ (Mystagogia 1.9; Georg Röwekamp, Cyrill von Jerusalem: Mystagogicae catecheses – Mystagogische Katechesen (FC 7; Freiburg im Breisgau, 1992), p. 106; ET: E. Yarnold, Cyril of Jerusalem (The Early Church Fathers; London, 2000), p. 172). For this reason, it is a matter of debate whether this can still be considered a syntaxis. Stenzel, Taufe, p. 121, for example, thinks it cannot, while Spinks, Early and Medieval Rituals, p. 40 thinks it can and Johnson, Rites of Christian Initiation, p. 154 seems uncertain. The least we can say is that, as the ritual equivalent of the apotaxis that directly precedes it, it still functions as a syntaxis. This seems to be confirmed by the author, who earlier in the same catechesis speaks of ‘… renouncing Satan and siding with Christ …’ (τὴν ἀπόταξιν τοῦ Σατανᾶ καὶ τὴν πρὸς τὸν Χριστὸν σύνταξιν. Mystagogia 1.8; FC 7, p. 104; ET: Yarnold, p. 171 cf. p. 202, n. 9; cf. FC 7, p. 27). The specific terminology may be reminiscent of an earlier stage when the syntaxis was explicitly made to Christ (Stenzel, Taufe, p. 105, n. 99).

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prayer posture harmonizes with the expected disposition of the heart and so expresses and supports the spiritual truth of the ritual in order to help the candidate to align his inner self with the unseen reality and to adopt the appropriate attitude towards God. Remaining in the prayer position during the exorcisms, and especially during the ritual unit of the penitential prayer and the apotaxis/syntaxis, the initiand experiences the whole scene as one large prayer. Kneeling on the ground with his hands raised to heaven, the baptizand expresses his full dependence on God’s mercy. At the threshold of initiation, the candidate is, at least indirectly, instructed that a basic attitude of prayer and humility is essential for a life of devotion. In all of this, the ritual application of the posture is in general agreement with the early Christian practice of prayer. Nevertheless, the posture and its mystagogy are adapted to the needs and inner logic of the rite whenever necessary. This can be most clearly seen in the suppression of the traditional interpretation of the gesture as a sign of the cross. An explanation of this phenomenon may be sought in the evolution of the formula of the syntaxis from a personal, Christological form to an impersonal, Trinitarian type, resulting in the eventual suppression of the traditional interpretation of the posture as a confession of Christ.

Chapter Twelve

PRAYER AND FASTING IN CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA’S FESTAL LETTERS1 Hans van Loon

Like his predecessors, Cyril, archbishop of Alexandria (412–444), yearly sent out a festal letter throughout Egypt and Libya. Originally designed to inform the faithful in the diocese of the dates of Lent, Easter, and Pentecost, they had developed into treatises, in which the archbishop dealt with pastoral and dogmatic subjects. Precisely because of their pastoral content, I have chosen to investigate the festal letters as a source of Cyril’s mystagogy. The three main questions which I will attempt to answer are: (1) Why should people pray and fast according to Cyril? What is the purpose of prayer and fasting, and what should the result be? (2) What sorts of prayer does Cyril speak about? And what does he mean by fasting? (3) What methods does Cyril use to try to motivate the faithful to pray and fast? And what rhetorical devices does he use? There is hardly any secondary literature that deals with these questions. Not surprisingly for publications that announce the dates of Lent, fasting is discussed a number of times in the festal letters. As for prayer, however, various forms of prayer are mentioned throughout the letters, but there are only few passages in which prayer itself is the focus of the archbishop’s teaching. That in itself is an important outcome of this study: Cyril presupposes that the believers pray, but in his festal letters he spends little time motivating them to do so, or explaining how to do it. There is one festal letter, the eighteenth, in which he does discuss the value of both prayer and fasting, and in which he argues that they are complementary. I will start my investigation with this letter.

1. A slightly different version of this chapter has been published under the title ‘Prayer and Fasting’ in Hans van Loon, Living in the Light of Christ: Mystagogy in Cyril of Alexandria’s Festal Letters (LAHR 15; The Mystagogy of the Church Fathers 4; Leuven, 2017), pp. 71–85.

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In Festal Letter 18 Cyril writes: But prayer, I say, must be practiced with fasting. For the virtues are neighbors, and are most usefully joined. But when one of them is lacking, the other, I think, is of little benefit, and virtuousness goes lame. For it is when we fast that we will pray in purity. For the power of supplication to God is immense.2

The text seems to speak for itself: prayer and fasting should be practised together, since it is only then that they are really effective. The result of doing one without the other is a lame sort of virtuousness at best. And yet this is the only place in the festal letters where Cyril explicitly states that it is important that fasting should be accompanied by prayer. As we will see, he writes regularly that fasting should go hand in hand with virtues like charity, but prayer is not mentioned in such contexts. Even so, the archbishop was probably convinced all along that fasting should not go without prayer. An indication for this is that he places both practices side by side several times in his exposition of Isa. 58, 3 the chapter on the right kind of fasting, while his commentary on Isaiah was written more than ten years before Festal Letter 18. From a mystagogical point of view, it is somewhat surprising that Cyril did not make this link between prayer and fasting explicit more often. Someone like John Chrysostom combines the two much more often in his writings.4 The argument Cyril offers to undergird the position he takes in the text just quoted consists of two examples from the Old Testament. The first example is Israel’s confrontation with the Amalekites in the desert (Exod. 17:8–13). While Joshua and his army fight in the valley, Moses 2. Epistula Festalis 18.3, in PG 77, col. 809C (see also n. 50); ET: Philip R. Amidon and John J. O’Keefe (eds.), St. Cyril of Alexandria: Festal Letters 13–30 (FOTC 127; Washington, DC, 2013), p. 80. The critical text of Festal Letters 1–17 has been published in three volumes of the series Sources chrétiennes (SC); we are still dependent on the text of Migne’s Patrologia Graeca (PG) for Festal Letters 18–30. The abbreviation EF (Epistula Festalis) will be used for Festal Letter. 3. In Isaiam 58:1–5, in PG 70, cols. 1280A–1285A. 4. A clear indication for this are the results of searches in the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (TLG), a digital library of Greek literature on the internet hosted by the University of California, Irvine: www.tlg.uci.edu. On 4 September 2014, I searched all the writings of ‘Cyrillus Alexandrinus’ (author = 4090, work = 0) and those of ‘Concilium universale Ephesenum anno 431’ (author = 5000, work = 001) for the combination of the strings νηστε and ευχ within one line of each other, which yielded fifteen and zero results respectively. Of these fifteen hits, four can be found in Festal Letter 18 and seven in Cyril’s commentary on Isa. 58:1–5, which leaves only four other places. A search for the same strings in the writings of John Chrysostom (author = 2062, work = 0) yielded 102 hits in his authentic writings (and 66 in spurious works).

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prays with outstretched arms on the hilltop. Cyril quotes Paul as saying that these things happened to the Israelites in figure (τυπικῶς), and that they were written down for our instruction (1 Cor. 10:11), but he does not spell out what the figure stands for. It is not unlikely, however, that he regards Joshua’s battle as a type of fasting, since he compares fasting with a battle in other festal letters, too.5 In the second example the Israelites go to Samuel when they are being oppressed by neighbouring nations (1 Sam. 7). The people fast and repent, and ask Samuel to pray for them. Then the Lord thunders over the foreign armies and Israel is set free. Cyril concludes that the Israelites ‘were superior to their conquerors through fasting and prayer’.6 Neither in Festal Letter 18 nor anywhere else in his writings does Cyril refer to verses in the New Testament in which prayer and fasting are mentioned side by side. The reason may well be that his version of the biblical text did not contain the combination of these two words. The fourth-century Egyptian codices Sinaiticus (‫א‬, first hand) and Vaticanus (B), do not contain Matt. 17:21 at all, while the word νηστείᾳ is missing in Mark 9:29 and 1 Cor. 7:5.7 I would like to point out that it is the eighteenth festal letter in which Cyril devotes more attention to prayer. It is the festal letter for the year 430, which he will have written at the end of 429, when he was in the middle of the Nestorian controversy. In the spring of 430 he was to write Contra Nestorium and other Christological works. Cyril may well have been acutely aware that during this crucial period of his episcopate he himself was very much in need of prayer, which may have prompted him to write to the faithful about this topic as well. This festal letter also shows his pastoral attitude in the way he deals with Christology. To begin with, fasting and prayer get more attention in this letter than Christology. But even when, at the end of the letter, Cyril does turn to the teaching on the person of Christ, there is no direct reference to the developing controversy, and he does not use the technical terminology that we find in his dogmatic works. As he writes explicitly elsewhere,8 he does not want to burden the common faithful with the intricacies of high-level theology.9 5. For example, EF 7.1, in Pierre Évieux et al. (eds.), Cyrille d’Alexandrie: Lettres Festales VII–XI (SC 392; Paris, 1993), p. 26, and EF 9.1–2, in SC 392, pp. 124–28. 6. EF 18.3, in PG 77, col. 813A; ET: FOTC 127, p. 82. 7. Nestle28, pp. 55, 141, 529. 8. Letter to the Monks of Egypt (ep. 1), in Eduardus Schwartz (ed.), Concilium universale Ephesenum anno 431 (ACO I.1.1; Berlin, 1927), p. 11. 9. See also Hans van Loon, The Dyophysite Christology of Cyril of Alexandria (SVChr 96; Leiden, 2009), pp. 2–4, 323–26, 455.

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What is the purpose of fasting according to Cyril of Alexandria? In the eighteenth festal letter he writes that it is a cure for the sick soul, a way to ‘cleanse ourselves of every stain of flesh and spirit’,10 and a chance to be more powerful than ‘those pleasures that entice one to what is shameful’,11 and he adds that when we fast, God ‘will snatch us from every evil, and will render accessible every manner of virtuousness’.12 The last clause shows an aspect that Cyril often stresses: it is our duty to fast and to do battle against evil passions, but ultimately it is God who makes us virtuous. In the example of the three youths who survived the fiery furnace, the presence of an angel who remained with them in the flames prompts Cyril to state that we can withstand wrongful pleasures ‘with God’s strength’.13 And in the narrative about Israel and its enemies in Samuel’s time, he emphasizes that it was not Israel’s skill in battle that defeated the foreign armies, but ‘an irresistible opposition supplied by God’.14 In general, it can be said that fasting for Cyril is part of the spiritual battle against the evil passions and pleasures. It helps man to turn from vice to virtue. He states that ‘when we afflict our body with abstinence, virtuousness must follow. For thus will we be perfect and entire, lacking nothing’.15 He often compares the annual fast before Easter with a contest or a race (ἀγών) at which prizes can be won.16 At times he uses the language of mortification, referring to Col. 3:5, which says:17 ‘Put to death (νεκρώσατε), therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual 10. EF 18.1, in PG 77, col. 804CD; ET: FOTC 127, p. 76. 11. EF 18.2, in PG 77, col. 808D; ET: FOTC 127, p. 79. 12. EF 18.2, in PG 77, col. 809B; ET: FOTC 127, p. 80. 13. EF 18.2, in PG 77, col. 808D; ET: FOTC 127, p. 79. 14. EF 18.3, in PG 77, col. 812D; ET: FOTC 127, p. 81. 15. EF 20.3, in PG 77, col. 848A; ET: FOTC 127, p. 106. 16. The image of a contest was well known in both philosophy and theology, and Cyril uses it extensively. The fact that the image is mentioned several times in the New Testament may have encouraged Cyril, being the biblical theologian that he was, to return to it regularly, but in an allegorizing fashion he draws lessons from it that go beyond its use in Scripture. The most elaborate discussion of the image can be found in EF 4.2, in Pierre Évieux et al. (eds.), Cyrille d’Alexandrie: Lettres Festales I–VI (SC 372; Paris, 1991), pp. 246–52. 2 Tim. 4:7 is referred to in EF 17.5, in W.H. Burns, Marie-Odile Boulnois, and Bernard Meunier (eds.), Cyrille d’Alexandrie: Lettres Festales XII–XVII (SC 434; Paris, 1998), p. 292. Heb. 12:1 is quoted in EF 24.2, in PG 77, col. 888C, and in EF 29.1, in PG 77, col. 960B. References to 1 Cor. 9:24–27 occur a number of times in the festal letters, for example, in EF 1.1, in SC 372, p. 144; EF 7.1, in SC 392, p. 28; EF 11.2, in SC 392, p. 258; EF 29.1, in PG 77, col. 961A. 17. Bible quotations are from the New International Version (London, 1979), unless otherwise stated.

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immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed’.18 Cyril also likens fasting to the bit of a horse: just as a horse is controlled when its rider uses the bit properly, so the soul of human beings turns from evil desires to virtue when they fast properly.19 And he calls fasting ‘the mother of all virtue’,20 ‘the mother of all good things’,21 ‘the mother of sanctification’,22 and similar expressions.23 The immediate purpose of fasting, then, is to attain a life of virtue, but on several occasions Cyril points beyond that to our relationship with God. In the ninth festal letter he writes: For of course one would never say that it is permissible to enter the inner tent with feet unwashed; one must rather be cleansed first with all due care, and then, and then only, once one ‘has put to death what is earthly in one’ [cf. Col. 3:5] by the efforts of asceticism, should one hasten beyond the divine curtains, examining carefully the deep mystery of our Savior. For it is not possible, not at all possible, to share richly in the blessing given us from above, unless we choose to do what we are told here, and do it with great zeal.24

The image is taken from Heb. 9 and 10, a text to which Cyril refers more often.25 Following the biblical author, Cyril regards the entrance through the curtain into the ‘inner tent’, the Holy of Holies of the Jewish tabernacle, as a figure of our drawing near to God through Jesus Christ. And he argues that we must first wash our feet, that is, cleanse ourselves through asceticism, which includes fasting. Here we see that beyond a life of virtuousness lie an understanding of the mystery of Christ and a share in the heavenly blessing. So, indirectly fasting contributes to a more intimate relationship with God.

18. Besides EF 20.3 (see n. 15), also, for example, in EF 7.1, in SC 392, p. 20; EF 10.1, in SC 392, p. 198 ; EF 24.2, in PG 77, col. 889BC. 19. EF 22.1, in PG 77, col. 860AB. See also EF 7.1, in SC 392, p. 28 ; EF 11.2, in SC 392, p. 258. 20. EF 7.1, in SC 392, p. 22. 21. EF 2.9, in SC 372, p. 232; EF 4.6, in SC 372, p. 274. 22. EF 20.3, in PG 77, col. 848A. 23. EF 1.5, in SC 372, p. 170; ET: Philip R. Amidon and John J. O’Keefe, St. Cyril of Alexandria: Festal Letters 1–12 (FOTC 118; Washington, DC, 2009), p. 45: ‘the mother of everything good and of all good cheer’; EF 6.2, in SC 372, p. 342: ‘the mother of all holiness (σεμνότητος)’; EF 10.1, in SC 392, p. 196 : ‘the mother of all purity (ἁγνείας)’. 24. EF 9.1, in SC 392, p. 126; ET: FOTC 118, p. 156. The expression ‘blessing from above (τῆς ἄνωθεν … εὐλογίας)’ might refer to the Eucharist, but does not necessarily do so. See, for example, EF 26.2, in PG 77, col. 921C; ET: FOTC 127, p. 160, where the same expression is used in relation to the Prophet Elijah, who is said to have ‘threatened famine and fertility, and a dearth of the blessing from above.’ 25. See, for example, EF 16.4, in SC 434, pp. 230–32.

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In another festal letter, Cyril calls the Holy of Holies ‘the modes of mystical perfection’, and he adds that ‘no one may enter, or draw near to God, in disposition and sanctification that is, who has not first thoroughly washed away all the filth coming from sin and carnal desires’.26 To undergird his argument, he then refers explicitly to Exod. 30:17–21, where Aaron and his sons are ordered to wash their hands and feet before they enter the Tent of Meeting. Again Cyril contends that a virtuous life, which is aided by proper fasting, is a precondition for a closer relationship with God. Elsewhere he writes that if we take fasting and God’s commandments seriously, we will proceed ‘in some sense to the lofty heights themselves of the vision of God’.27 And in another festal letter he says that fasting ‘introduces the beloved light of the true vision of God (θεοπτίας)’.28 In the only other place in the festal letters where the term ‘vision of God’ occurs, he suggests that this vision already starts in this life. Commenting on Eph. 4:17–24, Cyril states that the mind of the new self is ‘now renewed and reveling in the bright beams of the true vision of God (θεοπτίας)’.29 In his commentary on the Gospel of John, he has this to say: ‘Christ reveals His own peculiar glory by a subtle and perhaps incomprehensible process, thereby showing forth also the glory of the Father’.30 The purpose of fasting, then, is to contribute to the struggle against the evil passions, in order to become virtuous and clean of all sin, so as to be able to enter into a more intimate relationship with God.

True Fasting What does fasting entail according to Cyril of Alexandria? He does not give a clear description of what those who are fasting should or should not do, but there are several indications in the festal letters of 26. EF 26.1, in PG 77, col. 916CD; ET: FOTC 127, p. 156. 27. EF 15.1, in SC 434, p. 170: εἰς αὐτά που λοιπὸν τὰ ὑπερτενῆ τῆς θεοπτίας ἰόντες ὑψώματα. ET: FOTC 127, p. 29. 28. EF 24.3, in PG 77, col. 889C; ET: FOTC 127, p. 138. 29. EF 23.1, in PG 77, col. 876D; ET: FOTC 127, p. 128. Although the word ‘now’ has no equivalent in the Greek text and has been added by the translator (probably based on the occurrence of λοιπόν in the next clause), it is clear from the context that ‘now’ is implied. 30. In Jo. 13:23–26, in Philippus Eduardus Pusey (ed.), Sancti patris nostri Cyrilli archiepiscopi Alexandrini in D. Joannis Evangelium, vol. 2 (Oxford, 1872; reprint: Brussels, 1965), p. 367; ET: Thomas Randell (trans.), Commentary on the Gospel according to S. John, vol. 2 (A Library of Fathers of the Holy Catholic Church 48, Oxford, 1885), p. 198.

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what he means by fasting. It is ‘to abstain from superfluous food in due season, and to withdraw from the over-laden table’,31 and ‘we are satisfied with a light diet, and we keep our table free from fancily dressed dishes’.32 Such phrases give the impression that Cyril does not have a very strict fast in mind, but rather abstinence from luxurious and excessive food. This may once more be a sign of Cyril’s pastoral attitude. The festal letters were meant to reach the common faithful through their spiritual leaders, not just monks. And the archbishop did not want to burden the people with physical exertions. As he himself writes: ‘For this is the sort of life which is moderate and reasonable, marked neither by the severity of an exceeding strictness, nor by the lapses into sin occasioned by an over-indulgence in the propensity to license,’ but ‘it cannot be compared to what is more perfect.’33 He goes on to explain the difference with the help of the parable of the sower, in which the good soil produces fruit, a hundred, sixty, or thirty times what was sown (Matt. 13:3–8). And he emphasizes that in each of these three cases the earth is good, even though some display more virtue than others. It may be assumed that, like the monks, Cyril himself strove to be ‘perfect’, and to reap a hundredfold, whether or not he had spent several years with the monks in the Egyptian desert.34 For Cyril, fasting is not an end in itself, but a means to a spiritual end. It should not just be a mere exercise of the body, but it should be used to support a life of love and virtue. As early as the first festal letter, the archbishop urges that a proper fast should lead to a purified life. He quotes Jas. 1:27, in which he replaces the word ‘religion’ (θρησκεία) by ‘fast’ (νηστεία): ‘A fast that is pure and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.’35 And in Festal Letter 21, he refers to Isa. 58, where the Lord exhorts those who fast as they are treating their 31. EF 1.3, in SC 372, p. 160; ET: FOTC 118, p. 42. The term ‘luxury’ or ‘self-indulgence’ (τρυφή), which Cyril uses in the next clause, recurs several times in the festal letters in relation to fasting. 32. EF 10.1, in SC 392, p. 196; ET: FOTC 118, p. 179. See also EF 14.2, in SC 434, p. 134. 33. EF 2.6, in SC 372, pp. 218–20; ET: FOTC 118, p. 62. 34. According to B. Evetts, ‘History of the Patriarchs of the Coptic Church of Alexandria’, Patrologia Orientalis 1 (1907), pp. 427–28, Cyril spent five years in the monasteries of the Nitrian desert. The Arabic original is attributed to the tenth-century Severus Ibn al Moqaffa, who used older sources. The text is, however, of a legendary character. No confirmation of this report can be found in Cyril’s own writings. And the fact that he called Isidore of Pelusium ‘father’ does not prove that Cyril lived with Isidore in the desert (Isidorus Pelusiota, ep. 370, in PG 78, col. 392). Modern scholars assess the evidence differently. 35. EF 1.3, in SC 372, p. 158; ET: FOTC 118, p. 41.

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fellow human beings unjustly.36 How vital this is for Cyril is shown by the fact that he ends the majority of the festal letters with a call to let the fast be accompanied by deeds of compassion. A typical example, taken from the second festal letter, reads: And let us hold to love for each other, showing ourselves more intent upon hospitality, distinguishing ourselves in concern for the poor, remembering those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are ill-treated, since we ourselves also are in the body [cf. Heb. 13:1–3]. In a word, let us cherish every virtue. It is thus that we shall perform the genuine fast.37

The true fast for Cyril, then, is a sober diet in support of a life of virtue and compassion.

Exhortations to Prayer Cyril of Alexandria exhorts his audience to various forms of prayer. Firstly, at the beginning of a number of festal letters, he recalls the festival of Easter, which is the occasion for the letter, and summons the faithful to praise and thanksgiving for the victory that Christ has won on our behalf. Cyril usually quotes an Old Testament verse, or part thereof, for this purpose. Ps. 94/95:1 is his favourite: ‘Come, let us sing for joy to the Lord; let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation.’38 A few times he explicitly refers to Christ’s work as the reason for this jubilation. In the very first festal letter, he writes that David ‘bids us sing the song of victory to Christ, who became incarnate for our sakes and who destroyed the power of death through the cross’.39 And in Festal Letter 5 Cyril himself raises the question why we should exult and shout aloud, and he explains that in Christ life has triumphed over death.40 Once, he adds that there are others ‘who exult in the world, fattening their flesh on an extravagance of foods’,41 and then moves on to warn the people against self-indulgence.

36. EF 21.2, in PG 77, col. 853AB. 37. EF 2.9, in SC 372, p. 232; ET: FOTC 118, p. 67. 38. For example, in EF 1.1, in SC 372, p. 142, and in EF 15.1, in SC 434, p. 170. Other verses Cyril quotes include Ps. 32/33:1, Ps. 46/47:1, Ps. 95/96:11, Ps. 96/97:1, Isa. 61:10. 39. EF 1.1, in SC 372, p. 142; ET: FOTC 118, p. 35. 40. EF 5.1, in SC 372, p. 284. 41. EF 25.1, in PG 77, col. 904B; ET: FOTC 127, p. 147. In EF 23.1, in PG 77, col. 876B; ET: FOTC 127, p. 127, Cyril speaks of those who have ‘never related exultation and joy to the Lord instead of to temporary pleasures’.

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Cyril usually ends his festal letters with a brief summary of Christ’s salvific work, and a few times this summary contains a call to render thanks to God for what he has done in Christ. Whereas the beginning of the festal letters mainly contains the verbs ‘to sing’ or ‘to rejoice’ (ἀγαλλιᾶν), and ‘to make a joyful noise’ or ‘to shout’ (ἀλαλάζειν), at the end he uses the verb ‘to give thanks’ (εὐχαριστεῖν). Cyril writes most extensively about this in Festal Letter 6. He starts by saying: ‘For these reasons, beloved, in making some modest repayment to the Savior, and gladdening our Benefactor in return with what thanks we can, let us …’, and he continues somewhat further: ‘But while we offer thanks insofar as words and speech go, let us also bring him what we add to them from our brave deeds.’42 He has thus included both prayers of thanksgiving and obedience out of gratitude. Once, there is an unambiguous reference to church services, when Cyril writes: ‘Rejoicing with one another in the churches, therefore, let us lift up songs of thanksgiving (εὐχαριστηρίους ᾠδάς) through our common, sacred, united assembly, in Christ the Savior’.43 He is speaking of songs here. Just as is usually the case in his other writings, the term Cyril uses for the Eucharist in the festal letters (three times) is ‘mystical blessing’ (εὐλογία μυστική),44 not εὐχαριστία. And once he refers to the sacrament with the expression ‘the divine mysteries’ (τὰ θεῖα μυστήρια).45 In none of these cases does he speak about the Eucharist in relation to prayer or fasting. Prayers of petition receive special attention in the festal letter in which Cyril argues for the complementarity of prayer and fasting. ‘The power of supplication (ἱκετείας) to God is immense’,46 he declares. In addition to the examples of Moses and Samuel, already mentioned, he refers to David and Ezra earlier in this festal letter, who both also combined fasting with prayer. In Ps. 34/35:13 (LXX), David says: ‘But I, when they troubled me, put on sackcloth, and humbled my soul with fasting, and my prayer shall return to my bosom’.47 Cyril interprets the last phrase, 42. EF 6.12, in SC 372, p. 398; ET: FOTC 118, p. 124. 43. EF 21.2, in PG 77, col. 852AB; ET: FOTC 127, p. 110. 44. EF 8.5, in SC 392, p. 96 ; EF 9.6, in SC 392, p. 170 ; EF 10.2, in SC 392, p. 206. Cyril borrowed the word εὐλογία for the Eucharist from the Apostle Paul, who uses it in 1 Cor. 10:16. 45. EF 9.6, in SC 392, p. 172; ET: in FOTC 118, p. 172. 46. EF 18.3, in PG 77, col. 809C; ET: FOTC 127, p. 80. 47. EF 18.2, in PG 77, col. 805C; ET: FOTC 127, p. 78. Cyril’s rendering of the biblical verse is virtually identical to the text in A. Rahlfs (ed.), Psalmi cum Odis (Septuaginta Vetus Testamentum Graecum 10; Göttingen, 19793, 19311), the only difference being that Cyril has the plural νηστείαις, whereas Rahlf’s edition reads the singular νηστείᾳ.

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that David’s prayer will return to his bosom, as meaning that God will richly bless him in response to his prayer. Similarly, Ezra states: ‘And there I began a fast’ and ‘we besought (ἐδεήθημεν) our Lord concerning this, and found him very merciful’ (1 Esdras 8:50–53).48 Cyril first comments that God ‘will rescue us too when we fast, will snatch us from every evil, and will render accessible every manner of virtuousness.’49 But he immediately adds that fasting must go hand in hand with prayer, and that when we fast we will pray in purity, which is followed by the statement that the power of supplication is immense.50 This is the only place in the festal letters in which Cyril motivates his audience at length to practise petitionary prayer. Mostly, the practice is presupposed and its importance suggested and implied, but it is not an item of discussion. A few times, he adds some brief comments. Thus in relation to Jer. 11:14 (LXX), ‘And you, do not pray for this people, and do not ask that mercy be shown them, in supplication and prayer, for I will not listen’, Cyril writes: ‘For even though he [God] usually treats the prayer of the saints with the highest regard, in the case of these people alone he did not accept it.’51 Thus, Cyril wants to emphasize that the situation Jeremiah is speaking about is an exception, and that the faithful may trust that when they pray to God, he will listen to them. On the other hand, in another festal letter he warns them that such exceptional cases may apply to them as well. Once, when a number of murders had apparently taken place in the countryside, the archbishop asks the following rhetorical questions: What kind of hands will you lift up to God? What kind of prayer will you be able to say at all, or how will you ask for good things from the God who says through one of the prophets, ‘When you stretch out your hands to me, I will turn away my eyes from you; and though you make many supplications, I will not listen to you, for your hands are full of blood’ [Isa. 1:15 (LXX)].52

48. EF 18.2, in PG 77, col. 809AB; ET: FOTC 127, p. 79. In this instance, there are a few minor differences between Cyril’s rendering and the standard text of 1 Esdras. 49. EF 18.2, in PG 77, col. 809B; ET: FOTC 127, p. 80. 50. EF 18.3, in PG 77, col. 809C: Χρῆναι δέ φημι συνεπιτηδεύεσθαι τῇ νηστείᾳ τὴν προσευχήν, and: Προσευξόμεθα γὰρ καθαρῶς νηστεύοντες. Πλείστη δὲ ὅση τῆς πρὸς Θεὸν ἱκετείας ἡ δύναμις. See also n. 2. 51. EF 9.5, in SC 392, p. 158; ET: FOTC 118, p. 167. Cyril’s text of Jer. 11:14 differs slightly from the standard Septuagint version: it reads μὴ ἀξίου τοῦ ἐλεηθῆναι αὐτούς instead of: μὴ ἀξίου περὶ αὐτῶν. 52. EF 8.3, in SC 392, p. 82; ET: FOTC 118, p. 143. The only difference between Cyril’s text of Isa. 1:15 and the standard Septuagint text is that the word γάρ comes after χεῖρες instead of before.

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Cyril adds that he who is obedient to God, may expect blessings from him, but he who does not accept his yoke, will receive punishment. He then gives another warning, that ‘to have poured out upon one what one has prayed for, has sometimes been the occasion of this great impiety of yours.’53 If God blesses us in response to our prayers, these very blessings may lead to conceit and to contempt of God, which results in disobedience and sinful behaviour. Once again, Cyril cites a verse of Scripture to support his views, Hos. 13:6 (LXX): ‘And they were completely filled; and their hearts were exalted. Therefore, they forgot me.’54 Cyril then calls on them to repent, to improve their ways, and to confess their sins: ‘Weeping let us say, “We have sinned, we have transgressed, we have done iniquity” [cf. Dan. 9:5]’, and he continues: ‘For it is then, then indeed, that God will be gracious, and put away his anger, and the earth will again bear bountifully, and will cheer us with its usual gifts.’55 We have thus moved from the prayer of thanksgiving, to the prayer of petition, to the prayer of confession. A call to confession can also be found in the previous festal letter, which also raises the issue of the murderous peasants. Cyril writes: Let us repent, therefore, and let us cease from our transgressions of old. Let us approach the merciful God, our eyes shedding tears in abundance, and let us say with one of the prophets, ‘Who is a God like you, canceling iniquities, and passing over injustices, and he has not kept his anger for a testimony, for he desires mercy?’ [Mic. 7:18]. And again: ‘Our iniquities have arisen up against us, O Lord; act for us for the sake of your name; our sins are many before you; we have sinned against you. …’ [Jer. 14:7–8]. For it is to those whose repentance is such as this, yes, such as this, that he grants to hear those sweet words: ‘Behold, I send you grain, and wine, and oil, and you shall be satisfied with them’ [Joel 2:19].56

It is interesting to note that Cyril includes himself: ‘let us repent’, not ‘you should repent’. He feels co-responsible as it were. As he explicitly states several times in his writings, he is convinced that spiritual leaders will have to give an account before the judgement seat of Christ as to how they led their flock.57 In this festal letter he writes that he is their 53. EF 8.3, in SC 392, p. 82; ET: FOTC 118, p. 143. 54. Cyril’s text reads ἕνεκεν where the standard Septuagint text has ἕνεκα; this is the only difference. The translation is from FOTC 118, pp. 143–44. 55. EF 8.4, in SC 392, p. 88; ET: FOTC 118, p. 145. 56. EF 7.2, in SC 392, pp. 44–46; ET: FOTC 118, p. 133. Cyril’s biblical quotations differ slightly from the standard Septuagint text. The main difference is found in Mic. 7:18: whereas Cyril’s text reads ἀνομίας and ἀδικίας, the standard Septuagint text has ἀδικίας and ἀσεβείας τοῖς καταλοίποις τῆς κληρονομίας αὐτοῦ, respectively. 57. For example, in a letter to a devotee of Nestorius (ep. 9), in Schwartz, ACO I.1.1, p. 108, Cyril writes: ‘Each of those who are laymen in rank will give an account of his

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‘spiritual father’,58 and he calls on the bishops, priests, and heads of the monastic communities to lead the people in fasting and prayer: Let the fathers among you listen, therefore, the fathers of the holy altars, the ministers and servants: ‘Sound the trumpet in Zion, sanctify a fast, proclaim a solemn service: gather the people, sanctify an assembly, assemble the elders, gather the infants at the breast. Let the bridegroom go forth from his bridal chamber, and the bride from her room. Between the porch and the altar let the priests that minister to the Lord weep, and say, Spare your people, O Lord, and give not your heritage to reproach, lest they should say among the heathen, Where is their God?’ [Joel 2:15–17 (LXX)]. When we approach him in this way he will receive us at once with the following words of compassion: ‘I, even I, am he who blots out your sins, and I will not remember them’ [Isa. 43:25 (LXX)].59

Apart from these instances relating to the serious sin of murder, Cyril hardly mentions the confession of sins in the festal letters. This may seem surprising, since in one of his homilies on the Gospel of Luke, the one which exposits the petition in the Lord’s Prayer, ‘Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us’ (Luke 11:4), Cyril declares: ‘It is therefore greatly to our profit constantly to fall down before God, Who loveth what is good, and say, Forgive us our sins.’60 He does not single out great sins here, but teaches that it is good to ask for forgiveness constantly. Against the background of Cyril’s oeuvre as a whole, however, it is more understandable that confession of sins occurs seldom in the festal letters. When it comes to forgiveness, Cyril’s emphasis is on the work of Christ, not on our confession of sins. It is Christ who sets us free from our sins and justifies us. Our responsibility is to accept his grace in faith, and then to strive for a virtuous life, in the power of the Holy Spirit. In Cyril’s own words: own life. But we who have been heavily laden with the duties of the episcopacy will give an account, not only of ourselves, but of all those believing in Christ’; ET: John I. McEnerney, St. Cyril of Alexandria: Letters 1–50 (FOTC 76; Washington, DC, 1987), pp. 53–54. Cf. Jas. 3:1 and Heb. 13:17, to which Cyril refers in De adoratione, in PG 68, cols. 328D–329A. 58. EF 7.2, in SC 392, p. 36; ET: FOTC 118, p. 131. 59. EF 7.2, in SC 392, p. 48; ET: FOTC 118, p. 134. The two main differences between Cyril’s text of Joel 2:15–17 and that of the standard Septuagint text are: instead of κοιτῶνος Cyril’s text reads νυμφῶνος, and the phrase τοῦ κατάρξαι αὐτῶν ἔθνη is missing. His rendering of Isa. 43:25 reads ἁμαρτίας instead of τὰς ἀνομίας. 60. Sermon 76, Syriac text: I.-B. Chabot (ed.), S. Cyrilli Alexandrini Commentarii in Lucam. Pars prior (CSCO 70; Paris, 1912), pp. 303–09 (306); Latin trans.: R.M. Tonneau (ed.), S. Cyrilli Alexandrini Commentarii in Lucam. Pars prior (CSCO 140; Louvain, 1953), pp. 210–13 (211); ET: R. Payne Smith (ed.), A Commentary upon the Gospel of S. Luke by S. Cyril, Patriarch of Alexandria (Oxford, 1959), pp. 345–49 (346).

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Sin has therefore been condemned, put to death first in Christ in order to be put to death in us as well, when we settle him in our own souls through faith and participation in the Spirit, who conforms us to Christ through his quality of sanctifier, to be sure.61

In line with this, he sometimes calls the believers ‘those who have been justified in Christ’ and/or ‘justified through faith’, to which he may add: ‘and sanctified in the Spirit’.62 Yet another observation on prayer should be made: none of the 29 festal letters contain an exhortation to pray the Lord’s Prayer, there is not even a single reference to it. This is peculiar, since in his biblical commentaries Cyril does cite the various petitions of the Lord’s Prayer a number of times.63 This absence of the Our Father in the festal letters raises questions about the status of this prayer in the Egyptian church of the fifth century, but these questions go beyond the scope of this paper.

Cyril’s Methods We will now turn to the methods which Cyril uses to motivate the faithful to pray and fast. Although Cyril is best known for his involvement in the Nestorian controversy and for his contribution to Christology, he was first of all a biblical scholar. Seven of the ten volumes of Migne’s Patrologia Graeca that are devoted to Cyril contain biblical commentaries. And the high regard that Cyril had for Scripture is also evident in his festal letters. Scripture has authority for him, and he expects his audience to have a similar attitude towards the Bible. He often backs up his arguments with scriptural citations, as is demonstrated by the many quotations given above. One form Cyril’s reference to biblical authority takes should be highlighted here: he holds up persons in the Bible as examples for his audience. We have seen that when he wants to show that prayer and fasting are complementary, his argument consists of discussing the examples of 61. EF 10.2, in SC 392, p. 210; ET: FOTC 118, p. 183. 62. EF 16.1, in SC 434, p. 214: τοῖς ἐν Χριστῷ δεδικαιωμένοις. EF 22.1, in PG 77, col. 857C: οἱ διὰ πίστεως τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ δεδικαιωμένοι. EF 26.1, in PG 77, col. 913A: τοῖς ἐν πίστει δεδικαιωμένοις, καὶ ἡγιασμένοις ἐν πνεύματι. Once he adds: ‘and who have undertaken the war against passions and sin’: τοὺς ἐν Χριστῷ δεδικαιωμένους, καὶ ἡγιασμένους ἐν Πνεύματι, πόλεμόν τε τὸν κατὰ παθῶν καὶ ἁμαρτίας ἠρμένους: EF 15.1, in SC 434, p. 176; ET: FOTC 127, p. 31. 63. See for a brief treatment of Cyril’s exposition of the Lord’s Prayer: Georg Walther, Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der griechischen Vaterunser-Exegese (TU 40.3; Leipzig, 1914), pp. 72–82.

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Moses and Joshua, and of Samuel and the Israelites. He explicitly justifies this procedure with a reference to 1 Cor. 10:11, where Paul writes that things happened to the Israelites of old in figure (τυπικῶς), and that they were written down for our instruction.64 David, Ezra, and the three youths65 have also been mentioned already. Other biblical persons to whom Cyril refers as examples include the Ninevites,66 John the Baptist,67 the Apostle Paul,68 and Christ himself.69 Sometimes, Cyril uses counter-examples from the Bible: people who did not pray or fast, and who had to bear the consequences. So, he points to the Israelites in the desert, of whom it is said that they sat down to eat and drink, and they arose to play (after the golden calf had been erected, Exod. 32:6), and that they despised the manna and longed for the fleshpots of Egypt (Num. 11:4–6; 21:5). And Cyril adds that a number of the Israelites were killed by snakes, and that they had other sufferings to endure.70 In addition to models from Scripture, Cyril also employs illustrations from everyday life, especially to underline that labour and work are necessary to bear fruit. Farmers till their land in hope for a rich harvest. Merchants brave the waves, expecting profits from their trade. If these people labour for earthly gains, should we, who have been promised spiritual gifts, not endure the troubles of fasting and battle against passions and wrongful pleasures, Cyril argues.71 He applies a similar argument a minore ad maiorem to bodily illnesses. When our body is sick and a change of diet will help restore our health, we are all too happy to accept the inconveniences of a meagre fare. ‘But if what is incomparably better is seen to be ill, the soul that is,’ Cyril writes, and fasting is part of the cure, how should we not embrace it joyfully?72 Another rhetorical device which Cyril uses to persuade the faithful is responding to anticipated objections. Thus in the first festal letter he suggests that someone may agree that fasting has its benefits, but might 64. EF 18.3, in PG 77, col. 812A. 65. See for the three youths n. 13, and EF 1.4, in SC 372, p. 162; ET: FOTC 118, pp. 42–43. 66. EF 1.4, in SC 372, pp. 162–64; ET: FOTC 118, p. 43. 67. EF 1.4, in SC 372, p. 162; ET: FOTC 118, p. 42. 68. EF 7.1, in SC 392, pp. 26–28; ET: FOTC 118, p. 128. 69. EF 21.2, in PG 77, col. 852D; ET: FOTC 127, pp. 110–11. 70. EF 1.4, in SC 372, p. 164; ET: FOTC 118, p. 43. 71. EF 18.1, in PG 77, cols. 801C–804B; ET: FOTC 127, pp. 75–76. 72. EF 18.1, in PG 77, col. 804B–D; ET: FOTC 127, p. 76. See also EF 14.2, in SC 434, p. 138.

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shrink from the costs and regard it as contrary to nature. After stating that it would be foolish to miss out on the blessings because of an unwillingness to put in the effort, the archbishop shows that it is quite natural that growth goes hand in hand with toil. Every shoot starts from a root and cannot become a plant without making its way through the ground. Cyril then stresses that the benefits are far greater than the costs, and he rather overstates his case when he asks ‘whether they would call fasting or eternal punishment irksome.’73 He ends his response with an adage from the rhetorical tradition: pleasures are more enjoyable when they are preceded by a period in which they were absent. Thus, health is more appreciated by those who were sick, and those who live in poverty are more eager for gain. He adds that God ordained day and night to succeed each other for this reason. Cyril may be borrowing from Basil of Caesarea here, or directly from secular authors.74 As we have seen, in order to motivate the faithful, Cyril points both to the benefits when they do pray and fast, and to the negative consequences when they do not, following a theology of reward and retribution, although he also stresses God’s grace. Virtuousness, blessings, and the vision of God will be the result if the faithful obediently and humbly observe Lent and turn to God. But if they do not, they will remain subject to the passions, and this will result in sufferings. From the ninth festal letter on, the summary of Christ’s salvific work at the end of the festal letters usually ends with Christ’s return as the judge, and on a number of occasions Cyril adds that we will have to give an account of our deeds. This then leads to the final exhortation in which he calls the people to the true practice of fasting, which includes compassion and love for one another. To quote just one example: He will come in due time from heaven in the glory of his Father with the holy angels to judge the living and the dead. Knowing this, therefore, let us ‘purify ourselves of every defilement of flesh and spirit’ [2 Cor. 7:1]. Let us accomplish our sanctification in the fear of God, cultivating every sort of piety, preserving a faith in him that is correct and sincere, reviving widows, consoling orphans, caring for the poor with our resources as far as we may, condoling with the sufferings as those who are in bodies ourselves, and remembering prisoners as their fellow prisoners. For thus it is, thus indeed, that we will fast in purity.75

73. EF 1.4, in SC 372, p. 168; ET: FOTC 118, p. 44. 74. EF 1.4, in SC 372, p. 168; see also n. 1 on pp. 168–69; ET: FOTC 118, p. 45. 75. EF 20.4, in PG 77, col. 849AB; ET: FOTC 127, p. 108.

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The outcome of this study can be summarized as follows. According to Cyril of Alexandria in his festal letters, prayer and fasting should form a unity. The one cannot be done without the other. Cyril does not seem to promote a strict fast, he usually describes it as the abstinence of superfluous and luxurious food. He does stress that it should not be a merely physical exercise, but it should be accompanied by virtues and by charity for one another. The purpose of fasting is the struggle against evil passions and worldly pleasures. Proper fasting will lead to virtuousness and to the vision of God. Prayer is presupposed throughout the festal letters, but Cyril discusses it relatively rarely. Cyril calls his audience to praise and thanksgiving, especially for Christ’s salvific work. In a few places he encourages the faithful to make prayers of petition and to confess their sins. There is no reference to the Lord’s Prayer. His argumentation consists mainly of appeals to Scripture, whose authority is implied. Quotations of and allusions to biblical verses abound. And he invokes biblical examples for the imitation of the faithful, or, in the case of counter-examples, as a warning. Sometimes Cyril also uses examples from everyday life and arguments from the rhetorical tradition. He reasons according to a schema of reward and retribution, but he regularly emphasizes that ultimately we are dependent on the grace of God.

Part 3

WESTERN FATHERS

Chapter Thirteen

THE CONCLUDING PRAYERS IN AMBROSE’S DE INSTITUTIONE VIRGINIS AND EXHORTATIO VIRGINITATIS Metha Hokke

Introduction When Ambrose (340–397) returned to Milan in August 394, he had something to explain. He had abandoned his city to go on a provincial tour, ensuring he was out of town while the power struggle between the new Western Emperor Eugenius and the Emperor Theodosius lasted.1 Ambrose solved the political problem caused by his voluntary exile in his own creative way: he developed a conciliatory ritual for the thanksgiving mass Theodosius requested him to offer to celebrate his victory over Eugenius, a ritual in which the bishop mediated between Theodosius, represented by his letter, and God.2 In ecclesiastical respect, Ambrose had lived through turbulent ecclesiastical times too. The synod of Capua, which he chaired in the winter of 391–392, referred the case against Bishop Bonosus on account of his denial of Mary’s post partum virginity back to his Illyrian fellow bishops. Nevertheless Ambrose devoted a large part of his treatise De institutione virginis (393) (Inst.) to refuting Bonosus’s views.3 Not only did Ambrose support the Roman excommunication of the monk 1. Ambrose’s uncertainty about the outcome can be deduced from his letters written in 394: Epistulae extra collectionem 10 (to Eugenius); 2; 3 (to Theodosius); see M. Zelzer (ed.), Ambrosius: Epistularum liber decimus, Epistulae extra collectionem, Gesta concili Aquileiensis (CSEL 82/3; Vienna, 1982), pp. 145–311; ET: J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose of Milan, Political Letters and Speeches (Translated Texts for Historians 43; Liverpool, 2005), pp. 255–61, 216–20; Neil B. McLynn, Ambrose of Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital (The Transformation of the Classical Heritage 22; Berkeley, 1994), pp. 343–54. 2. Ambrose, Ep. ex. 2.4, in CSEL 83/2, pp. 179–80; ET: Liebeschuetz, Ambrose, pp. 217–18; cf. McLynn, Ambrose, pp. 353–54. Earlier Ambrose had resisted Theodosius’ presence near the altar; McLynn, Ambrose, p. 298. 3. Ambrose, De institutione virginis (Inst.) 5.32–8.57; see Franco Gori (ed.), Sant’Ambrogio: Opere morali 2: Verginità e Vedovanza, 2 vols. (Sancti Ambrosii Episcopi Mediolanensis Opera 14; Milan, 1989), vol. 1, p. 59. The two volumes of this edition will hereinafter be abbreviated as SAEMO 14.1 and SAEMO 14.2. SAEMO 14.1 contains the

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Jovinian for his advocacy of the equal status of virginity and marriage on the basis of baptism, but he also added the controversial topic of Mary’s in partu virginity as grounds for the excommunication. Mary’s virginity, and in its wake virginity in general, was a burning issue in this period. Having sketched the outlines of the political and ecclesiastical situation, this paper will concentrate on the prayers that conclude Ambrose’s two last treatises on virginity: Inst. and Exhortatio virginitatis (394) (Exh.).4 The treatises refer to Ambrose’s activities just before (Inst.) or during (Exh.) his voluntary exile from Milan. The context of Inst. is the consecration (velatio or veiling) of the virgin Ambrosia in Milan and the connection between the perpetual virginity of Mary and that of virgins; whereas in Exh., Ambrose’s dedication of a church donated by the widow Juliana in Florence is linked to her children (three daughters and a son) becoming or being consecrated virgins. The prayers differ in length (Inst. 17.10–114; Exh. 14.94) and literary and exegetical style, and are complementary in their overview of the general themes related to virginity that Ambrose raised before: the imagery of virginity as angelic life on earth, of virgins as brides of Christ (Inst.), and of virginity as a sacrifice similar to Christ’s reconciling death and alluding to martyrdom (Exh.).5 The prayers can be considered as the literary closures of the two books, but, as I will argue in this paper, there is more to it. Why would Ambrose propagate virginity? What is the objective of these prayers within his virginity oeuvre? How do they reflect on Ambrose as a bishop and as a person?

De institutione virginis 17.104–114 The warmth of the concluding prayer in Inst. might have had something to do with the fact that Ambrosia was a granddaughter of Ambrose’s friend Eusebius. The relationship that the consecration prayer evokes is that between Ambrose and God the Father.6 God is constantly involved

works De virginibus and De viduis, SAEMO 14.2 contains De virginitate, De institutione virginis, and Exhortatio virginitatis. 4. His earlier works on virginity were not concluded by a prayer. De virginibus (Virg.) and De viduis (Vid.) (377) were the first treatises which Ambrose wrote, whereas parts of De virginitate (Vrgt.) may have been from this early period. 5. Raymond d’Izarny, La virginité selon Saint Ambroise (PhD dissertation, Institut Catholique de Lyon, 1952), pp. 12–47 distinguished these three categories. 6. Ambrose, Inst. 17.104 (pater gloriae), 108 (pater), 109 (deus pater omnipotens), 111 (pater caritatis et gloriae), 112 (domine).

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in Ambrose’s argument.7 But the relationship is more complex. Ambrose is praying on behalf of Ambrosia, whereas Christ is referred to in the third person as deus or Christ, until the bishop ultimately exhorts him, domine Iesu (114), as the groom (sponsus) of the Song of Songs to leave for his wedding with the consecrated virgin. Christ is addressed as tu at this stage. The prayer ends with a doxology to the Trinity, affirmed by ‘Amen’. The Holy Spirit had been mentioned once before as the impregnator of the consecrated virgin (109). Ambrose is clearly visible as a bishop in his relationship to Ambrosia. Although he acknowledges Ambrosia as an independent personality, who has taken it upon herself to be a virgin (107), and has chosen to forego marriage (109), he refers to her as a minor or a servant in his prayer.8 He succinctly formulates what he regards as his duty towards the virgin (but also towards the church): ‘And her, I bestow you (God, MH) as priestly gift, her I hand over in fatherly affection’. The latter part is reminiscent of the very beginning of Inst., addressed to Ambrosia’s grandfather after the consecration: ‘To me, you hand over your child (pignus) who is equally mine, Ambrosia, who is consecrated to the Lord, and you, in your devout affection were far more worried about her than about your other offspring (soboles)’.9 Pignus, child or pledge, is contrasted here with the other offspring that has been raised to be married off, soboles. This pignus, the girl destined for virginity, has been cared for with more than the fatherly pietas the other children received, because her sacrifice in virginity will expiate the sins of her relatives.10 Although Ambrosia would continue to live at home after her consecration, Ambrose became another father for her. Twice Ambrose argues that God’s greatest gift to humankind is that God was born from a virgin. Or, from another point of view, that Christ had chosen the womb of the celestial virgin as a habitation for the generation of his flesh.11 This explained the growing attraction of virginity 7. Apart from Inst. 17.106, Ambrose addresses God with tu/tuus or the second singular subjunctive. 8. Haec tua famula (Ambrose, Inst. 17.107, 108, 110), puella (109), tua ancilla (111). 9. Ambrose, Inst. 17.107: Quam sacerdotali munere offero, affectu patrio commendo, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 186. Inst. 1.1: Commendas mihi pignus tuum, quod aeque est meum, Ambrosiam domini sacram et pio affectu eius tibi asseris praestantiorem reliqua sobole sollicitudinem, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 110. Gori concludes from domini sacram that Ambrosia had already been consecrated at the moment this proem was written (SAEMO 14.2, p. 111, n. 2). This explains why Ambrose is entitled to claim her as his pignus. 10. Ambrose, Inst. 1.1: Quae cum sit praestantior causa votorum, sola tamen solvat quidquid pro se et pro omnibus filiis debes, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 110. 11. Ambrose, Inst. 17.104: ut deus ex virgine nasceretur; 108: in suo utero deum virgo portaret; 105: ipse … unigenitus filius tuus venturus in terras … puriorem carnis suae

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ever since and confirmed God’s approval of its virtuous character. Ambrose makes this attraction tangible, poetically describing Ambrosia’s consecration, emphasizing the difference between the secular bridal veil (flammeum nuptiale) and the self-sacrificing holy veil (velamen sacrum) of consecration (108).12 He introduces a number of topoi of virginity treatises: Ambrosia has rejected marriage with its few pros and many cons, and he asks God to give her virtues that correspond to virginity, such as modesty, sobriety, and continence (109).13 But intertwined in these practical observations, Ambrose concludes his observations about the virginal birth, and deepens the theme of the clothing of the virgin. In the very physical terms that are reminiscent of Mary giving birth, he describes how the consecrated virgin delivers the immaculate progeny of fides and pietas: she becomes pregnant by the Holy Spirit and, made pregnant by God, gives birth to the spirit of salvation.14 The flamecoloured flammeum is replaced by the virgin’s purple (purpureum) velamen to reinforce the association with Christ’s blood: she wears Christ’s mortification around her flesh.15 After the consecration, the virgin is dressed in her virtues, which cover up her culpa (guilt or moral defect). God is asked to keep the clothes of the virgin clean and white, that is, not blackened by an intervening culpa (110a). A similar identification generationem reperire non potuit, quam ut habitationi caelestis aulam virginis dedicaret, in qua esset et immaculatae castitatis sacrarium et dei templum, in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 184– 88. Inst. 5.33: de caelo vas sibi hoc per quod descenderet Christus elegit et sacravit templum pudoris, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 134. Christ’s birth from a virgin is so central to the salvation relationship between God and humanity, that even the Fall is positively evaluated as having evoked the necessity of this gift from God (felix culpa): Amplius nobis profuit culpa quam nocuit: in quo redemptio quidem nostra divinium munus invenit; Ambrose, Inst. 17.104, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 186. 12. Not the beautiful bride, whose hair is depicted in poetical terms borrowed from Ausonius (SAEMO 14.2, p. 189, n. 213), but the evangelica mulier sancta Maria, who wiped Christ’s feet with her hair, filling the house with the smell of ointment (John 12:3; Luke 7:38) should be the virgin’s example. Mary’s action is interpreted in Inst. 13.84 as wiping away the stench of error hereditarius. 13. These virtues are elaborated in rules of conduct; Ambrose, Inst. 17.112. 14. Ambrose, Inst. 17.109: … puella, quae immaculatos sibi fidei partus et pietatis exposcat, ut in utero accipiat de spiritu sancto et spiritum salutis deo feta parturiat, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 188. Virginity continues to be described in terms borrowed from marriage and family: the virgin takes the dos pudoris, fides (often meaning marital fidelity towards the sponsus Christ in these treatises (SAEMO 14.1, p. 139, n. 130)), and pietas (dutiful respect within families, see for example Inst. 17.112, pietas erga propinquos) into the consecration. 15. Ambrose, Inst. 17.109: … mortificationem domini Iesu in sua carne circumferat (2 Cor. 4:10); see also 15.93: especially virgins mortificationem eius (Christ) in suo circumferunt corpore, in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 188, 174. Cf. Ambrose, Exh. 9.58: membra tua redoleant crucem Christi et sepulturae odorem as precondition for the soul to open up to Christ and to remain undisturbed by the vapores carnis, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 246.

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with, or better appropriation by, Christ returns in (113), expressed by the words of S. of S. 8:6 in the wish that God will set the seal of his Word on the heart and arm of the virgin, enabling Christ to appear through the virgin’s senses and works, and permitting the virgin to be wholeheartedly concentrated on him.16 Ambrose started his prayer with an introduction of God’s gift of the virginal birth by describing very succinctly the theme of virginal life as angelic life on earth, indicating both the anticipated resurrection life and the restored life in paradise.17 This positive image of the virginal life had been especially used to attract young girls to virginity in Virg.18 The theme of the virginal life as a preparation for the wedding of the virgin to Christ provided far more opportunities and is evident throughout the text of the prayer. In (107) already God is asked to enable the virgin to awaken her sponsus in the most inner part of the heavenly chambers, to be introduced to the bedroom of God (that is Christ), her king (Ps. 44/45:15), to be worthy to see him and hear him address her with longing terms from S. of S. 4:8.19 The last part of this latter text 16. Ambrose, Inst. 17.113: Pone verbum tuum ut signaculum in corde eius, ut signaculum in brachio eius, ut in omnibus sensibus et operibus eius Christus eluceat, Christum intendat, Christum loquatur, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 192. This same verse appears in Ambrose, Virg. 1.8.46, with an interesting interpretation of candidus-rubeus (S. of S. 5:10) as referring to Christ: candidus …, quia patris splendor, rubeus, quia partus est virginis, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 146. The final citation of this verse in Virg. 1.8.48 is close to our text: Christ shines forth as the figura dei, expressing his entire divine nature, in the virgin’s wisdom and deeds. 17. Ambrose, Inst. 17.104: … in virginibus sacris angelorum vitam videmus in terris, quam in paradiso quondam amiseramus, in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 184, 186. The background of the ‘angelic life’ is Matt. 22:30 (Mark 12:25): At the resurrection people neither marry nor are they given in marriage; they are like the angels in heaven. Virginity implies that this heavenly resurrection life is already being lived on earth. The underlying reasoning is that mortality, as God’s punishment for the Fall, necessitates procreation for the continuation of mankind. This implies that sexuality is connected with sin, but since Christ’s incarnation, virginity makes the process of procreation in sin reversible to the situation before the Fall. Exh. 6.36 provides a good summary. Inst. 3.16–4.29 and 5.36 provide an unusual reconstruction of these mythical events. 18. Ambrose, Virg. 1.3.11 (comparantur); 1.8.48 (comparari); 1.8.51 (quae angelorum moribus militatis); 2.2.17 (quae celestem vitam vixit in saeculo); Vrgt. 6.27 (resurrectio); in SAEMO 14.1, pp. 112, 148, 150, 178; SAEMO 14.2, pp. 30, 32. Exh. 4.19 is ambivalent: … praemium integritatis. Regnum acquiritur, et regnum caeleste vitam angelorum exhibet. Hoc vobis suadeo, quo nihil pulchrius, ut inter homines angeli sitis (because unmarried), … sicut angeli in terris sunt, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 214. Ambrose, Virg. 1.8.52: Castitas angelos fecit. Qui eam servavit angelus est (promised angelic resurrection) … Quod nobis promittitur vobis praesto est votorumque nostrorum usus apud vos, in SAEMO 14.1, pp. 150, 152. 19. Ambrose translates the more elaborate Septuagint version of S. of S. 4:8 with the addition of the transition and arrival from the beginning of faith. This text is popular: Virg. 1.7.38; 2.6.42; Vrgt. 12.69; Exh. 5.28.

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clarifies when this meeting of the virgin and Christ will take place: after the virgin has passed her life in this world and has reached eternity.20 Another topos of virginity treatises is the parable of the wise and foolish virgins who wait with their lamps filled with oil for the arrival of the groom (Matt. 25:1–10). The context in which Ambrose introduces this text is the importance of keeping one’s clothes white, in combination with the encouragement to keep one’s head anointed with oil from Qoh. 9:8. The use of the word oil triggered the topos of Matt. 25:1–10.21 The admonishment to guard one’s virginity, the sacra professio, in the burning mystical bridal torches until the groom comes to take the virgin to the heavenly bedroom is continued in a cascade of virginity-related images in (111). Hortus clausus, fons signatus (S. of S. 4:12) usually characterizes the virgin herself22, but here describes the context of images of what it is that the virgin should safeguard: from purely physical expressions such as vas (container, womb) or veritas (the authentic state one is born in, that is physical integrity), to dilectio (love of the groom), chastity, decency, and humility.23 The virgin’s lifetime is characterized both by vigilant waiting for her Beloved, and by an active search for him: Christ wants her to search for him.24 The virgin is wounded by her love for 20. Ambrose, Inst. 17.107: ..ut transeat saeculum, ad illa aeterna pertranseat, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 188. 21. Ambrose, Inst. 17.110: In omni tempore sint vestimenta sua candida, et oleum in capite non desit, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 190. The same connection is made in Exh. 10.62, where the emphasis is on the fact that widows and married women cannot always wear white clothes. Cf. Ambrose, Vid. 13.81. Ironically, Qoh. 9:9 continues with ‘Enjoy life with the wife, whom you love, all the days of this meaningless life that God has given you under the sun’ (New King James Version (NKJV)). In Exh. 10.63, Ambrose explains this in capite as referring to the eyes in the head in Qoh. 2:14, the senses of wisdom. This interpretation, according to Ambrose, is exemplified by Mary, who wiped Jesus’ feet with her hair (Luke 7:38, see also n. 12). 22. Ambrose, Inst. 17.111; 9.58, 60–61. In Virg. 1.8.45 the virgin is depicted as the water which undisturbedly reflects the image of God: eo quod in hortis huiusmodi inpressam signaculis imaginem dei sinceri fontis unda resplendeat, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 144. This Virg. 1.8.45 and Inst. 16.100 are the only texts to refer to Gen. 27:27, which Ambrose combines in Inst. 16.111 with Matt. 13:8, the parable of the Sower, with the different results that the seed produces standing for the different rewards that married women, widows and virgins will receive in heaven. 23. Ambrose, Inst. 17.111: teneat claustra pudicitiae, signacula veritatis; 112: noverit possidere vas suum (1 Thess. 4:4), noverit humiliari, dilectionem teneat, veritatis murum, pudoris septum, in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 190, 192. On veritas as an authentic state, see especially Exh. 6.35. Note the use of restrictive terms: claustra, vas, murus, septum, while signaculum similarly does not have the connotation of appropriation, but of closing off. Other qualities for a virgin: simplicity, moderation in speaking, compassion for those in need (Inst. 17.112). 24. Ambrose, Inst. 17.111: … vult se dilectus eius saepius quaeri … Exh. 9.58–61 is about the search for and finding of Christ: vult se dominus saepius quaeri (60), in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 190, 248.

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Christ, and she prefers these wounds to kisses. This is explained in Exh. 9.60: Christ, being love himself, arouses love for him in us, he hurts and binds us by his love.25 The virgin’s wounds of love are a promising development in the on-off contact between the virgin and Christ, but a climax as described in the words of 2 Cor. 5:8 seems possible even during this life on earth: her soul, following Christ may travel away from the body to be with God.26 Although in this world, no tribulation whatsoever can cut off the virgin who has put on Christ from his love, the ultimate reward for keeping her virginal professio27 will be in heaven. The emphasis, however, is not so much on the virgin’s heavenly reward as on the way that leads up to it. The description of this voyage starts with following in the Lamb’s footsteps, a reference to Revelation, and concludes with following in the footsteps of the Marys, which is reminiscent of the topos of the virgin’s reception in heaven.28 Earthly life in the footsteps of Christ and Mary is described in a combination of S. of S. 1:7 and Ezek. 1:17, which could be interpreted as a sacrificial life enlightened by and concentrated on Christ, with like-minded people.29 The last section of this prayer starts with the 25. Ambrose, Inst. 17.111: … bona illa vulnera caritatis excipiat (S. of S. 2:5; 5:8), quae osculis praeferuntur (Prov. 27:6), in SAEMO 14.2, p. 190. The same combination can be found in Exh. 9.61; Vrgt. 14.91. Caritas, dilectio (and its verbal derivatives) and affectus are used for ‘love’. In Vrgt. 13.77 the virgin retains Christ: vinculis caritatis, mentis habenis stringitur et animae tenetur affectu, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 64. 26. Ambrose, Inst. 17.111: … anima eius in verbum tuum peregrinetur a corpore, ut adsit deo. In Exh. 9.59, the following of the anima tua in verbo tuo (S. of S. 5:6) is more clearly connected to the virgin coming after the sponsus and here 2 Cor. 5:8–10 is interpreted in its original sense of bodily resurrection, in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 190, 246. Ernst Dassmann, Die Frömmigkeit des Kirchenvaters Ambrosius von Mailand, Quellen und Entfaltung (Münster, 1965), pp. 192, 199, has argued however that Ambrose considers Paul’s transcendental experience as exceptional and therefore not as an example that can be imitated (Ambrose, Expositio Psalmi 118 4.2), and that the experience of God should be transferred from the mystic-ecstatic to the moral realm in order to enable everyone to reach it (Exp. Ps. 118 10.19; 18.45). 27. Profiteri (Exh. 6.38) and professio (Exh. 10.71) imply consecration (Luigi Franco Pizzolato, ‘L’Exhortatio virginitatis di Ambrogio’, Aevum 69 (1995), pp. 171–94, p. 185, n. 103), as does propositum (Exh. 3.13): both a particular intention or objective, and one’s chosen way of life to reach it, in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 230, 256, 210. Professio is very close to propositum: the vow of or calling for perpetual virginity, but also the fulfilment of this avowal or calling in this life. 28. Rev. 14:4 is a pro-virginity text from a male point of view: ‘These are the ones who were not defiled with women, for they are virgins. These are the ones who follow the Lamb wherever he goes’ (NKJV). The Marys attending to the virgin’s reception in heaven are Mary, mother of the groom Christ, and Mary, Moses’ sister, leading the virginal chorus (Virg. 2.2.16–17). Exh. 14.93: Juliana is lauded imitating the Marys in bringing the sacrifice of her children in virginity. 29. Ambrose, Inst. 17.113: … ut illic agni sequatur vestigia, in meridiano pascat, in meridiano maneat, nec in grege sodalium incedat (S. of S. 1:7), sed agnis tuis admixta, sine

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exhortation to Christ to leave for his wedding (S. of S. 3:11), whereas before the virgins were told to leave for their wedding with Christ, his crowning by Mary (97).30 The context is still the reception in heaven, but it can be concluded from the remaining phrase that the scene has moved from heaven to the consecration ceremony. The formula addressed to Christ, ‘Receive her, since long devoted to you by the spirit, now also by her profession …, adopt her from the beginning in …’,31 could very well refer back to the actual ceremony. Publicly taking upon herself this sacra professio is the start of a lifetime of growing closer to Christ, of becoming more sanctified than the baptized. Yet the terms from Psalms, used here to describe the relationship between Christ and the virgin, could be applied to every baptized Christian.32 This prayer, though it appears now as the literary closure of Inst., may well have been pronounced on the occasion of Ambrosia’s consecration or could even have been a standard ritual prayer for the consecrations of virgins.33 The main theme of Inst., Mary’s virginity, does appear in the prayer, but neither in its differentiated form, nor with the associated argument about the Trinity and the incarnation.34 The function of Mary’s virginity in the prayer is to show both God’s and Christ’s approval of virginity.35 Ambrose as a bishop consecrating a virgin mediates between her and God, offers her to God. In his prayer, Ambrose asks God to take offensione versetur (Ezek. 1:17) comes virginum, pedissequa Mariarum, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 194. The choice for the virginal way of life (agni, comes virginum) not only excludes socializing with former peers (grex sodalium), but also places the virgin in a superior position compared to them, in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 190–93, especially n. 232. Inst. 2.15; 14.89–16.98: comparison virgins-other Christians within the Church; 16.102: virgin is God’s chosen one (electa dei). 30. Ambrose, Inst. 16.97: leaving bodily tribulations and temptations in order to be with God. Inst.17.113 looks forward to the reward of the reception in heaven. 31. Ambrose, Inst. 17.114: … suscipe iamdudum devotam tibi spiritu, nunc etiam professione, … assume ab initio …, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 194. 32. Ambrose, Inst. 17.114: … ut dicat famula tua: Tenuisti manum dexteram meam et in voluntate tua deduxisti me et in gloria assumpsisti me (Ps. 72/73:23–24). (Ambrose to Christ:) Aperi manum tuam et imple animam eius benedictione (Ps. 144/145:16), ut salvam facias sperantem in te (Ps. 85/86:2), in SAEMO 14.2, p. 194. Cf. Inst. 1.3–5: the sponsus speaks to the virgin in terms of S. of S. 2:10–11; 4:1 and she answers with S. of S. 8:1–2; 1:4. 33. Gerhard Rauschen, Jahrbücher der christlichen Kirche unter dem Kaiser Theodosius dem Grossen (Freiburg, 1897), p. 345; SAEMO 14.1, p. 80; Nathalie Henry, ‘A New Insight into the Growth of Ascetic Society in the Fourth Century AD: The Public Consecration of Virgins as a Means of Integration and Promotion of the Female Ascetic Movement’, Studia Patristica 35 (2001), pp. 102–109 (105–106). 34. Ambrose, Inst. 5.35–8.51; 8.57–9.62: Mary’s post partum virginity (vs. Bonosus; see 5.35); 8.52–56: in partu (vs. Iovinian); 12.79; 14.88. On the Trinity and the incarnation, see: 10.64–11.75. 35. Ambrose, Inst. 16.100 testifies to God’s support for especially young virgins.

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Ambrosia under his wing now she has chosen this life. But this prayer is also a public platform for Ambrose to expound on the arguments that support the superiority of virginity. The virtues which a virgin must pursue, the worldly temptations, the present and future rewards, are expressed in beautiful poetical imagery and language, especially of the love relationship between the virgin and her sponsus Christ. It places the virgin in another league than other Christians and is intended to catch the attention of young girls and their parents.

Exhortatio virginitatis 14.94 Ambrose’s style, characterized by intertwining texts, themes, and associative asides, as we have seen in the previous prayer, is never as compact and ambiguous in the virginity treatises as it is in the prayer that concludes Exh. That the dominus (and te/tuus) addressed in Ambrose’s prayer is God the Father can be deduced from the last line, where Christ is referred to as ‘your son’. Deprecor36 , I beg, indicates the supplicating, earnest character of this prayer. The prayer ends with a formulary quote from 1 Thess. 5:23. This final prayer in Ambrose’s virginity oeuvre is all about the significance of sacrifice for the building up of the church. According to Pizzolato, this was the liturgical prayer used for the dedication of Juliana’s basilica and the consecration of Juliana’s children. Also, he thinks the prayer summarizes the themes discussed in Exh.37 I favour Gori’s analyses however: the consecration of the material basilica in the final prayer corresponds with that of virgins as living spiritual temples. In my opinion, the connection with the foregoing book is not obvious and I would characterize the prayer more as Ambrose’s personal account of his life’s work to God than as a literary closure of Exh. Let us now examine the prayer in greater detail. ‘Now, I beg you, Lord, that every day you will protect this house of yours, these altars which are consecrated (dedicantur) today, these spiritual stones, and in each of these stones individually a living temple 36. Deprecor is a hapax legomenon within Ambrose’s entire oeuvre, apart from Ep. 74.25; Ep. ex. 1a.25. Vota converto as term for praying (Inst. 17.104) is a real hapax in Ambrose’s oeuvre, whereas oro is only used twice (Ambrose, De interpellatione Iob et David 1.9.28; Expositio evangelii secundum Lucam 8.55). These numbers are based on a query in the Library of Latin Texts (LLT). 37. Pizzolato, ‘L’Exhortatio’, p. 194. Cf. Peter Dückers, Ambrosius De virginibus, Über die Jungfrauen (FC 81; Turnhout, 2009), p. 206, n. 257: consecration prayer for virgins; SAEMO 14.2, p. 271, n. 168.

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is consecrated (sacratur) to you.’38 At first sight, this is the text prayed during the consecration of Juliana’s basilica.39 But God is not only asked to daily protect this particular physical building, but even more so the spiritual stones by which the Church is built. Who are these spiritual stones, these living temples? Inspired by the words of 1 Peter 2:5, the living stones are connected with sacrifice. The altars are reminiscent of the relics of the martyrs, Ambrose’s presents, deposited under the altars during the dedication ceremony of the basilica40, but they could also be interpreted metaphorically. Virgins were seen as the self-sacrificing contemporary versions of the martyrs of old.41 The widow Juliana is considered worthy to donate the basilica, because she educated her son and her three daughters to be consecrated virgins: ‘temples of chastity and virginity to the Lord’.42 Ambrose’s thinking must have been inspired by 1 Cor. 3:5–17, which discusses the relationship church leader/individual Christian/Church. Paul in this passage initially uses ‘house’ for the Church, and ‘temple of God’ for the Christian, but finishes with ‘For the temple of God is holy, which temple you (plural) are’.43 A similar ambiguity can be demonstrated in Exh.: Juliana’s children are called ‘her temples (plural) of chastity and virginity’ (10), whereas later Ambrose tells the virgins: you (vos) are the temple (singular) of God (81).44 God is asked to receive the prayers his servants freely utter in this place, which could refer to a physical building, but also to the virgin, praying at home.45 According to Gryson, Ambrose speaks about praying in sacrificial terms. An example 38. Ambrose, Inst. 14.94: Te nunc, domine, deprecor ut supra hanc domum tuam, supra haec altaria, quae hodie dedicantur, supra hos lapides spiritales, quibus sensibile tibi in singulis templum sacratur, quotidianus praesul intendas …, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 270; ET: my own. 39. Ambrose, Exh. 2.10: Juliana’s children had already been consecrated at the moment of the dedication of the basilica, as the perfect tense sacravit shows: Iuliana, quae hoc domino templum paravit atque obtulit, quod hodie dedicamus; digna tali oblatione, quae in sobole sua templa iam domino pudicitiae atque integritatis sacravit, in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 206, 208. 40. Ambrose, Exh. 1.1,7; 2.9–10. 41. Ambrose, Virg. 1.2.9 (about the twelve-year-old martyr Agnes): in una hostia duplex martyrium, pudoris et religionis; 1.3.10: Non enim ideo laudabilis virginitas, quia et in martyribus repperitur, sed quia ipsa martyres faciat, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 110. 42. Ambrose, Exh. 2.10, Latin text see n. 39; Exh. 14.93 (education). 43. English translation: NKJV. The Greek text has the substantive or verbs with the root oikodom for ‘house’, and naos theou for ‘temple’. 44. Ambrose, Exh. 2.10 (see n. 39); 12.81. Cf. 8.52 (Juliana about her son): cuius (God’s) templo, cuius obsequio te antequam nascereris, sacravi, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 240. 45. Ambrose, Exh. 14.94: … orationesque servorum tuorum, quae in hoc funduntur loco, divina tua suscipias misericordia, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 270. Virg. 2.4.26: Ubicumque dei virgo est, dei templum est, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 186.

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of this is provided in Inst. 2.8: ‘Let’s offer praise as sacrifice to God’, the initial phase of praying.46 As she arrives in heaven, the virgin speaks the same text with its continuation, indicating that she has fulfilled her vows.47 Up to this point the prayer could still have referred to baptized Christians in general, but the petition that God sanctify the sacrifice brought in this temple fide integra48 prepares the way for the description of the virgins’ sacrifices in the next line. God is asked to accept the sacrificial offerings of faithful chastity, just as He accepted the expiatory sacrifice of Christ, and to protect them daily.49 This phrase’s present tense indicates that not only the virginal offering is considered to be a daily activity, as is illustrated in Virg. 2.2.18, but so too is Christ’s sacrifice:50

46. Roger Gryson, Le prêtre selon Saint Ambroise (Louvain, 1968), pp. 72–73: ‘La piété du fidèle se manifeste en particulier dans sa prière, dont Ambroise parle fréquemment en termes de sacrifices.’ Ambrose, Inst. 2.8: immolemus deo sacrificium laudis (Ps. 50:14), in SAEMO 14.2, p. 116. Inst. 1.7–2.10 is entirely about praying. Virg. 3.4.18: fixed moments for prayer. 47. Ambrose, Virg. 2.2.17: reddo altissimo vota mea, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 178. Exh. 8.52: Juliana quotes Ps. 75/76:12 (LXX) to the son she has promised to virginity: Vovete et reddite domino deo vestro, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 240. 48. Ambrose, Exh. 14.94: Fiat tibi in odorem sanctificationis, omne sacrificium quod in hoc templo fide integra, pia sedulitate defertur, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 270. This is the only time fide integra and pia sedulitate as a combination of terms are used in Ambrose’s oeuvre. Fides integra refers here to the virgin’s loyalty to Christ in keeping her vow. 49. Ambrose, Exh. 14.94: Et cum ad illam respicis hostiam salutarem, per quam peccatum mundi huius oboletur, respicias etiam ad has piae hostias castitatis et diuturno eas tuearis auxilio, ut fiant tibi in odorem suavitatis hostiae acceptabiles Christo domino placentes et integrum spiritum eorum et animam et corpus sine querela usque in diem domini nostri …, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 270. Hostiae piae castitatis do not refer to Juliana’s children, of whom it is unclear whether and when they were consecrated. Juliana tries to persuade her children to choose virginity: Ambrose, Exh. 3.17: Hanc … tentationem …, si vultis, filii, vitare, integritas corporis expetenda vobis est, quam ego pro consilio suadeo, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 212; Exh. 4.19: Hoc (virginity) vobis suadeo (idem, p. 214); Exh. 4.23: Quid … vos eligere oportet (idem, p. 216) (between liberty of virginity and slavery of marriage); Exh. 4.26, the first two sis + potential subjunctive and … putabo matrem esse virginum (idem, p. 218); Exh. 6.34, 7.50. Then, surprisingly, it says that the widow’s son and three daughters (3.13) agree with her desire for their virginity (8.53), that she herself carries the distinctive honour of widowhood, her children that of virginity (8.54), then she is in church with her virgin daughters to hear her son read from the Scriptures (8.55). If Ambrose had consecrated one of the siblings, for example the son, he would have mentioned it. 50. This probably refers to the Eucharistic sacrifice, as in Ambrose, Virg. 1.11.65: caput omnium Christus cotidie consecrator, which would be the first known use of consecrare for the Eucharist (SAEMO 14.1, pp. 162, 163, n. 211). An alternative explanation is in Gryson, Prêtre, p. 61: Christ, as resurrected heavenly priest, continues his sacrifice in his daily intercession on behalf of sinners with the Father. Vid. 9.55–56: other mediators: angels, martyrs, own ascetic behaviour.

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Metha Hokke For undoubtedly you will have access to the altars [i.e. God, MH], you, whose minds I would confidently call altars of God upon which daily Christ is offered in sacrifice for the redemption of the body. Because if the body of the virgin is God’s temple, what of her soul, which – the ashes, as it were, of the body having been shaken off – has been recovered by the hand of the eternal priest and which exhales the heat of the divine fire? Blessed virgins, you who emit such a fragrance through immortal grace as … altars do through their priest…51

The sacrificial aspect of the virginal professio is on behalf of her family.52 At their arrival in heaven, Christ will introduce his virgins to his Father as the ones who did not live for themselves, as some of them redeemed their parents, and others their brothers.53 When Ambrose exhorts parents to bring up their daughters to become professed virgins, he says that they redeem their parents’ sins, and he continues: ‘A virgin is God’s gift, a father’s duty, the priesthood of chastity. A virgin is her mother’s sacrificial offering, through whose daily sacrifice the divine power is reconciled. A virgin is the parents’ inseparable pledge’.54 The words of an Antiochene mother, who committed suicide together with her daughters to prevent them from being violated, testify both to the sacrificial character of virginity and its superior status: ‘These sacrificial offerings I bring you, Christ, as leaders of chastity, guides on my journey, companions in suffering’.55 The best example, however, is Juliana. She tells her children that they owe it to their parents to fulfil their parents’ vow, taking Jephthah’s daughter as a model. A fortiori, the son, who was promised to God even 51. Ambrose, Virg. 2.2.18: … quarum (of the virgins) mentes altaria dei confidenter dixerim, in quibus cotidie pro redemptione corporis Christus immolatur. Nam si corpus virginis dei templum est, animus quid est, qui tamquam membrorum cineribus excitatis sacerdotis aeterni redopertus manu vaporem divini ignis exhalat? Beatae virgines, quae tam immortali spiratis gratia, ut … altaria sacerdote …, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 180; ET: my own. 52. Rarer is the category of virgin who sacrifices herself as victim on her own behalf: Ambrose, Virg. 3.7.33–34; 1.2.8; 2.4.29–33. The case of the girl, pudoris hostia, victima castitatis, who fled to the altar ubi sacrificium virginitatis offertur (SAEMO 14.1, p. 162), to be consecrated by Ambrose against the wish of her relatives is remarkable. Ambrose threatens those who stand in her way with death (Virg. 1.11.65–66). 53. Ambrose, Virg. 2.2.16: Sed non solis sibi debent posse quae non solis vixerunt sibi: haec parentes redimat, haec fratres, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 178. 54. Ambrose, Virg. 1.7.32: … ut habere possitis quarum meritis vestra delicta redimantur. Virgo dei donum est, munus parentis, sacerdotium castitatis. Virgo matris hostia est, cuius cotidiano sacrificio vis divina placatur. Virgo individuum pignus parentum, …, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 134; ET: my own. Cf. SAEMO 14.2 on Inst. 1.1 (n. 9–10). 55. Ambrose, Virg. 3.7.35: Has tibi … hostias, Christe, immolo praesules castitatis, duces itineris, comites passionis, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 238; ET: my own. Praesul, here: leader, in Exh. 14.94 used for God as protector, is a typical Ambrosian word (see LLT).

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before his birth, was neither born for his parents, nor for himself, but for God. He must carry out his mother’s vow.56 The widow regrets having been married and her only hope is to be rehabilitated by becoming the mother of virgins who will also undo her sins. Although she is despised as a widow now, she will be praised by everyone when her children have become professed virgins.57 In Vrgt., Ambrose, elaborating on Jephthah’s sacrifice of his daughter, concludes that fathers owe God the sacrifice of their children, but they should not strangulate them.58 The sacrifice of virginity can be regarded as a specific case of the sacrifice demanded from every Christian at baptism.59 In Ambrose’s virginity treatises, widows and married women stand for the baptized in contrast to the professed virgins.60 Juliana acknowledges that we all belong to God, but that her vowed son especially has to be given back to God in celibacy.61 A major part of her speech applies sors (lot) to virginity, denying that God is married women’s share. Yet, following Paul, faith, not works, is the criterion of justification by God, and it is visible in the distributions as if by lot of the sacraments and of the grace of Christ and the Holy Spirit. At Easter, the Church gives birth to two kinds of progeny, the baptized and the consecrated virgins, who together form the consecrated people.62 The virgins should have an absolute commitment to an ascetic life, which amounts to fostering an intimate bond with Christ on earth and higher rewards in heaven, but if she lapses from 56. Ambrose, Exh. 8.51: Considerate, filii, quid votis debeatis parentum … votum est voluntas parentum. Nos oravimus, vos soluite; Exh. 8.52 impregnation is reminiscent of Mary’s: quem mihi vota mea, non aliqua solemnis coetus secreta formarunt, tu, … fili agnosce a quo donatus sis mihi … Ille (God) mea orata suscepit, cuius templo, cuius obsequio te antequam nascereris, sacravi. Non parentibus, non tibi, sed deo natus es, cuius antequam de vulva matris exires, esse coepisti… Ego promisi, tu exsequere: dominus sibi hostiae suae munus implebit, in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 238, 240. 57. Ambrose, Exh. 4.20–25: Juliana ends her enumeration of the molestiae nuptiarum with the wish that she had remained unmarried. Exh. 4.26: … putabo matrem esse virginum ac si virginitatem tenerem … vestra integritas meos solvat errores; Exh. 4.27: abundabit mihi … vestrae integritatis corona, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 218. The virgin’s mother will be venerated as aula pudoris. 58. Ambrose, Vrgt. 2.7: … offerri a parentibus deo debere filios, non debere ingulari, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 18. 59. Gryson, Prêtre, p. 72. 60. In Vid. the perspective on non-virgin categories is relatively mild: 3.16; 4.23; 11.71; 13.79. Virg. 1.7.35. 61. Ambrose, Exh. 8.52: … omnes … illius (of God) sumus, sed tamen tu specialiter promissus, domino tuo redderis …, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 240. 62. Ambrose, Exh. 5.32–7.45. Exh. 5.32: Date Levi veros eius, date Levi sortes eius (Deut. 33:8); Exh. 6.40: Portio mea dominus (Ps. 73:26); Exh. 7.43: Videtis mysteria, videtis gratiam Christi, gratiam spiritus sancti, quae velut quadam sorte defertur; quoniam non ex operibus, sed ex fide unusquisque iustificatur a domino (Rom. 3:28; Gal. 2:16), in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 224, 230, 232.

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virginity the fall is all the greater.63 The consecration of a virgin, offered as a priestly gift to God, is irrevocable, even to the extent that death is acceptable to prevent the virgin from being given away in marriage or from being violated.64 When the bishop consecrates virgins, he is not presenting a personal gift to God, but the gift of the ecclesiastical community. In his sermon on the feast of St. Agnes he exhorts men, children, and married and unmarried women to follow Agnes in her celibacy and to offer sacrificial victims.65 Considering that for Ambrose it is a priestly honour to sow chastity and to rouse to the practice of virginity, these sacrificial victims might very well refer to the young girls Ambrose is intending to reserve for virginity within the church he is building up.66 The physical basilica that is being dedicated does not play any role either in Exh. or in this final prayer. There is a loose connection between Exh. and the prayer. Exh. is about Juliana’s sacrifice of her children, whereas I have argued that the prayer is about Ambrose presenting to God his life’s work of a Church consisting largely of pure Christians, who are entirely dedicated to God and who sacrifice themselves daily in virginity. They could not have done this without the consecration by the bishop, or without his subsequent paternal care and exhortations.

Conclusion As has been seen, the function of the two prayers discussed here is different. The longer one of Inst., in Ambrose’s typical circumlocutory style, can very properly be regarded as a literary closure. It recapitulates the main topic of the treatise, the connection between Mary’s virginity and that of the virgin, and actualizes Mary as the example of virginity in Ambrosia’s consecration. A velatio such as this one was a good platform for Ambrose to propagate his conception of the superiority of 63. Ambrose, Virg. 1.8.52: Castitas etiam angelos fecit. Qui eam servavit angelus est, qui perdidit diabolus, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 150. 64. Ambrose, Vrgt. 3.13: … potest esse patientia sacerdotium ut non vel morte oblata, si ita necesse est, integritatis sacrificium vindicetur (phrase continues 5.24) quando, ut alia omittam, pro integritate servanda mori virgines sunt paratae, in SAEMO 14.2, pp. 22, 28. Morte oblata could refer to Ambrose or to the virgin. Ambrose advocates suicide for consecrated virgins in order to prevent them from being violated (Virg. 3.7.32–36). 65. Ambrose, Inst. 17.107: Quam sacerdotali munere offero, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 186. Virg. 1.2.5: Natalis est virginis, integritatem sequamur. Natalis est martyris, hostias immolemus, in SAEMO 14.1, p. 106. 66. Ambrose, Vrgt. 5.26: … quod semper spectavit ad gratiam sacerdotum, iacere semina integritatis et virginitatis studia provocare …, in SAEMO 14.2, p. 30. Inst. 1.2: Hoc est sacrificium quod Abel obtulit ex primitivis ovium suarum fetibus …, idem, p. 110.

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virginity with the model of the arguments that would appeal most to potential candidates: the wedding of the virgin and Christ. This prayer, or parts of it, are possibly derived from an actual prayer used in the velatio ceremony. Its formulation implies that God supports Ambrose’s contested vision of virginity. If the following of Mary was attractive to young girls who had the ambition to become consecrated as virgins themselves, the alternative imagery of virginity as a sacrifice is prevalent in Exh., which is written from a different perspective. Like Christ’s sacrifice for the benefit of humanity, the virgins after their consecration by the bishop sacrifice themselves daily in virginity on behalf of their families. By consecrating the virgins, the bishop incorporates them more strictly and fundamentally into the Church than the baptized in general, and he takes the place of their father as their guardian. The prayer’s style is terse, and its connection with the foregoing book is not all too clear. The content is so ambiguous that one wonders whether this prayer is about the dedication of a basilica or the consecration of virgins. Yet, this seems to be the perfect opportunity for Ambrose to present his life’s work to God in a prayer: the building up of a Nicene Church, and, in this context, his contribution to the propagation and institutionalization of virginity as his episcopal sacrifice that purifies the Church. It appears to allow us to catch a glimpse of the elusive Ambrose as a person.

Chapter Fourteen

‘ERGO SIC TIME DOMINUM, UT SPERES IN MISERICORDIA EIUS’ EN. IN PS. 146.20: AUGUSTINE ON THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE FEAR OF GOD AND PERSONAL PRAYER Paul van Geest

Introduction ‘I beheld a great multitude, which no man could number’. This is a sentence from the Book of Revelation (7:9), but it could also be the lamentation of someone who wishes to make an inventory of all those who have investigated the life and work of St Augustine over the course of the past centuries. This too is a multitude that cannot be counted. Anyone who checks the results for the entry ‘oratio’ in the data base of Augustinian secondary literature of Würzburg University’s Zentrum für Augustinus-Forschung will be overcome by the same feeling that St John had; the result is 547 titles, and this is not exhaustive. The literature on Augustine’s views on or experience of prayer is also immense. At first sight these studies appear to be clustered into three groups. There are studies on Augustine’s ‘theory’ of prayer, generally based on Ep. 130, his letter to Proba, or on the structure of his prayers, which is increasingly determined by his familiarity with Holy Scripture (1).1 Then there are 1. For Augustine’s view on the Lord’s Prayer as a benchmark, and for the sources, theology, and structure of this prayer, see for instance: J.-P. Bouhot, ‘La tradition catéchétique et exégétique du Pater noster’, Recherches augustiniennes 33 (2003), pp. 3–18; G. Lawless, ‘Three grids of composition and reading in Augustine’s letter to Anicia Faltonia Proba (Epistula 130)’, in La preghiera nel tardo antico, dalle origini ad Agostino, XXVII Incontro di studiosi dell’antichità cristiana. Roma, 7-9 maggio 1998 (Rome, 1999), pp. 344–50; for the structure, sources, style, and vocabulary of the early prayers in the Soliloquia see: M. Cutino, ‘Funzione e contenuti della preghiera nei “Dialoghi” di Agostino’, in La preghiera nel tardo antico, dalle origini ad Agostino (Rome, 1999), pp. 317–30; D. Doucet, ‘Recherche de Dieu, Incarnation et philosophie: Sol. I, 2-6’, Revue des Études Augustiniennes 36 (1990), pp. 91–119; J. Doignon, ‘La prière liminaire des Soliloquia dans la ligne philosophique des Dialogues de Cassiciacum’, in J. den Boeft and J. van Oort (eds.), Augustiniana Traiectina. Communications présentées au Colloque International d’Utrecht, 13-14 novembre 1986 (Paris, 1987), pp. 85–105; G. Raeithel, ‘Das Gebet in den Soliloquien Augustins’, Zeitschrift für Religions- und Geistesgeschichte 20 (1968),

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studies on the forms of prayer (external, internal; deprecatio, invocatio, intercessio) and, particularly, liturgical prayer (2).2 Finally there are studies on the interaction between prayer and inner experience – whether experience granted by God or caused by oneself – such as joy, faith, hope, love, and especially desire (3).3 pp. 139–53; for Augustine’s development from a Neoplatonic to a Christian practice of prayer, in which the theological virtues are the source and goal of prayer, see M. Jackson, ‘Faith, Hope, Charity and Prayer in St. Augustine’, Studia Patristica 22 (Leuven, 1989), pp. 265–70; N. Cipriani, La pedagogia della preghiera in S. Agostino (Palermo, 1984), pp. 69–118; G. García Montaño, ‘Cualidades de la oración agustiniana’, Augustinus 21 (1976), pp. 153–89; for the function of Augustine’s reading of Scripture in respect of this, see G. Madec, ‘Les Confessions comme prière biblique’, in Lectures Augustiniennes (Paris, 2001), pp. 111–19; A.-M. La Bonnardière, ‘Seigneur apprends-nous à prier (Luc. 11,1)’, in A.-M. La Bonnardière (ed.), Saint Augustin et la Bible (Paris, 1986), pp. 151–54. For more general observations with regard to Augustine’s views on and experience of prayer, see: A. Solignac, ‘Prière. B. Les Pères de l’Eglise du 4e au 6e siècle’, in Dictionnaire de spiritualité, ascetique et mystique 12 (Paris, 1986), pp. 2256–71 and G. García Montaño, ‘Doctrina agustiniana de la oración’, Augustinus 18 (1973), pp. 279– 302 (prayer and the Trinity, Christ as Mediator, the Holy Spirit as the One who fosters prayer); id. ‘Doctrina agustiniana de la oración. Palabras y silencios’, Augustinus 24 (1979), pp. 23–42 (prayer and silence, internal prayer, prayer is not restricted to a particular place, prayer and sinlessness, and prayer as an expression of confidence); id. ‘La ineficacia de la oración según San Agustín’, Augustinus 11 (1966), pp. 339-55. 2. Cf. for instance: R. Weaver, ‘Prayer’, in A.D. Fitzgerald (ed.), Augustine through the Ages. An Encyclopedia (Grand Rapids, 1999), pp. 670–75 for the forms of prayer (deprecatio, intercessio, invocatio; in connection with laus, jubilatio, desiderium, timor); liturgical prayer in Augustine’s works: A. Zumkeller, ‘Das liturgische Gebet nach der Auffassung und Praxis des hl. Augustinus’, Cor unum 42 (1984), pp. 124–39 (popularizing). M. Klöckener, ‘Das eucharistische Hochgebet bei Augustinus. Zu Stand und Aufgaben der Forschung’, in A. Zumkeller (ed.), Signum Pietatis. Festgabe für Cornelius Petrus Mayer OSA zum 60. Geburtstag (Würzburg, 1989), pp. 461–95; id. ‘Conuersi ad dominum’, in Augustinus-Lexikon 1 (Basel, 1986-1994), pp. 1280–82; B. Neunheuser, ‘„Cum altari adsistitur semper ad patrem dirigatur oratio“. Der Canon 21 des Konzils von Hippo 393. Seine Bedeutung und Nachwirkung’, Augustinianum 25 (1985), pp. 105–19; G. Folliet, ‘L’acclamation biblique et liturgique fiat fiat chez saint Augustin’, Augustiniana 54 (2004) (= Mélanges offerts à T.J. van Bavel à l’occasion de son 80e anniversaire), pp. 79–102; B. Studer, ‘Lex orandi–lex credendi. Der Taufglaube im Gottesdiest der Alten Kirche’, in E. Campi, L. Grane, A.M. Ritter (eds.), Oratio. Das Gebet in patristischer und reformatorischer Sicht. Festschrift zum 65. Geburtstag von Alfred Schindler (Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte 76; Göttingen, 1999), pp. 139–49; personal prayer: M. Wernicke, ‘Das private Gebet bei Augustinus’, Cor unum 42 (1984), pp. 118–23 (popularizing). Also cf. M. Vincent’s publications cited in the following notes. 3. The interaction between desire, praise, contemplation, and prayer has been investigated by scholars such as, J. Oroz Reta, ‘Prière et recherche de Dieu dans les Confessions de saint Augustin’, Augustinian Studies 7 (1976), pp. 99–118; O. Rossi, ‘Pensiero e preghiera nel De Trinitate de S. Agostino’, in La preghiera nel tardo antico, dalle origini ad Agostino (Rome, 1999), pp. 331–41; T. Maschke, ‘St. Augustine’s Theology of Prayer: Gracious Conformation’, in J.T. Lienhard, E.C. Muller, R.J. Teske (eds.), Collectanea Augustiniana. Augustine: Presbyter factus sum (New York, 1993), pp. 431–46; M.-A. Vannier, ‘La prière de saint Augustin. À l’écoute du Psaume 41’, La vie spirituelle 77 (1998), pp. 53–61; A. de Bovis, ‘Le Christ et la prière, selon saint Augustin’, Revue

‘ERGO SIC TIME DOMINUM, UT SPERES IN MISERICORDIA EIUS’ 245 An illustrative example of the last group are Monique Vincent’s fine studies on Augustine’s ideas on prayers of supplication and praise in the Enarrationes in Psalmos. It turns out that for Augustine, purity, separation from the world, recognition of one’s own paupertas, humility, hope, desire, and love are the dispositions that are ideally developed by the person who prays, in answer to the love that God gives. Thus she emphasizes ‘le caractère joyeux de sa prière’.4 Her study on the vocabulary of prayer also underlines this; deprecatio, clamor or invocatio go hand in hand with laetitia, exsultatio, gaudium, jubilatio, eructatio. These basic feelings mark prayer in particular as confessio laudis.5 The fact that the relationship between prayer and desire has been the subject of many studies may be due to the great emphasis that Augustine himself places

d’ascétique et de mystique 25 (1949), pp. 180–93; J. Delamare, ‘La prière à l’école de saint Augustin’, La vie spirituelle 86 (1952), pp. 477–93; especially desire: A. Tornatora, ‘Tempus desiderandi: Agostino e la mutevolezza dell’orante’, in La preghiera nel tardo antico, dalle origini ad Agostino (SEA 66; Rome, 1999), pp. 351–59; M. Schrama, Augustinus over het gebed. Het verlangen van de kerkgemeenschap (Utrecht, 1990); N. Adkin, ‘Augustine, Sermon 80,7: Quando dormitat oratio?’, Augustiniana 46 (1996), pp. 61–66; M.B. Hackett, ‘Augustine and Prayer’, in Theory and Practice. Second Annual Course on Augustinian Spirituality. Rome, July 1-17, 1976 (Rome, 1977), pp. 173–89; Th. Hand, Augustine on Prayer (Spirituality for Today 4; New York, 21986); T.J. van Bavel, Verlangen bidt altijd. Bidden met Augustinus (Leuven, 1988) (both popularizing); cf. also W. Babcock, ‘Augustine and the Spirituality of Desire’, Augustinian Studies 25 (1994), pp. 179–99; I.  Bochet, Saint Augustin et le désir de Dieu (Paris, 1982). M. Fiedrowicz, ‘«Ciues sanctae ciuitatis Dei omnes affectiones rectas habent» (Civ. Dei 14,9). Terapia delle passioni e preghiera in S. Agostino’, in L’etica cristiana nei secoli III e IV: eredità e confronti (Rome, 1996), pp. 431–40; C. Müller, ‘Beten als Befreiung. Augustinische Pastoraltheologie im Problemfeld von göttlicher Gnade und menschlicher Freiheit’, in E. Campi, L. Grane, A.M. Ritter (eds.), Oratio. Das Gebet in patristischer und reformatorischer Sicht. Festschrift zum 65. Geburtstag von Alfred Schindler (Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte 76; Göttingen, 1999), pp. 97–110. Cf. for desire : L. Verheijen, ‘La prière dans la Règle de saint Augustin «Que vive dans les cœurs ce qu’en priant on formule par les lèvres»’, in A.-M. La Bonnardière (ed.), Saint Augustin et la Bible (Paris, 1986), pp. 167–79. 4. M. Vincent, ‘La prière selon saint Augustin d’après les Enarrationes in Psalmos’, Nouvelle Revue Théologique 110 (1988), pp. 371-402; this study is a synthesis of, eadem, Saint Augustin. Maître de la prière d’après les ‘Enarrationes in Psalmos’ (Théologie Historique 84; Paris, 1990); she recognizes that in Augustine’s view on prayer the awareness of one’s own paupertas and humilitas (pp. 224–43) goes hand in hand with the intensification of hope (pp. 243–47) and desire (pp. 249–52) as well as with the awareness that love and all other predispositions in the heart have been bestowed as the root of this desire (pp. 253–60). She shows convincingly that in this context in the Ennarrationes too confiteri may mean both confession of guilt and praise (pp. 438–47). 5. See also M. Vincent, ‘Le vocabulaire de la prière chez saint Augustin’, Augustiniana 41 (1991), pp. 783–804. Here she particularly emphasizes that deprecatio, clamor and invocatio all belong to prayer as confessio laudis and that this prayer is further characterized by laetitia, exsultatio (pp. 795–97), gaudium (pp. 797–98); jubilatio (pp. 798–800); eructatio (pp. 803–804).

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on it. Desire always prays in a person, and every form of prayer should result in a heightened awareness of this desire.6 In this contribution I will raise the question whether the Church Father himself saw a relationship between fear (timor, metus) and prayer. Scholars have not paid any attention to this point, which is not surprising as Augustine himself hardly mentions it, except in the Enarrationes in Psalmos. But is this neglect justifiable? Although Augustine hardly thematizes the connection between prayer and timor, it is quite possible that he does intensify timor in an articulated prayer without specifically mentioning it. In order to answer this question three different points will be considered. First, in an analysis of the letter to Proba, we will consider whether Augustine is explicit about ‘fear’ in his development of a theory of prayer.7 Subsequently, it will be established on the basis of an analysis of his Confessiones, Augustine’s almost uninterrupted dialogue with God, to what extent he, as a mystagogue rather than a theorist of prayer, tries to intensify timor in his prayer.8 Finally, because Augustine himself states in sermo 56.3.4 that Scripture teaches what man may desire, and that Scripture also arouses this desire, we will ask whether this does not also hold true, mutatis mutandis, for fear, which is intensified in some 6. Cf. sermo 80.7; more generally involved in life as such in: In Ioh. ep. 1.4.6: ‘et quia modo videre non potestis, officium vestrum in desiderio sit. Tota vita christiani boni sanctum desiderium est. …’ 7. This component includes a description and an analysis of the denotation and connotation assigned by Augustine to terms like timor and the developments in this area. It should be remarked that this part of the study has not only analysed passages in which Augustine explicitly speaks of timor. Terms related to ‘timor’ (‘tremor’), equivalent concepts (‘metus’), opposite concepts (‘amor’, ‘desiderium’, ‘spes’) must also be studied in their context, as this contributes to deepening the insight into the profundity and range of Augustine’s concept of timor. Including opposite concepts in the investigation makes it possible to interpret Augustine’s view on timor in the light of his appreciation of other affects and in the context of his ‘affective theology’. 8. For the interaction of language, silence and prayer with Augustine, see: J. Cook, ‘The Protreptic Power of Early Christian Language: From John to Augustine’, Vigiliae christianae 48 (1994), pp. 105–34; P.G. Milanesi, ‘Linguaggio e preghiera in Agostino d’Ippona’, in A. Marini (ed.), Agostino d’Ippona. Presenza e pensiero. La scoperta dell’interiorità (Quaderni del Magazzino di filosofia 2; Milan, 2004), pp. 77–86; Chr. Mohrmann, ‘Das Wortspiel in den augustinischen Sermones’, Mnemosyne 3 (1935– 36), pp. 33–61; G. Antoni, La prière chez saint Augustin. D’une philosophie du langage à la théologie du Verbe (Paris, 1997); J. Smith, ‘Between Predication and Silence: Augustine on How (Not) to Speak of God’, The Heythrop Journal 41 (2000), pp. 66–86; C. Kunz, Schweigen und Geist. Biblische und patristische Studien zu einer Spiritualität des Schweigens (Freiburg–Basel–Vienna, 1996); A. Garcea, ‘Prière et silence. Quelques considérations autour de saint Augustin, De magistro 2’, in J.-F. Cottier (ed.), La prière en latin de l’Antiquité au XVIe siècle. Formes, évolutions, significations (Collection d’études médiévales de Nice 6; Turnhout, 2006), pp. 157–76; cf. also: G. García Montaño, ‘Doctrina agustiniana de la oración. Palabras y silencios’, Augustinus 24 (1979), pp. 23–42, esp. 23–26, 30–32.

‘ERGO SIC TIME DOMINUM, UT SPERES IN MISERICORDIA EIUS’ 247 Psalms.9 The Enarrationes in Psalmos will be read in this part to consider what Augustine means precisely when a Psalm ‘forces’ him as it were to comment on the fear that is expressed in it.

Fear in Augustine’s Theory of Prayer In 412, Augustine wrote a letter to Proba Anicia Faltonia, a widow belonging to one of the oldest, most distinguished, and richest families of Rome. After the invasion of the Goths in 410, she had fled to North Africa and had lost many of her possessions. In Carthage she had founded a flourishing community of widows. It is evident from Augustine’s letter to her, Epistula 130, that she was getting to grips with the question what exactly she should ask in prayer (cf. Rom. 8:26). Starting from Proba’s situation in his reply, Augustine first of all emphasizes that the uncertainty of riches and honorary positions, as well as the dark sides of life, ideally lead to the onset of hope in the Lord, which will remain pure in unceasing prayer (cf. 1 Tim. 5:5).10 Indebted as he is to Neoplatonism, Augustine is motivated by hope, postulating that the changeability of things and of men on earth is a negative thing, and that the unchangeability of God is positive. And indebted to the introductory dialogue of the preface to the Eucharistic Prayer, which was already said at the time, he also makes explicit at the beginning of his letter the need to raise one’s heart to God (sursum corda).11 Hope and gratitude – and not fear – form the basic dispositions that Augustine wants to call to mind before he replies to Proba to the effect that she should ask for happiness in her prayer, which, according to Christians, is the eternal vision of God in life after death.12 In the subsequent elaboration of his answer, Augustine connects a number of forms of prayer with certain emotions, insights, and basic attitudes.13 Thus he states, apophatically, that unceasing prayer causes the 9. Cf. R. Spataro, ‘È possibile pregare con i Salmi imprecatori? La lezione dei Padri’, Salesianum 71 (2009), pp. 453–71; H. Weber, ‘Die Fluchpsalmen in augustinischer Sicht’, Theologie und Glaube 48 (1958), pp. 443–50. Cf. Praeceptum II.1 (appropriating words of the Bible). 10. Ep. 130.1(1)–3(8), passim; ep.  130.2(5) (unceasing prayer). (Ed. A. Goldbacher, CSEL 44, 40–77). 11. Ep. 130.3.8: ‘ne apponas cor, ne in eis putrescendo moriatur quod sursum esse debet ut vivat sursum cor – habemus ad Dominum – gratias agamus Domino Deo nostro – dignum et iustum est’. Cf. Klöckener, ‘Conuersi’, pp. 1280–82. 12. Ep. 130.4(9); 8(15). 13. Ep. 130.5(10)–14(27)–15(28).

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insight that God is too great to be grasped.14 He specifies this ceaselessness by emphasizing that it is man’s desire that always prays within them. He defines faith, hope, and love (to be distinguished from desire) as basic forces that colour this desire for a life with God.15 It turns out subsequently that Augustine considers vocal prayer, for instance in the Divine Office, to stand at the service of unceasing prayer, as it serves to fan the flames of this prayerful desire, which is a gift.16 He then compares silent prayer to a long, sustained, loving gaze. Ejaculatory prayers in turn stand at the service of this form of prayer, as they can sustain attention. Faithful to the Stoic principle of ne quid nimis, Augustine emphasizes that silent prayer need not be prolonged if attention flags; neither is it necessary to break it off when attention continues.17 Here again there is not a trace of any attempt to make the fear of God a constant factor in one’s life of prayer. The second part of the letter to Proba deals with the Lord’s Prayer. Augustine states there that if any prayer can be derived from one of the seven petitions of the Lord’s Prayer, it is a good prayer.18 As he did in the first part, he also explains here that the awareness of God’s incomprehensibility as an insight, and desire in faith, hope, and love as a habitus form the basis of prayer, but they also result from it. Adhering to the via negativa, he impresses on Proba that the prayers, in different ways, all intensify the desire for God.19 Faith, hope, and love (not desire) are presented as ways that lead to God for the person who desires and contemplates what the Lord asks in the Lord’s Prayer.20 Again linking up with Proba’s experiences, Augustine here too underpins God’s incomprehensibility in two ways, as well as the vagueness as to what exactly should be asked in prayer. First, he states that it is unclear to people what the advantages might be for them of temporal tribulations sent by God. 14. Ep. 130.8(15); 8(16). 15. Ep. 130.9.18: ‘In ipsa fide, spe et charitate continuato desiderio semper oramus’; cf. ep. 130.13.24; ep. 130.8.18. Cf. sermo 50. 16. Ep. 130.9.18. 17. Ep. 130.10.19–20. 18. Augustine’s commentaries on the Lord’s Prayer can be found in Sermones 56-59 (for baptismal candidates); De dono perseverantiae 2(3)–7(15); De Sermone Domini in Monte 2.4(15)–11(39). 19. Ep. 130.10.21; 11.21; 12.22. 20. Ep. 130.13(24). Parallel to the first part, Augustine here provides a provisional summary of prayer, in which he once again discusses love and desire side by side. He emphasizes that faith, hope, and love take the praying person to God. It is necessary for this purpose, however, that concupiscientia is ordered by (moderate) fasting (cf. praeceptum 3, La Règle de Saint Augustin, vol. 1 (Tradition Manuscrite), ed. L. Verheijen (Études Augustiniennes; Paris, 1967), pp. 417–37; ep. 130.16.31; cf. also ep. 211.5; 9) and by the sharing of one’s property with the poor.

‘ERGO SIC TIME DOMINUM, UT SPERES IN MISERICORDIA EIUS’ 249 However, whether the misery is taken away or not, man owes God obedient submission, he should lovingly bear evil, and always keep a thankful heart, especially because of God’s incomprehensibility and of the unfathomable nature of his judgements, which may benefit a person without his understanding why.21 Secondly, it is unclear to man what the beata vita exactly amounts to, although it may be longed for with a desire that has been granted by God22 Scholars were therefore right in pointing out the intrinsic connection between prayer and longing for God in Augustine’s view on prayer. In the development of his theory of prayer and of the various forms of prayer, he does not pay any attention to fear as a concomitant disposition. If he does mention fear in a subordinate clause, it is the fear of losing property or the fear of being duped by others, but never fear of God.23 It is evident that he did not want to arouse in Proba the consciousness that what had happened to her was a punishment inflicted by a terrifying God, as he never evokes any such image of God in his theory of prayer for her. He wants her to be detached from the world and from its incomprehensible vicissitudes, through a growing desire for God, in spite of the fact that God is even more incomprehensible.24

The Intensification of Fear in Prayers The thirteen books of the Confessiones are most suitable for establishing to what extent Augustine, as a mystagogue rather than as a theorist of prayer, evokes and intensifies timor, as they contain the longest prayer ever uttered in world literature. The task of understanding this work is not made easier when it is interpreted as an autobiography, but it is when the work is regarded as Augustine’s attempt to bring about a change of conduct in people who already share his world view (paraenese) or his wish – to be interpreted protreptically – to bring about a correction of 21. Ep. 130.14(25–26). 22. In Ep. 130.14(27)–15(28) Augustine states that the Holy Spirit infuses the saints with the desire of the yet unknown, incomprehensible good that they are expecting with perseverance. 23. Ep. 130.2.3; 2.4 (human fear of other people’s cunning and guile). 24. In Ep. 130.16(29); 16.30 Augustine again moves from the content of prayer to the proper disposition, characterized by readiness to fight in order to conquer worldly pleasures and to attain faith, hope, and love, as well as urgency, patience, and perseverance (cf. De traditione apostolica 11 and 25; Didascalia apostolorum 15). From 16.31 onwards, he gives the same advice as he does in Praeceptum 1.2 and in Ep. 211.5 and 9 with respect to community of goods: the rich and the poor have to take each other’s background into account.

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the world view of people who do not yet adhere to it. It has been convincingly shown, for instance, that he tried to introduce the Manicheans to the notion of the inscrutability of the human soul and, as the books proceed, also to that of the incomprehensibility of God the Creator, and Father (book XI), Son (XII) and Holy Spirit (XIII).25 Augustine’s choice of the title Confessiones already invites the supposition that he wants to intensify the opposite of fear. It is true that in Classical Antiquity a confessio was a confession to an authority competent to judge. In Christianity this meaning attained a religious connotation when confiteri came to include the confession of faith (confessio fidei) before hostile authorities of state, pronounced for instance by martyrs.26 This meaning was also related to the less forensic confession of one’s guilt to God (confessio peccati).27 The translation of the Greek exhomologeîsthai, going back to Hebrew hodaah (exhomologeîsthai in the Septuagint is a translation of this), ultimately resulted in confiteri attaining the meaning of the praising a merciful God.28 Thus the two meanings, confessio as a confession of guilt and as the praising of God, were merged; the use of the noun confessio cannot therefore be regarded as evoking only a threat. It was Augustine himself who showed that he wanted to interpret confessio as the giving of praise.29 In Sermo 67.1.2 for instance, he brackets together the confessio, in which man accuses himself, and the praise of God, who is without sin. Whoever indicts himself before God opens himself up to God in the right way, that is to say by giving praise.30 The 25. Annemaré Kotzé, Augustine’s Confessions. Communicative Purpose and Audience (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 71; Leiden–Boston, 2004), pp. 58–62; K. Kienzler, ‘Confessiones I, Die unbegreifliche Wirklichkeit der menschlichen Sehnsucht nach Gott’, in N. Fischer, C. Mayer (eds.), Die Confessiones des Augustinus von Hippo (Freiburg– Basel–Vienna, 1998), pp. 61–102, esp. 74–76 (protrepsis). 26. Cf. En. in ps. 118, s. 22.66 (on the martyr Felix): ‘Confessus est enim, dilatus est ad tormenta’. 27. There is an echo here of the Confiteor, which is said at the beginning of every celebration of the Eucharist. 28. Cf. J. Scott, ‘From literal self-sacrifice to literary self-sacrifice. Augustine’s Confessions and the rhetoric of testimony’, in J. McWilliam (ed.), Augustine from Rhetor to Theologian (Waterloo, 1992), pp. 31–50, esp. 35–36. 29. Cf. for example J. Ratzinger, ‘Originalität und Überlieferung in Augustins Begriff der >confessio