The Son is Truly Son: The Trinitarian and Christological Theology of Eusebius of Caesarea (Studia Traditionis Theologiae: Explorations in Early and Medieval Theology, 46) [Multilingual ed.] 9782503594989, 2503594980

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STUDIA TRADITIONIS THEOLOGIAE Explorations in Early and Medieval Theology Theology continually engages with its past: the people, experience, Scriptures, liturgy, learning and customs of Christians. The past is preserved, rejected, modified; but the legacy steadily evolves as Christians are never indifferent to history. Even when engaging the future, theology looks backwards: the next generation’s training includes inheriting a canon of Scripture, doctrine, and controversy; while adapting the past is central in every confrontation with a modernity. This is the dynamic realm of tradition, and this series’ focus. Whether examining people, texts, or periods, its volumes are concerned with how the past evolved in the past, and the interplay of theology, culture, and tradition.

STUDIA TRADITIONIS THEOLOGIAE Explorations in Early and Medieval Theology

46 Series Editor: Thomas O’Loughlin, Professor of Historical Theology in the University of Nottingham EDITORIAL BOARD Director Prof. Thomas O’Loughlin Board Members Dr Andreas Andreopoulos, Dr Nicholas Baker-Brian, Dr Augustine Casiday, Dr Mary B. Cunningham, Dr Juliette Day, Prof. Johannes Hoff, Prof. Paul Middleton, Prof. Simon Oliver, Prof. Andrew Prescott, Dr Patricia Rumsey, Prof. Jonathan Wooding, Dr Holger Zellentin

The Son is Truly Son The Trinitarian and Christological Theology of Eusebius of Caesarea

Adam R. Renberg

F

Cover illustration: Tabula Peutingeriana © ÖNB Vienna Cod. 324, Segm. VIII + IX © 2021, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. D/2021/0095/189 ISBN 978-2-503-59498-9 eISBN 978-2-503-59499-6 DOI 10.1484/M.STT-EB.5.123743 ISSN 2294–3617 eISSN 2566–0160 Printed in the EU on acid-free paper.

For Robert, my father, mentor, and friend— my Pamphilus

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments 9 Abbreviations 11 Works of Eusebius 11 Series and Journals 11 Note on Translations and Citations

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Introduction 15 Reconsidering Eusebius 16 This Study 23 Project Outline 28 Eusebius on the Trinity Defining the Trinity Oὐσíα Creatio ex Nihilo Ὑπόστασις Trinitarian Theology of Persons Father Son Holy Spirit Unity of the Godhead Conclusion

31 32 32 35 38 42 42 47 60 68 73

Cosmological Son: God in Creation The Unknowable Father The Weakness of Creation The Mediating Son Image of the Invisible God The Anointed One: The Priest-King of Hebrews The Marcellan Debate: Δια and the Cosmological Role of the Son in the New Testament Creative and Kingly: Christ’s Mediation in the Old Testament and Beyond Conclusion: The Mediator

75 77 80 85 85 88 94 99 104

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A Soteriology of Knowledge: Christ as Teacher in Eusebius Eusebian Images for Christ as Savior The Students: Enslaved Humanity The Course: Christian Monotheism The Teacher: Christ The Outcome: The Ends of Salvific Knowledge Conclusion

107 108 113 117 121 132 141

No Mere Man: The Unitive Theology of the Incarnate Christ Twofold Existence True Assumption of Humanity Eusebius on the Soul of Christ The Divine Nature: The Impassibility of the Word One Christ The Unified Christ in the Crucifixion Conclusion

145 147 150 154 160 164 171 176

Conclusions 179 Bibliography 187 Indexes 199 Scripture 199 Ancient Authors 200 Modern Authors 201 Subjects 203

Acknowledgments

Throughout the research and production of this book, I have been supported time and time again by a rich community—these acknowledgements by no means do justice to my indebtedness and gratitude to them all. This work began during my time as a graduate student in St Mary’s Divinity School at the University of St Andrews, a stimulating and rigorous place of learning which encouraged me and my work. My supervisors, Mark Elliott and T. J. Lang, gave the most intentional attention to my work there. T. J. provided important support at the outset of this project, despite the busyness of settling into his role at the university. Mark provided robust discussion and gentle correction throughout my time as a student, making my work far better than it would have been otherwise. His vast knowledge has benefited me and this project immensely, and his mentorship and friendship have been enormously meaningful. In the transition of this project into a monograph, Oliver Langworthy and Thomas O’Loughlin were hugely influential. Oliver’s comments on the thesis were both critical and charitable, which spurned significant reflection as I reworked it. Tom’s insightful and careful reading has made the editing process (nearly) painless, and his continued encouragement and remarks have been thoroughly edifying. I am truly grateful to all of these scholars. Any and all mistakes or shortcomings of this project are my own and should not reflect on them whatsoever. The community outside the walls of the academy has also been stimulating and important for the shape of the project and my growth. The congregation and leadership at St Andrews Baptist Church, St Andrews, allowed me to incorporate theology and ministry in meaningful ways during my time there. The deep friendship of Clay Rowe, Jared Michelson, and Jasper Knecht taught me much about theology, ministry, and faith—some of my greatest growth, intellectual and otherwise, came through our regular conversations in pubs, on garden benches, and in living rooms. The completion of this book took place in Anderson, South Carolina. Therein, the community at Anderson University, chiefly with J. T. Turner, Kegan Shaw, Ryan Butler, and Luke Stamps, has allowed for intellectual cross-fertilization and a continued atmosphere of academic rigor. The librarians at Anderson University, especially Darlene McKay, have been instrumental in finding obscure theological texts required for this project. Finally, the congregation and staff at Capstone Church, particularly David Barfield, Kris Barnett, and Andrew Cronic, have been supremely supportive as I have learned how to integrate ministry and theology.

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Finally, while physically removed by thousands of miles for most of this project, the support of my family was felt at every stage. My father, Rob Renberg, has modelled faithful ministry and a thirst for the Scriptures which has been the catalyst for my love of learning and pushed this project forward. Amy Renberg has demonstrated Christ-like love to me in her persistent encouragement and willingness to listen to me drone on about research. My siblings—Hannah and Brian Hodgson, Emily and Ryan Weener, and Holly Renberg—have continually reminded me of the importance of laughter and the support of family. Finally, my wife, Lynneth Miller Renberg, has been a rock in life and in research. In Lynneth, I have a model of fierce intellect, charitable discussion, and quiet devotion. Her careful reading and unique historical insight were critical for this project. This book would not have come to fruition if not for her support. Thank you all for showing care to me, amidst this project.

Abbreviations

Works of Eusebius CH CM CommIs CommLk CommPs DE DePasc EpCaes EpEup ET GEI GQS adMar GQS adSt HE LC OrCoetSant PE Theo VC

Contra Hieroclem Contra Marcellum Commentarius in Isaiam Fragmenta in Lucam Commentaria in Psalmos Demonstratio Evangelica De Solemnitate Paschali Epistula ad Caesarienses Epistula ad Euphrationem De Ecclesiastica Theologia Generalis Elementaria Introduction Quaestiones Evangelicae ad Marinum Quaestiones Evangelicae ad Stephanum Historia Ecclesiastica De Laudibus Constantini Oratio ad Coetum Sanctorum Praeparatio Evangelica De Theophania Vita Constantini

Series and Journals ACW ANF CH DOP FC GCS HTR JAC JECS JETS JTS LCL

Ancient Christian Writers Ante-Nicene Fathers Church History Dumbarton Oaks Papers Fathers of the Church Die griechischen christichen Schriftsteller Harvard Theological Review Jahrbuch Für Antike Und Christentum Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Journal of Theological Studies Loeb Classical Library

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a bbr e v iati o n s

ModTheo NPNF NT PG PPS SC SP TS TP VC ZAC ZNW

Modern Theology Nicene and Post Nicene Fathers Novum Testamentum Graece, Nestle-Aland, 28th edn. Patrologia Graeca Popular Patristic Series Sources Chrétiennes Studia Patristica Theological Studies Theologie und Philosophie Vigiliae Christianae Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche

Note on Translations and Citations

The majority of primary sources utilized throughout this work have been translated from the original Greek or Latin into a variety of modern European languages. The quotations in this monograph are from these various translations, as described in the bibliography. In many places, the translations have been altered to update archaic language or to parse out a nuanced meaning from the original language. Alterations are indicated in the footnote, when relevant. For biblical texts, the NRSV translation has been adopted. On citations, there is no uniform style for Eusebius’ work, either in the critical editions or modern translations. Typically, this study cites the work, book, chapter, and section (where relevant). When no critical edition is available, J. P. Migne’s Patrologia Graeca is cited by volume and column. Finally, citations of Eusebius’ commentaries include the scripture reference being discussed therein.

Introduction

‘The Father is truly Father … and also the Son is truly Son.’1

In the immediate context of the council of Nicaea in 325, and the decades following, the relationship of the Son of God to the Father was fiercely debated. How is the Son from the essence of the Father? Was there a time when he was not? Is he subordinate to the Father? These questions permeate theological literature from the period, as the struggle for ecclesiastical ‘orthodoxy’ is fought by numerous writers, most famously Athanasius of Alexandria. But there is one who predates his efforts, who in many ways shaped conciliar conceptions of the Son’s nature: Eusebius of Caesarea. For this bishop, the Son should be known as truly Son. While noted for his astonishing breadth of knowledge,2 with unrivaled influence in the church during his service as bishop,3 Eusebius has generally been treated as a minor footnote in the development of Christian theology. Whether because of his moderate Origenism, unapologetic praise of Constantine, or alliance to members of the Arian party, his theological work has traditionally been viewed as suspect. And yet Eusebius is the first to publish an Ecclesiastical Theology, which seeks to guide the Christian faith between two extremes—Arianism and Sabellianism—prefiguring the approach taken up by the Cappadocians.4 He discusses and defends the creed at Nicaea, giving readers the fullest (and closest) account of its creation.5 Eusebius also dedicates his scholarly work—history, theology, biblical commentary—to preserving the thought of the church from the previous centuries, a previously unexplored method of theological inquiry.6 In sum, Eusebius’ significance for and impact on theology in the early fourth century is remarkable. Eusebius’ importance has not gone unnoticed, of course. This introduction, which offers only a brief glimpse into a narrow portion of Eusebian studies, is

1 CM 1,1,13–15. 2 Noted by ancients and moderns alike: Quasten (1990), 311; Photius, Bibliotheca 13. 3 Beeley (2012), 49; Ayres (2004b), 89. 4 Spoerl (1997), 38. 5 Epistula ad Caesarienses. 6 Eusebius notes this himself, in being the ‘first to travel along a desolate and untrodden path,’ when writing his Historia Ecclesiastica. HE 1,1,3. Unless noted otherwise, the translation for HE is from Lawlor and Oulton (1928).

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testimony to the rich array of research undertaken on Eusebius. But the last twenty years of Eusebian studies has initiated a new phase of scholarship—one which reconsiders the scholarly lenses through which he is read. As a result, there is still much research to be done with these new lenses, particularly on his theological framework. It is through engaging with and benefiting from these new scholarly approaches that this project offers a unique contribution to Eusebian studies and patristics more broadly. By taking a new approach to Eusebius’ understanding of the Son of God, past scholarship on Eusebius may be qualified and new modes of research may be undertaken.

Reconsidering Eusebius In 2011, an edited volume entitled Reconsidering Eusebius: Collected Papers on Literary, Historical, and Theological Issues was published. In the preface, editors Sabrina Inowlocki and Claudio Zamagni discuss the oddly polarizing opinions on Eusebius in modern scholarship—for some, his work grants him a sort of sacred authority,7 while for others he is ‘scholarly rather than devout,’8 ‘unoriginal with a limited intellect,’9 and (to put it bluntly) a ‘bad theologian.’10 These lenses are ultimately unhelpful, according to these editors, who propose viewing Eusebius in a different light. ‘The underlying principle of the workshop and these papers was to analyze Eusebius as an author à part entière … we have tried to focus on his own specific way to construct literature, history, politics, and theology.’11 This desire, to read Eusebius ‘as a whole’ on his own terms, has manifested itself in several ways. For instance, this aforementioned volume reflects ‘on Eusebius “without” the Church History, to explore in more depth “the other Eusebius,” the Eusebius of other significant writings.’12 These other Eusebii are found in several ways. For some, it means exploring Eusebius’ works which have been comparatively understudied, as shown in this edited collection. For others, it means reconsidering the way he has been traditionally assessed in his historical and theological context. This is seen in Christopher Beeley’s work, which decenters the theological primacy and influence of Athanasius in the early fourth century and rehabilitates Eusebius as major, albeit misunderstood, authority.13 In his survey, Beeley traces early-church conceptions of the unity of Christ’s natures, whether personally or ontologically, placing figures such as

7 8 9 10 11 12 13

For example, see Maier’s translation of Eusebius’ history: Maier (2007). Foakes-Jackson (1933), 34. Berkhof (1939), 38. Pollard (1970), 251. Inowlocki and Zamagni (2011), IX. Inowlocki and Zamagni (2011), IX. Beeley (2012), 49. While Beeley’s reading of Eusebius is a helpful rehabilitation, his treatment of Athanasius is, perhaps, overly harsh and predicated on some puzzling bias.

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Gregory of Nazianzus on the fore. On Eusebius specifically, Beeley critiques scholarship’s frequent overreading of platonic influence onto Eusebius’ theology and praises Eusebius’ ability to maintain the single subjectivity of Christ in the Trinity and as an agent in history. In his assessment, Eusebius avoids many of the pitfalls of Origenism and transmits important Trinitarian conceptions to later writers. In this sense, Beeley casts off past assessments of Eusebius, seeking to revise the way in which Eusebius is presented. For Beeley and broader Eusebian scholarship, the present questions seem to be: In what way has the bishop’s thoughts on the Son of God been flattened in the past? And what is the way forward, towards a more nuanced and accurate picture? To answer the first question, one must assess the rich heritage of research on Eusebius’s conception of the Son of God. The diverse work undertaken on this subject is typically grounded in other aspect of his thought or life, namely his political relationship to Constantine, his philosophical relationship to Plato (and middle-platonic philosophy), and his alliance with the Arius. In other words, his theology is either understood in light of these other disciplines, or as a means to illuminate them. Thus, there are three main strands in Eusebian theological research: political theology, philosophical theology, and Nicene (comparative) theology.14 Of course, Eusebius would not distinguish between these modes of scholarship, nor see them as distinct enterprises—theology is not broken into subdisciplines, for him, as in modern theology. Nevertheless, secondary scholarship has emphasized these separate subdisciplines or strands, however artificial the theological boundaries may be. Viewing Eusebius’ theology as a political one is not surprising, considering several of his important works, namely Laus Constantini (LC), Vita Constantini (VC), and portions of Historia Ecclesiastica (HE), directly support Constantine’s reign as the Emperor of Rome. In these books, there is not only personal endorsement for the emperor, but theological support—Constantine’s rise to power (and conversion to Christianity) demonstrates God’s providence and victory over evil. He even goes so far as to compare Constantine to Moses and Christ, in VC.15 In connection to his political theology, there are two typical approaches: first, through the lens of modern (twenty and twenty-first century) political theology; second, in a patristic lens explicating the context of the Constantinian era. For the former approach, Eusebius is first discussed by Erik Peterson in his seminal work on political theology. Therein, he is described as a ‘politische Publizist’ and generally regarded as a poor theologian for connecting the rule of the transcendent God to earthly rulership.16 This picture of Eusebius is reiterated by a number of scholars with little alteration, namely by Eric

14 Some works on Eusebius, such as basic introductions to his thought, defy these labels. For example, Wallace-Hadrill (1960); Johnson (2014). 15 For discussion, see the work of Finn Damgaard (2013a); (2013b). 16 Peterson (1935), 79.

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Voegelin, Jürgen Moltmann, and Vincent Twomey.17 Devin Singh, in reviewing scholarship on Eusebius’ political theology, notes an interesting trend amongst patristic scholarship to distance Eusebius from Constantine as a result of Peterson’s critique—a trend which Singh finds unnecessary and unhelpful.18 As noted though, these works are largely seeking to use Eusebius within a broader argument about modern political theology and are not especially concerned with explicating Eusebius’ own (or full) thought. While approaching Eusebius from the latter angle, the Constantinian lens has also portrayed Eusebius as suspect in his historical, theological, and political ideology. This was popularized by Jacob Burckhardt, in his Die Zeit Constantins Des Grossen, where he famously depicts Eusebius as the ‘the first thoroughly dishonest historian of antiquity.’19 This disdainful depiction of Eusebius (in relationship to his political theology) largely continues throughout the twentieth century in different permutations,20 typically identifying Eusebius as a court theologian of sorts. G. H. Williams, who is an example of this lens, places church-state relations on the fore: Eusebius is chiefly a politician who uses theology to justify Constantine’s Rule.21 However, this view started to shift towards a more nuanced position through the work of T. D. Barnes,22 and principally through Michael J. Hollerich. Hollerich challenges this ‘old’ view of Eusebius, arguing that scholarship needs to round out their view of Eusebius by viewing his biblical exegesis and his other literature.23 While focusing on his exegetical strategies, particularly on his Commentarius in Isaiam, Hollerich argues Eusebius is not relying on political opportunism, but on a consistent theology of history—God’s sovereign reign is clearly evident in the Christianization of the Roman empire. Following this critique, many scholars have nuanced Eusebius’ political theology by addressing his thought through unique lenses. For instance, Aaron Johnson, in Ethnicity and Argument in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica demonstrates how the logic of God’s providence, rather than the Pax Romana, dictate Eusebius political theology.24 Hazel Johannessen, likewise, refutes interpretations of Eusebius as a naïve triumphalist, when evaluating his political theology in relationship

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Voegelin (1952), 103–06; Moltmann (1973), 12; Twomey (2007), 127–30. Singh (2013) uses Foucauldian theory to critique this trend. Burckhardt (1880), 334–35. For instance: Eger (1939); Cochrane (1940), 183–87; Grégoire (1953); Beskow (1962), 261–75; Momigliano (1963), 85; Markus (1963), 343; Farina (1966); Sansterre (1972). G. H. Williams (1951a); (1951b). Barnes (1981); Robert M. Grant’s work also shifted perceptions of Eusebius, towards a more neutral position, but he holds much of the ‘old school’ bias towards Eusebius, depicting him as severely revisionist in his history, cleansing church history of theological impurities (such as chiliasm). Grant (1972), 240; (1980). His first critique is found in an article: Hollerich (1990); He follows this with a full study on Eusebius’ Isaiah commentary: Hollerich (1999); Gerhard Ruhbach predates Hollerich in denying that Eusebius is a court theologian: Ruhbach (1976). Johnson (2006).

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to his demonology.25 Michel Fédou, in his multi-volume survey of patristic Christology, decenters Eusebius’ emphasis on Constantine, and identifies other broader cultural factors affecting his political theology, discussing Eusebius’ important impact on later theological frameworks for history and political theology.26 While there have been significant reconsiderations, then, within this strand of scholarship, his political theology is still one of the primary modes of viewing his theological framework. The second emphasis in scholarship concerning Eusebius’ theology is philosophical: Eusebius utilizes middle and neo-platonic philosophy to construct his theological system. This is unsurprising, as Eusebius’ reliance on and love for Plato is self-proclaimed: ‘For my part I very greatly admire (ἄγαμαι) the man (Plato), and esteem him as a friend (φίλον ἡγοῦμαι) above all the Greeks, and honor (τιμῶ) him as one whose sentiments are dear and congenial (φίλα καὶ συγγενῆ) to myself, although not the same throughout.’27 This scholarly approach typically highlights his apologetic works, particularly Praeparatio Evangelica (PE), Demonstratio Evangelica (DE), and his philosophical LC. In these texts, Eusebius puts Christian theology in direct conversation with philosophy—The Father of the Christian God is akin to the platonic One, the Logos to the World-Soul. Naturally, then, scholars have discussed Eusebius’ theology in light of platonic philosophy. This view was largely initiated by the work of Hendrik Berkhof and Alois Demp,28 but it was Friedo Ricken’s influential article which solidified his theology as a philosophical one.29 Ricken presents Eusebius’ Logoslehre alongside middle Platonism, particularly noting the similarity in language and activity of the transcendent One and the World-Soul to the Father and the Logos of the Christian faith, in Eusebius’ thought. While Ricken urges caution and the need for extra study, here, to see how or if Eusebius corrected middle Platonism with Scripture,30 his verdict is clear: ‘Es zeichnen sich also in der Theologie des Caesareners die Grundlinien der mittelplatonischen Hypostasenlehre ab.’31 Eusebius uncritically employs middle platonic cosmology, when discussing the transcendent God’s interaction with creation through his intermediary, the World-Soul (Logos). Therefore, Eusebius’ theological

25 Johannessen (2016); for other recent work on Eusebius’ political theology, see: DelCogliano (2011b); Robertson (2013). 26 Fédou (2013), 114–15. 27 PE 13,18,17; translation altered. 28 Both Berkhof and Demp write brief sections on Eusebius’ relationship to middle Platonism, the former focusing on the philosophical Lage of the early fourth century, the latter on the different Platonbildern of several church fathers. Neither draw the explicit connections between middle-platonic philosophy and Eusebius’ theological system as Ricken later does. Berkhof (1939), 22–38; Demp (1962), 6. 29 Ricken (1967). 30 Ricken (1967), 358. 31 Ricken (1967), 354.

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system is compared to (and ultimately founded upon) the philosophical system of Numenian Platonism.32 This view has been picked up, although with some notable criticism, by more recent scholars. For instance, Edouard des Places largely agrees with Ricken and argues Eusebius’ reliance on Numenius damaged his orthodoxy: ‘Le “Second Dieu” de ses modèles grecs, de Numénius en particulier, semble avoir fait tort à l’orthodoxie d’Eusèbe.’33 Similarly, Alois Grillmeier uses Ricken’s assessment while constructing Eusebius’ theology, citing him as he writes how the Logos is akin to the Middle Platonic World-Soul: ‘Dem Logos wird so die Funktion zuteil, welche bei den Mittelplatonikern der Weltseele zukommt.’34 Rebecca Lyman explores many of Eusebius’ platonic sources, but disagrees with Ricken’s assessment that Eusebius gave ‘equal weight to philosophy and Christianity in Eusebius’ apologetic theology.’35 For Lyman, biblical interpretation is just as likely to have affected his subordinationism of the Son as middle-platonic theology (as Ricken did).36 Mark Edwards is one of the few scholars who has utilized both the political and philosophical strands, particularly in his book on religion in late antiquity, which specifically seeks to place history, politics, and philosophy in conversation.37 In this work, Eusebius’ use of philosophical terminology is qualified, especially his shared language with Numenius (of the ‘second god’). Edwards argues this language demonstrates ‘the divinity of Christ and the causal priority of the Father—which are axiomatic to the thought of every good churchman before and after the council of Nicaea.’38 In other words, Numenius is not necessarily the master of Eusebius, despite shared language and philosophical presuppositions. Holger Strutwolf provides the most extensive study of Eusebius’ Trinitarian and christological theology, focusing chiefly on the context at Nicaea along with the platonic sources on which his thought is founded. After extensive comparison with contemporary philosophical works, Strutwolf argues Eusebius utilizes middle and neo-platonic cosmology to create his own (unique) theological system—a system which borrows from Numenius and Plotinus without being a student of either.39 Strutwolf also seeks to free Eusebius of several problematic assessments, namely his apparent Arianism and heterodox Christology. In this work, the philosophical emphasis inevitably places Eusebius as a voice amongst the philosophers. Thus, Strutwolf ’s

32 Ricken continues to explore Platonic ontology in fourth century Christian theology in several articles later. Ricken (1969); (1970); (1973). 33 Des Places (1971), 462. In a later book, des Places catalogues and expounds on Eusebius’ quotations from philosophers, paying particular attention to Plato. Des Places (1982). 34 Grillmeier (1979), 306. 35 Lyman (1993), 99; Ricken (1973), 333. 36 Lyman (1993), 117. 37 Edwards (2015). 38 Edwards (2015), 62. 39 Strutwolf (1999), 192–93.

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emphasis on Eusebius’ apologetic and philosophical works throughout his monograph paints a picture of Eusebius which, while critical of Ricken, is ultimately indebted and dependent on Ricken’s assessment. Finally, the ‘Nicene’ or ‘comparative’ strand, looks primarily at how Eusebius’ theology parallels other figures during the early fourth-century. This is seen in surveys of early church theology, as well as focused comparative studies.40 These surveys, at their best, trace theological trends in this period and note Eusebius’ place therein. Some examples are Colm Luibhéid’s survey of the Arian Crisis, which charitably reassesses Eusebius’ part in this controversy by refuting anachronistic assessments about his orthodoxy, and Lyman’s study on cosmology, which distances Eusebius from several hasty evaluations, particularly on his use of platonic philosophy.41 At their worst, they have pigeonholed Eusebius on the basis of his similarities with Arius or anachronistic questions—Eusebius is viewed on the ‘sliding scale’ of orthodoxy, with Arius on one end and Athanasius on the other. This is seen in the work of R. P. C. Hanson who calls Eusebius a modified-Arian, on account of his similar theological emphases to Arius, despite these same convictions being shared with Origen and many Nicene thinkers.42 A similar scale is employed by Grillmeier, but for Eusebius’ Christology, rather than his Trinitarianism. As Eusebius denies the human soul in Christ (according to Grillmeier), the Word necessarily inhabits the human body, as for Apollinarius. That is to say, Eusebius is a precursor to the Logos-Sarx model,43 a view supported as recently as 2018 by Kelly Spoerl and Markus Vinzent, when they claim he is a Proto-Apollinarian.44 Eusebius is thus often read in light of foreign or later theological constructions in these studies. There is an important (although underutilized) work which stands outside of these strands which bears importance for this study: Anton Weber’s ARXN. Ein Beitrag zur Christologie des Eusebius von Caesarea.45 This work primarily views Eusebius’ Christology according to his biblical interpretation, especially Prov 8:22, Jn 1:1, and Col 1:15. Eusebius’ cosmological framework is primary here, which identifies how the Son relates to creation according to his different titles: Wisdom, Word, and Image of God. In Weber’s assessment, the Council of Nicaea marks an important shift in theological dogma, in which Eusebius

40 While this is surely not an exhaustive list, these are some of the works that are important for Eusebius’ place in early Christian theology. Pollard (1970), 266–98; Simonetti (1975), 60–66; Kopecek (1979), 1–61; Ayres (2004b), 52–61; Robertson (2007), 37–96. 41 Luibhéid (1981); Lyman (1993). 42 Hanson (1988), 59. The use of ‘Arian’ as a title for identifying a figure’s theological framework is critiqued by Ayres, Behr, and Gwynn, amongst others: Ayres (2004b), 2–3, 13–14; John Behr (2004), 21–36; Gwynn (2007), 6–8. 43 Grillmeier (1979), 314. 44 This is found in the comments of their translation of CM and ET: Spoerl and Vinzent (2017), 181, fn. 114. 45 Weber (1965).

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ultimately falls on the wrong side of—the Son is no longer primarily seen as mediator but as the Logos incarnate.46 This project, while generally helpful, does not go further than Eusebius’ cosmological framework, leaving much to be researched when it comes to Eusebius’ Christology. Barring Weber’s monograph, there is a surprising dearth of conversation with Eusebius’ commentaries, exegetical work, and biblical tools in these three scholarly strands. There has certainly been scholarship on Eusebius’ exegetical works though—there is a rich corpus of research, particularly from the last two decades. To give a brief overview, Eusebius’ Commentarius in Isaiam, as noted above, was the subject of a major study by Hollerich and was recently translated by Jonathan Armstrong.47 There has been a growing interest in his Commentaria in Psalmos,48 initiated by Carmelo Curti’s literary study in the late 1980s, and picked up by several scholars recently, such as Hollerich and Cordula Bandt. Eusebius’ role in the transformation of the biblical canon has a solid collection of scholarship, which focuses principally on his canon list in HE and his production of 50 bibles for Constantine, as recorded in VC.49 New Testament scholars, such as Francis Watson, have produced interesting work on Eusebius’ innovative biblical tools, namely the Canon Tables. Watson discusses how this tool reshaped interpretations and approaches to the Gospels, but also expands to theological implications.50 Thomas O’Loughlin explores the harmonization of these tables and discusses some pairings therein to illuminate his assumptions about the Gospels.51 Matthew Crawford is also performing research on the tables, most notably in his recent monograph, which examines the effects of this paratextual device in Eusebius’ context and in its reception.52 Finally, on his exegesis, Bogdan Bucur has produced some work on Eusebius’ Christocentric exegesis in recent years, which focuses

46 Weber (1965), 178. 47 Hollerich (2013). There has also been some research on Eusebius’ Fragmenta in Lucam, although this primarily focuses on whether it was actually written by Eusebius. See: WallaceHadrill (1974); Johnson (2011b); (2013). 48 Carmelo Curti was foundational in his literary work on this commentary, particularly on the catena which contains it. See: Curti (1989); Marie-Josèphe Rondeau provides background for Eusebius’ commentary and his prosopological exegesis in two respective works. Rondeau (1982), 64–75; (1985), 169–95. For recent work, see: Bandt (2013); Wallraff (2013); For a helpful survey of the field, see: Hollerich (2013). 49 For his ‘canon list’ in relationship to the formation of the canon, see: Grant (1980), 126–41; Robbins (1986); Hahneman (1992), 133–40; Baum (1997); Kalin (2002); Junod (2011); Armstrong (2014); Gallagher and Meade (2017), 99–109. For the latter, see: Barnes (1981), 125; Robbins (1989); Skeat (1999), 605, fn. 28. For Eusebius’ role in the ‘transformation’ of the bible, see: Grafton and Williams, M. H. (2006). 50 Watson (2016), 105–52; McKenzie and Watson (2016), 145–227. Carl Nordenfalk was the first to give the Canon Tables significant research space. See: Nordenfalk (1938); Nordenfalk (1982), 30. 51 O’Loughlin (1999); (2010); (2014); (2017). 52 Crawford (2019b). Crawford has also published on the Tables elsewhere: (2014): 26–29; (2019a).

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on Eusebius use of the Old Testament.53 In these works, Bucur emphasizes Eusebius’ tendency to identify the theophanic activity of God with the Son.54 Sébastien Morlet also reports this exegetical strategy, noting its unique aim and focus in his work on Eusebius’ DE.55 The research of Bucur and Morlet is thus an important supplement to the works which approach his exegesis broadly.56 But, this field is just now budding—most of this work has been completed in the last twenty years. As in all ‘young’ fields, there is still much to be done, including something as basic as a critical edition of Eusebius’ massive psalm commentary.

This Study In the attempt to reconsider Eusebius, the question was posed above: what is the way towards a more nuanced and accurate picture of the bishop’s theology of the Son? This study proposes several pointed research questions to reconsider Eusebius’ Christology. While it will undoubtedly build upon the valuable research discussed above, it will also be unique in several ways. First, this project asks: does modern assessment of his theological thought shift if we reconsider Eusebius as a theologian, rather than a philosopher, historian, or politician?57 While the titles of ‘philosopher’ and ‘historian’ are not necessarily misnomers, they have led to undue disparagement of Eusebius’ theological prowess, particularly in twentieth century scholarship. Further, viewing Eusebius under these titles has naturally led scholars to prioritize the works which support these titles. Thus, the political strand has prioritized the political works and the philosophical strand his apologetic ones. In other words, past evaluations of Eusebius’ theology have not been primarily founded on his (explicitly) theological works. This project, in viewing Eusebius as a theologian, will give special attention to his theological works—Contra Marcellum (CM) and De Ecclesiastica Theologia (ET)—in its view of Eusebius. These texts are refutations of Marcellus of Ancyra, a contemporary bishop and theologian, particularly on the relations in the Godhead. There is a surprising lack of scholarship on these works, perhaps best demonstrated by its recent translation into English for the first time in late 2017. Thus, what follows in this project will focus on the debate with Marcellus to illuminate his broader

53 There is some work on Eusebius’ theophanic exegesis from Jean Sirinelli in the 1960s, but this was largely left unexplored until the work of Jörg Ulrich. Sirinelli (1961), 259–92; Ulrich (1999), 176–92. 54 Bucur (2014); (2015), 251, fn. 21; 261, fn. 68; (2018), 237; (2019). 55 Morlet (2009), 442–57; see also: (2008); (2014). 56 Wallace-Hadrill (1960), 96–97; Zamagni (2011). 57 Eusebius’ ‘title’ has led to certain readings and assessments of his theological framework. One example, amongst many, is Barnes: ‘Eusebius was a biblical scholar both by instinct and training, but he was not by nature a philosopher or theologian.’ Barnes (1981), 94.

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theological thought and convictions. That is not to say Eusebius’ theology is a reactionary one though—while he does counter Marcellus, his theological system is a dynamic expression of a theological interpretative tradition of exegesis and philosophy. By taking this approach, this study can better evaluate how Eusebius shapes theology, particularly Origenian categories for God, in his response to Marcellus and in his broader thought. There is a danger in allowing these polemical works to be the normative lens for Eusebius’ theological framework, though. As Strutwolf argues, Eusebius and Marcellus are unbalanced in their desire to prove the other’s theological framework as heretical, creating a heated and hurtful debate. ‘Daher hat man m.E. gegenüber den Aussagen dieser polemischen Werke des Euseb große Vorsicht walten zu lassen und sie immer im Rahmen ihrer jeweiligen polemischen Kontexte zu interpretieren, will man methodisch verantwortbar aus polemischen Invektiven die eigene theologische Position des Euseb erheben.’58 Strutwolf is correct in noting the importance of purpose and context for these works—they must be qualified according to the debate. But we need not assume that theological statements found therein are necessarily foreign to Eusebius’ thought, or that a theological position founded in ET or CM is any more suspect than his other works. This is especially apparent as these works seem to be theologically consistent with his other works. This polemic, as Aaron Johnson argues, ‘represent a theological vision coherent with the formulations presented in the earlier works.’59 So, while Strutwolf ’s warning—that these works can present a distorted view of the author’s theological position—is granted, they can still reveal much about Eusebius’ true theological position. Therefore, while these works are qualified according to their polemical context, this theological debate itself will be primary. The second question concerns the source or grounding of his theological system: how does theological assessment of Eusebius shift if his Trinitarian and christological theology are viewed foremost in light of his exegesis of the Christian Scriptures? This approach is mirrored in the recent edited collection, The Bible and Early Trinitarian Theology. In the introduction, editor’s Christopher Beeley and Mark Weedman declare their intention to bring the fields of biblical studies and early Christian studies ‘into closer conversation with one another in order to explore new avenues in the relationship between biblical interpretation and the development of early Christian theology.’60 This project, likewise, seeks to discuss Eusebius’ biblical interpretation in relationship to his theological framework. In other words, it will draw from the research undertaken on Eusebius’ exegesis and biblical works, noted above, to survey how Eusebius employs and interprets the Bible when constructing his

58 Strutwolf (1999), 323–24. 59 Johnson (2014), 115. 60 Beeley and Weedman (2017), 2. This is certainly not a new mode of scholarship, but it has gained more attention lately. For example: Slusser (1988); Ayres (2019).

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theological system. While this approach by no means devalues the importance of philosophy or politics for his thought, nor the work completed on this relationship, it will challenge some of the assumptions latent in both strands. Thus, philosophy and politics will be primarily referenced when employed by Eusebius in service of his exegesis. Methodologically, this means reordering the emphasized Eusebian works, as seen in the Reconsidering Eusebius project. Therefore, Eusebius’ biblical and theological scholarship will be prioritized. These works include his: Commentarius in Isaiam (CommIs), Commentaria in Psalmos (CommPs), Quaestiones evangelicae (GQS), and his fragmentary works, such as De Solemnitate Paschali (DePasch). Perhaps the most unique work discussed will be Eusebius’ Canon Tables, his innovative Gospel cross-referencing system. But, in seeking to round out these conversations, completely neglecting Eusebius’ apologetic and political works (PE, DE, Theo, LC, VC) is methodologically inconsistent. Thus, these works will still be utilized, but will have no prioritized place over his biblical work. In other words, the way forward for this project is primarily through grounding his thought in biblical exegesis. Third, how does modern assessment of Eusebius shift when he is given a new set of patristic voices to dialogue with, particularly across the broader patristic period and traditions therein? That is to say, does Eusebius’ theology take on new life when compared with figures other than Arius and Athanasius, on whom there is already a rich body of secondary scholarship?61 This approach may better contextualize Eusebius in church history and free his voice from the sliding scale of orthodoxy on which he is normally placed. Thus, writers such as Irenaeus, Clement of Alexandria, the Cappadocian fathers, and Theodoret of Cyrus will be paired throughout. The intent here is not to demonstrate direct succession between these voices and Eusebius’ thought, but to demonstrate how Eusebius fits within the broader theological history of the early church. Importantly, Eusebius inherited a theological framework from Origen—thus, Origen will be discussed throughout as well. The most immediate interlocutor, though, will be Marcellus of Ancyra, as noted above. It is natural these writers should be compared, as Marcellus is the theologian Eusebius wrote against most immediately. It should be noted here that Eusebius has, in recent studies, been viewed as foundational for later writers, particularly the Cappadocians.62 This study will reference these writers regularly for theological and historical elucidation, but it is not a comparative one per se. That is, this work seeks to explicate Eusebius’ own system so comparison will become more accessible. Nevertheless, Eusebius’ impact on later theology should become clearer through this work.

61 This approach is still popular, as evidenced by the approach in Brian Daley’s recent book. Daley (2018), 94–125. 62 For example: Beeley (2008b), 316.

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Fourth, the primary way to view Eusebius’ conception of the pre-cosmic Son of God in secondary scholarship (particularly the philosophical strand) has been through the title Logos. But, as Lienhard notes, this is not an entirely accurate depiction: ‘Eusebius’s theology has been called (by Berkhof and others) a Logos-theology, in the tradition of the Apologists; but it would be more exact to call it a Son-theology.’63 While some scholars have supported this view, there has been no extensive treatment to parse out the implications of this title shift—from Logos to Son.64 Thus, how does Eusebius’ theology of the Son change when biblical personalism—the Son is truly Son of the Father—is seen as his primary title and understanding of the second person of the Trinity? In other words, if the relationship in the Godhead is seen as Father to Son, rather than the ‘One’ to the ‘World-Soul,’ as in Middle Platonic philosophy, does the assessment of his theology concerning subordinationism, the eternal generation of the Son, and title of ‘Second God’ change? In this sense, this study parallels and draws from Mark DelCogliano’s Basil of Caesarea’s Anti-Eunomian Theory of Names.65 Therein, DelCogliano explicates the primacy of the name ‘Son’ for Basil’s framework, particularly in his debate with Eunomius. As a result, the project will necessarily speak of the Father frequently to illuminate the nature of the Son. If the relationship of Father to Son is primary, the nature of said relationship cannot be fully understood without an explication of both parties. Importantly, this presentation of Eusebius’ theology is a systematic one—it seeks to order his diverse thoughts into a coherent whole. While this is somewhat foreign to Eusebius’ own method, as he never formulates a systematic approach to his theology nor breaks his theology into subdisciplines (such as political, biblical, and philosophical) as this work does, it may help modern scholarship to better understand how he holds so many diverse thoughts and images together. This systematic exploration is vital for a reconsideration of Eusebius’ theological vision—a shortcoming of previous scholarship has been to reduce his framework to a narrow facet of thought.66 This work, in response, draws from Eusebius’ extensive corpus to map and order his wide-ranging thought (on the Trinity, cosmology, soteriology, and Christology) into a coherent framework. While there are certainly more aspects of his thought to consider in relation to the doctrine of God, the doctrines focused on here may be sufficient to demonstrate his broad convictions and, perhaps, paints a more accurate picture of his robust and multi-faceted theology. On a final, and perhaps broader note, the nature of this project’s discipline must be clarified to explain some of the argumentation in this book. It is a 63 64 65 66

Lienhard (1999), 132. For example: Beeley (2008a), 445. DelCogliano (2010). For example, J. N. D Kelly, in his brief comments on Eusebius, makes a dichotomy between soteriology and cosmology, arguing that Eusebius was primarily interested in the latter: ‘His overriding interest is cosmological rather than soteriological.’ Kelly (1968), 225.

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work of historical theology, which utilizes historical figures and methods to speak about God and his nature. In other words, it mines the thought of thinkers throughout church history to illuminate their own and our own understanding of God. This can be viewed as a facet of retrieval theology, in which reflection on a shared tradition calls for a contemporary response in the minds and theology of its readers. John Webster writes on this as an aspect of retrieval theology: ‘immersion in the texts and habits of thought of earlier (especially premodern) theology opens up a wide view of the object of Christian theological reflection, setting before its contemporary practitioners descriptions of the faith unharassed by current anxieties, and enabling a certain liberty in relation to the present.’67 Theological reflection through past Christian thinkers allows for diverse perspectives to thrive outside of modern debates which often bog modern theologians down. Therefore, in order to avoid importing current debates into the past, historical theologians must prioritize clarity and illumination of historical thought in context. But historical theology must likewise acknowledge that Christians past and present have a common object of theological reflection: God. It is, therefore, not accurate to view this project as an intellectual history,68 in which Eusebius’ theology is understood completely on its own terms and in light of contemporary thought in the early fourth century, without answering to dogmatic theology. Nor is it appropriate to deem it as purely dogmatic, whose primarily aim is not historical reflection, but on contemporary preoccupations—in the broad teaching of a given church.69 This has two major implications: First, as historical methodology is foundational for this discipline, this study will intentionally cast off foreign or later conceptions which obscure or pervert Eusebius’ own thought. In this sense, identifying anachronistic readings is both appropriate and necessary for preserving and understanding Eusebius’ theology. As much of Eusebius’ thought has been distorted on account of anachronistic readings, this will be the emphasized throughout. Second, this does not mean Eusebius’ theology should be unaccountable to tradition and dogmatic theology. As the ultimate object of theology is God, it is also appropriate to point out where his thought is 67 Webster (2007), 584–85. 68 This is a fairly common, although I would argue deficient, understanding of historical theology. Take Stuart Hall, for example, who writes, ‘Historical theology proper is a discipline in which the theology of the past is described and expounded in its own historical context. It is a form of intellectual history, since the ideas are generated in a context of thought, itself affected by social and political events.’ Hall (2011), 215. 69 That is not to say that historical concerns are of no importance to dogmatics. Historical reflection is a vital aspect of systematic theology—without it, much dogmatic work is problematized. This is a pitfall of some twentieth century dogmatic theologians who sought to ‘rehabilitate’ trinitarian theology, such as John Zizioulas or Jürgen Moltmann, who seemed to fundamentally misunderstand the historical debates and contexts. It could be argued that this, in itself, made their work deficient pieces of dogmatic theology. This is discussed in an excellent work of historical theology by Stephen Holmes. Holmes (2012).

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deficient. In other words, to note when Eusebius himself obscures or perverts a proper understanding of God. Thus, this work also critiques Eusebius when his system is deficient. In this sense, Eusebius’ rich theology can be seen in proper historical context, but also in light of later tradition and an orthodox understanding of God. An example may prove to be helpful for clarity here. In 451, the council of Chalcedon met to discuss, amongst other topics, Christology—the natures and person of Christ. In this ecumenical council, the authoritative view of Christ was sealed and pronounced, using language and concepts formed throughout the christological debates in the fourth and fifth centuries. To speak of this council as a historical theologian is to observe how the council is the product of a debate and figures therein which demands historical analysis for proper understanding. But likewise, it is to acknowledge that Chalcedon does truly reveal the authoritative understanding of Christology for the church, which illuminates God’s nature—the understanding determined at this council, according to church teaching, is the proper way to view and understand God. But how does Eusebius relate to this, a council which met over 100 years after his death? I propose this understanding: it is wrong to read Chalcedon onto Eusebius’ Christology but correct to read Eusebius in light of it. That is to say, to critique Eusebius for constructing and preserving his theological system differently than Chalcedon later does, is anachronistic insofar as it expects an earlier thinker to develop his system as later thinkers do. But the ways in which Eusebius’ thought falls short of a proper understanding of Christ, which is preserved at Chalcedon, should not be glossed over either. In this sense, it is more theologically instructive to discuss whether Eusebius preserves the basic understanding of God preserved in these councils, than the language and framework in which it was later applied. As Eusebius is a participant of a shared tradition, it is informative to view what part he played in it, for both history and theology. In sum, as a work of historical theology, this project is accountable to the methods and critiques of both history and theology.

Project Outline The first body chapter focuses primarily on the relations in the Godhead— Eusebius’ doctrine of the Trinity. Therein, Eusebius’ employed terminology for the nature (and essence) of God will be surveyed, along with discussion of his respective understanding of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Further, Eusebius’ framework for the unity of the triune God, which has largely been considered suspect in secondary scholarship, will be addressed. By focusing on his exegetical strategies and biblical framework, this chapter is able to distance Eusebius from ontological subordinationism of the Son to one predicated on biblical personalism—the Son is derived from the Father and therefore subordinate. In other words, this chapter qualifies how Eusebius subordinates the Son (and the Holy Spirit) to the Father in the Godhead.

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Eusebius’ cosmology—how God relates to the created order—will be the focus of chapter two, particularly on the mediation of the Logos between the Father and the created order. This is, perhaps, the most studied aspect of Eusebius’ theological thought, for both the philosophical and political strands of scholarship. In the former, Eusebius’ consistent comparison to middle-platonic World-Soul is on the fore, while the latter focuses on Constantine’s unique status as God’s representative (mediator) on earth, not unlike the Logos. But what biblical support does Eusebius present for the mediatorial role of the Son? Importantly, his scriptural exegesis places the biblical title of Christ as image, in which the Father is revealed, as primary. As image, the Son is uniquely able to reveal the transcendent Father and mediate his will. Thus, when Eusebius attributes mediatorial language from the Scriptures to the Son—Image of the invisible God, high priest, creator, and theophanic agent—he aims to make the Father visible. Chapter three is dedicated to Eusebius’ soteriological framework— salvation through the Son. This chapter is intentionally placed after his cosmological scheme because his understanding of salvation is not only born out of Christ’s work on the cross, but on the Son’s proclamation of the true knowledge of God from all time. Eusebius’ soteriology is principally a gnostic one in which Christ’s role as teacher is also that of savior. This proclaimed knowledge primarily concerns the identity of the Christian God against its opponents—the one creator God against polytheists, and the triune Godhead against Marcellus’ apparent Unitarianism. By hearing (and accepting) the knowledge of the true God, individuals are saved and become part of the ecclesiastical community. But this chapter will also survey Eusebius’ employment of other New Testament soteriological images: Christ as healer, victor, sacrifice. By utilizing this diverse imagery, Eusebius provides a rich, liturgical account of salvation through Christ. This nuanced soteriology cannot be reduced to Christian moralism, but points to genuine transformation in Christ. Finally, Eusebius’ christological framework will be examined, narrowing in on his conception of the union between the divine and human existence of Christ, in the fourth chapter. This will decenter the secondary conversation from the soul of Christ, which prioritizes questions from the late fourth-century, and focus on his biblical and theological convictions. As will be seen, these convictions strikingly mirror those of the early fifth century: Eusebius has both ‘Antiochene’ and ‘Alexandrian’ theological emphases. Here, Eusebius is principally concerned with the single subjectivity of second person of the Trinity, which (at times) seems to sacrifice the human nature of Christ—but, he often nuances his position and posits an understanding which would be favorable to many Neo-Chalcedonian thinkers. This chapter will pay special attention to several fascinating monologues of Christ, from CommIs and DE, in which a unified subject is the bearer of suffering and the cross. In these passages, Eusebius reveals his conviction that the impassible Son of God is truly the human Jesus of the Gospels.

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Each of the chapters, then, focuses on Eusebius’ understanding of the Son of God in different theological facets—Trinitarianism, theological cosmology, soteriology, and Christology. By focusing on his biblical exegesis throughout this project, these theological doctrines will be qualified and read more charitably than in much of past scholarship. That is to say, much of the negative assessments of Eusebius’ theology have been on account of an overemphasis on his guiding philosophy or political position and theory. By focusing foremost on his biblical theology, many of these assessments are problematized. The second person of the Trinity in Eusebius thought is not merely the Logos of middle-Platonism or the justification for imperial rule. He is most importantly the eternal Son of God. ‘The Father is truly Father (ὁ πατὴρ ἀληθῶς πατὴρ) … and also the Son is truly Son (ὁ υἱὸς ἀληθῶς υἱός).’70

70 CM 1,1,13–15.

Eusebius on the Trinity

‘Thus the Church of God received and preserves the holy, blessed, and mystical Trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit as its saving hope through the regeneration in Christ.’1

D. S. Wallace-Hadrill, in his book on Eusebius, opines, ‘From his starting point no real trinitarian theology was possible. He found himself postulating two Gods, a greater and a less, and struggled vainly to unite them, falling inevitably into ambiguities and contradictions.’2 In a cursory reading of Eusebius, this seems to be true—he only uses τριαδας eight times when speaking of the Godhead, scarcely treats the Spirit, and largely avoids the term ὁμοούσιος after the council of Nicaea.3 But, to maintain this interpretation (on these points) is historically problematic as it expects Eusebius, a thinker of the early fourth century, to conceive of the Trinity as the Cappadocians or other later writers. Eusebius is clear in his affirmation of the Trinity throughout his writings—the question is not, ‘is Eusebius a trinitarian,’ but ‘how does he conceive of the Trinity?’ To evaluate Eusebius’ trinitarian theology, this chapter will first discuss several important terms and concepts which Eusebius uses to define the Trinity, particularly for inter-trinitarian relations. Second, it will examine each person of the Trinity—Father, Son, and Spirit—to demonstrate their place and role in the Godhead. This reading of the divine persons will shift the emphasis of Eusebius’ Trinitarian theology in a few ways. This includes viewing the Father primarily as ‘source’, an important qualification on the Son’s subordinate nature, and a partial rehabilitation of his pneumatology. Finally, it will study how Eusebius seeks to present a unified Godhead in his work, despite struggling to maintain unity on the basis of relations alone. Throughout, this chapter foremost demonstrates Eusebius’ Trinitarian formulations are rooted in biblical personalism, in which the Son is truly 1 CM 1,1,12. 2 Wallace-Hadrill (1960), 137–38. 3 CM 1,1,9–10; ET 1,ded; ET 2,22,4–5; ET 3,5,17–18; ET 3,5,21–22; PE 11,20,1; PE 11,20,3; VC 4,40,1–2; this final use is employed when speaking of Constantine’s sons. Eusebius also uses τριάς five times in LC, when explicating Neopythagorean number theory: LC 6,5–14; τριάς is found in several block quotations in PE and ET, from Clement of Alexandria and Marcellus, respectively: PE 13,13,29; ET 3,4,1–3.

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Son. Biblical personalism, here, is meant to describe how the relational (and biblical) titles for the triune persons (Father and Son) are paramount for understanding their respective natures—the personal language of Father and Son is revelatory of their nature and relationship in the Godhead. In other words, Eusebius focuses on a relational hierarchy in the Godhead, rather than an ontological one.

Defining the Trinity One of the challenges in tracing the theological controversies in the fourth century, particularly in denoting theological trajectories therein, is the use of trinitarian language—how one defines the Godhead. For instance, Joseph Lienhard, in seeking to problematize the categories of ‘Arian’ and ‘Nicene,’ proposes two theological trajectories for this period: ‘dyohypostatic’ and ‘miahypostatic’ theology.4 While this is a helpful corrective, it centralizes the term ὑπόστασις for the debate, when it is only one part of the whole, often with ambiguous definition. Anatolios has even questioned modern understandings of the terms ‘οὐσία’ and ‘ὑπόστασις,’ the so-called Cappadocian settlement, more recently. ‘They (these terms) were simply a posteriori logical-linguistic maneuvers that followed upon the belief concerning Father, Son, and Spirit … (they) are not the inner shrine of the meaning of trinitarian doctrine but a set of logical regulators.’5 In other words, these terms are certainly important for the Cappadocians, but they themselves are not the resolution of divergent thoughts on the Trinity. They are terminological boundaries for larger systems of thought. The danger is to read Eusebius’ language for the Trinity on the basis of foreign definitions (whether that be ancient or modern). The content behind these terms is far more important for discussing Eusebius thought, than whether he was an adherent to ὁμοούσιος. While a broad word study of the various language Eusebius may be helpful in some regard, it seems more appropriate to narrow in on several words and concepts which get to the heart of his trinitarian system. Oὐσíα

Oὐσία is a term of great doctrinal importance for all theologians of the fourth century, particularly in the later controversy between the Cappadocians and Eunomius. Eusebius is no exception, in placing this term centrally in his understanding of the Trinity, or more specifically for the doctrine of God.6

4 Lienhard (1987). 5 Anatolios (2011), 212; parenthesis added. 6 For a general discussion of οὐσία and ὑπόστασις, see: Ayres (2004b), 92–98.

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Eusebius does use the term distinctively from later writers though—he does not seem to use the term for the shared essence of the Godhead and has been suspected of using it synonymously with ὑπόστασις.7 A broad word study reveals his unique understanding and employment of the term: Eusebius primarily uses the word in a nontechnical sense—οὐσία simply describes something’s nature. In the passages of interest below, οὐσία is primarily a comparative word for Eusebius, especially for contrasting the ineffable essence of God and mutable creation. ‘For how could those things that are greatly subordinate by nature (φύσιν ὑποβεβηκότα), far lower and distant from the ineffable and divine (ἀρρήτου καὶ θεϊκῆς) being (οὐσίας), comprehend what is transcendent and highest?’8 Here, the term is employed to denote the absolute difference between divine and created nature—so stark a difference, creation cannot even comprehend God’s being. Again, Eusebius uses the term when speaking of the impassibility of the divine nature, namely for the Logos: ‘For altogether, [the expressions] “was” and “be” and “has once come to be” and again “about to be,” which are indicative of a change in time, would be foreign (ἀλλότρια) to the being (οὐσίας) that is timeless (ἀχρόνου), without source (ἀνάρχου), ingenerate (ἀγενήτου), and immutable (ἀναλλοιώτου).’9 In this passage, Eusebius directly connects οὐσίας to that which is foreign to God—in other words, it is used to describe how humans know God’s nature. Or, better yet, how we do not and cannot know God on account of our distinct natures. Eusebius also uses this term when discussing created essence, but still in a comparative sense. ‘But neither does he (God) construct [the universe] by making and fashioning as craftsmen among us do, having taken pre-existing material (προϋποκειμένην ὕλην) in his hands and fingers, but again, by means of his ineffable and incomprehensible powers he brought into existence from nothing (ἐξ οὐκ) the being (οὐσίαν) of all creatures.’10 In this passage, where creatio ex nihilo is directly posited, the οὐσία of the created world is compared to the apophatic God. It can thus be used to describe both God



7 Dragos A. Giulea argues, ‘Thus, Eusebius identifies ουσία and ύπόστασις, understands ουσία as individual substance, and claims the existence of two ούσίαι or υποστάσεις.’ Giulea (2015), 317–18. While Eusebius does use these terms synonymously on several occasions (Epistula ad Euphrationem, 1,2,4; PE 7,12,2; PE 7,15,5) Giulea’s reading is not without issues: 1) the letter and PE are both early writings of Eusebius, composed before the Nicene council and much of the controversy with the term. There seems to be a break in usage from the early to later uses; 2) the source texts for these quotations should qualify a normative definition for Eusebius’ thought. In other words, to argue for a univocal definition based on a letter— recorded without context at the hands of an opponent—and a philosophical apologetic work, which used the terminology and arguments of pagan schools to argue for the primacy of the Christian God, is suspect; 3) these are the baldest statements Eusebius makes for the Father and Son’s respective οὐσίαι—they seem to be exceptional, rather than the norm. 8 ET 1,12,3. 9 ET 2,9,3. 10 ET 2,6,5; parenthesis added.

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and creation, but is primarily employed to demonstrate the chasm between them; the chasm between uncreated and created being. Interestingly, Eusebius is willing to use oὐσία for a specific member of the Godhead (rather than a shared essence), but almost always in contrast to creation. For example, on the Holy Spirit: ‘For through these [statements] the Savior himself clearly taught that the Holy Spirit exists as another besides himself (ἕτερον ὑπάρχειν παρ’ ἑαυτὸν), outstanding in honor and glory and privileges, greater and higher than any [other] intellectual and rational being (ούσίᾳς).’11 While it may seem striking that Eusebius uses this term for the individual existence of a person of the Trinity (and thus it may seem to be synonymous with the use of ὑπόστασις), the difference between the divine and created is on the fore, here. To put it another way, this word is rarely used to describe inter-trinitarian relations—rather, it is used for the difference between creatures and the creator. In sum, Eusebius does not use οὐσία in a technical sense, nor does he use it as later writers, such as the Cappadocians—for the shared nature of the Godhead.12 ‘Ὑπόστασις and οὐσία are not the same thing,’ writes Basil of Caesarea, as ‘οὐσία is related to ὑπόστασις as the common (τὸ κοινόν) to the proper (τὸ διον).’13 In this later employment of the term, οὐσία is used to demonstrate the shared or common nature in the Godhead when speaking of the Trinity. But Eusebius uses the term differently, as a comparative term with creation, rather than one for the Godhead. In this sense, Oὐσία distinguishes God from creation (and vice versa), but does not describe the common substance of God, as later writers. As a brief addendum to this section, it is worth mentioning Eusebius’ use of the term ὁμοούσιος, the famous term from the nicene creed, which is derived from oὐσία. Understandably, the use of ὁμοούσιος, both then and now, has been the crux of understanding trinitarian debate in the late fourth century—but it had yet to find full (or even substantial) meaning during Eusebius’ lifetime. While Eusebius uses the term on several occasions, it has no real place in his theological system, largely because he is concerned about its materialistic overtones (and origins).14 He does leave the largest extant conversation about the term from this period though, in a letter to

11 ET 3,5,17. 12 Lienhard notes the lack of desire from the Cappadocians to define these terms, along with some variety in use. Generally, though, this seems to be the basic working definition for these writers. Lienhard (2004), 102–03. 13 Basil, Epistula 214,4; translation from Lienhard (2004), 106. 14 For the background on the broader definition of ὁμοούσιος, see: Vaggione (2000), 56. Eusebius uses ὁμοούσιος three times outside his Epistula ad Caesarienses. First in DE, when speaking of humanity’s nature being ‘akin in kind (ὥστε ὁμογενῆ) and nature (ὁμοφυῆ) and essence (ὁμοούσια)’ to creation.” DE 1,10,13; Second, in PE, when discussing the nature of the Good and the difference between the ‘νοηταὶ οὐσίαι’ and God according to Plato—i.e. that they are not ὁμοούσιοι. PE 11,21,6; Finally, in OratCoet, that the material is distinct from

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the Caesarean church after the Council at Nicaea (Epistula ad Caesarienses), which explains his acceptance of the term. Throughout the letter, Eusebius is primarily concerned with detailing what the term is not doing, rather than building a constructive account of the Godhead with it. Eusebius is not opposed to the term (or the notion behind it) but feels compelled to qualify its meaning extensively.15 Rather than utilize a term which brings materialistic notions to (his) mind, he looks elsewhere for language to define the Trinity. In this sense, Eusebius is no champion of the language of Nicaea, or at least of this important term therein. Creatio ex Nihilo

While ‘creatio ex nihilo’ is not a common phrase for defining the trinity, in Eusebius or others, it has great conceptual importance in the language Eusebius uses for God. If Eusebius employs the term οὐσία as a comparative term between God and creation, the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo explains why they are different. Creatio ex nihilo was (and is) a foundational concept for distinguishing the Christian God from other religions—particularly from the platonic One, in late antiquity. This doctrine not only declares the world is completely contingent on God in being created from nothing, but also defines God in an important sense. God pre-exists the immaterial and material universe and is thus the eternal source of all being. Eusebius uses this idea to distinguish God from creation and to further define the nature of the Son—he is not a creature in any earthly sense, as he is not created like the rest of contingent beings. Eusebius speaks most frequently of this doctrine as other patristic writers from the fourth century—as the creation of the material and immaterial world from nothing.16 In other words, there is no preexistent matter from which creation is formed. As Athanasius writes, ‘For it (inspired teaching and faith) knows that neither spontaneously (αὐτομάτως), as it is not without providence, nor from pre-existent matter (προϋποκειμένης ὕλης), as God is not weak, but from nothing (ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων) and having absolutely no existence God brought the universe into being (εἶναι) through the Word.’17 The same notion is expressed by Eusebius in ET, ‘But neither does he (God) construct [the universe] by making (ποιῶν) and fashioning (δημιουργῶν) as craftsmen

the ethical, ‘that physical and moral objects are not identical in their nature (ὁμοούσια).’ Eusebius, OratCoet 13,1. In each use outside the letter, Eusebius uses the term negatively— how two things are dissimilar, rather than of the same essence. 15 Stead (1977), 239; Ramelli (2011), 40. For some illuminating comparison between Athanasius’ and Eusebius’ use of this term, see: Ayres (2004a). 16 For an overview of this doctrine in the first several centuries of the church, see: May (1994). While Eusebius is used as a source for other writers frequently, in this study, his own understanding is not discussed. 17 Athanasius, De incarnatione verbi 3; parenthesis added.

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among us do, having taken pre-existing material in his hands and fingers, but again, by means of his ineffable and incomprehensible power he brought into existence from nothing (ἐξ οὐκ) the being (οὐσίαν) of all creatures.’18 Eusebius, like Athanasius, is making an important theological point: God intentionally creates the universe through his power and will alone, not from eternal matter. But, oddly, Eusebius does make a confusing statement which seems to contradict this in DE: it is ‘no longer reasonable to say that anything that exists is from nothing (ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων).’19 There is a scholarly discussion about this passage, but Jon Robertson offers the most helpful solution20—Eusebius is speaking of the Father as source here, rather than as creative agent.21 The aforementioned passage continues, ‘for that which came from the non-existent would not be anything (οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν εἴη τι τὸ ἐκ μὴ ὄντος). For how could that which is non-existent (μὴ ὂν) cause (αἴτιον) something else to exist? Everything that has ever existed or now exists derives its being from the One (ἔστιν ἐξ ἑνὸς), the only existent and pre-existent Being.’22 Creation is ultimately from the Father, even if there was no matter from which is was formed. Thus, the world finds its source (and exists) in something: God the Father. Robertson summarizes Eusebius’ argument, ‘Thus, in this sense, since all things are “from the Father” (i.e. the source of their existence is grounded in him), it would be nonsensical to say that something which exists is from that which does not exist, for nothing can cause nothing to exist!’23 While using both senses of creatio ex nihilo can present readers with some interpretive confusion, 18 ET 2,6,5; parenthesis added. 19 DE 4,1,7. 20 See: Lyman (1993), 96; Kofsky (2000), 194; Hanson (1988), 49. Lyman argues Eusebius still maintains this doctrine, if not in a literal sense, Kofksy questions whether he did, and Hanson denies it. 21 The distinction between these two roles and terms will become clear, especially in the discussion of Eusebius’ cosmology. As a preliminarily note, there are several terms to choose from for the Father and Son as creator respectively. In his translation of the Syriac version of the Theophany, Samuel Lee writes of the Word of God as the ‘efficient cause’ in creation (for example, see: Theo 1,3; Theo 1,15; Theo 1,21; Theo 2,3; Theo 2,29). This seems to be a clarification, addition, or emendation to the text (see p. 4, fn. 1 of his translation), but this is not totally clear—a better scholar than I, who has a superior knowledge of Syriac will have to make a judgment about the validity of this translation. In this study, ‘efficient’ was avoided due to the philosophical baggage which accompanies it and its questionable translation. In contrast, Robertson rejects this term in favor of ‘ultimate cause,’ or the ‘ultimate source for its existence’ for the Father, and ‘material cause,’ which is ‘used here to mean the material or matter from which something is made,’ for the Son. Robertson (2007), 74, fn. 132. Eusebius does not use comparable language to ‘material cause’ in his work though. Thus, this study will use ‘source’ (ἀρχῆς) for the Father’s role in creation, which he utilizes consistently. It will also use ‘creative agent’ for the Son. On the one hand, this phrase nods to the Son as creator and maker, in line with his use of demiurge (δημιουργικὸς) and, on the other, to the grammatical distinctions made between the ultimate and intermediate agent, which is parsed out in a subsequent chapter, pg. 97-8. 22 DE 4,1,7. 23 Robertson (2007), 74.

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it does demonstrate Eusebius’ emphasis on the Father as source, discussed below, in his understanding of creation. Creatio ex nihilo, then, demonstrates how creation came to be. But it does further work to demonstrate the incomparability of God’s nature and creation, for Eusebius. ‘For the one (The Father) is ungenerated (ἀγέννητος) … while the other (all creatures), brought forth from that which did not exist (ἐξ οὐκ), stood farthest apart and was completely isolated from ungenerated nature (ἀγεννήτου φύσεως).’24 In other words, this concept defines God as something other than creation, which is prone to weakness and decay. God is transcendent and unknowable, because of the stark contrast in natures. Importantly there are no gradations of being here, as in the platonic chain of being—one cannot ‘ascend’ into God’s being or see him without divine mediation. Thus, this doctrine provides an apophatic understanding of God, insofar as it defines God by what he is not—created, mutable, weak. Rather, he is uncreated and preexistent. Eusebius not only uses this doctrine to distinguish God (as a conceptual category) from creation, but specific persons in the Trinity as well—namely, the Son. ‘For this reason, one might rightly censure those who have dared to represent him (the Son) as a creature (κτίσμα), which came into existence out of nothing (ἐξ οὐκ), like the remaining creatures (λοιποῖς κτίσμασιν).’25 Clearly, there is a distinction between the Son and the rest of creation, even if the Son is derived from the Father. This is further seen in Eusebius’ rebuttal against Marcellus’ understanding of the Monad before the creation of the World. For Marcellus, there was a (presumably non-temporal) period when God, the Monad, was alone without the distinction in persons. But this is not a Christian notion of creation for Eusebius, according to 1 Cor 8:6: ‘For if there was nothing other than God (the Father) before the generation of the world, the Son would not have then existed.’26 Here, Eusebius is relying on the titles of God from this scriptural passage to distinguish between the role of the Father and Son: ‘We have one God, the Father, from whom are all things, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things.’27 As the Son was with the Father before the creation of all else, he too is the preexistent God. Further, his insistence that all creation comes through the Son subverts any notion that the Son is a creature. In another place in ET, Eusebius speaks of the unique nature of the Son on the basis of his pre-existence and subsistence, in contrast to creation: For all of these (creation), belonging to those things that are in relation to something else, are thought to exist in another pre-existing (προϋποκειμένῃ) being (οὐσίᾳ). But the God-Word is in need (δεῖται) of no other pre-existing 24 25 26 27

LV 11,12; parenthesis added. ET 1,9,1; parenthesis added. ET 2,2,1–2; parenthesis added. Quotation from ET 2,2,1–2.

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thing (προϋποκειμένου) so that, having come to be (γενόμενος) in it, he might subsist (ὑποστῇ), but he is in himself living (ζῶν) and subsisting (ὑφεστὼς), since he is God (θεὸς ὤν). For ‘the Word was God (“θεὸς” γὰρ “ἦν ὁ λόγος”).’28 While this may seem like an odd section for Eusebius, on account of his normal insistence on the Son’s dependence on the Father, it is completely consistent with his views on creatio ex nihilo. Eusebius emphasizes the Son’s derivate nature from the Father when discussing inter-trinitarian relations throughout his corpus, but not when distinguishing the nature of the Son from creation. Here, Eusebius is using ‘creation out of nothing’ to distinguish between the nature of the divine (or pre-existent) over those dependent on another, placing the Son firmly on the side of the divine therein. This firmly separates Eusebius from arianism—the Son is different from creation, exists in himself, and is unapologetically called the preexistent God. The divinity of the Son, for Eusebius, is protected in the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. God, then, is defined by the concept of creation ex nihilo in several ways. First, God is the source of all being, and thus does not create out of pre-existent matter. Second, it is a comparative concept, to note the distance between God and the created being. God is unknowable and transcendent to creation because of the stark difference in nature. In other words, there are two categories of existence—God’s being and being derived from him. Third, creatio ex nihilo protects the divine nature of the Son—he is not created like the world, despite being begotten from the Father. While Eusebius struggles with clarity on this final point, he is insistent the Son is no creature. Ὑπόστασις

While the previous two sections spoke of defining God in relation to creation, Eusebius uses ὑπόστασις to define inter-trinitarian relations. For Eusebius, ὑπόστασις is used when discussing particularities in the Trinity: a specific being or person. Importantly, Eusebius’ use of οὐσία never comes close to the formulations of the Cappadocians or the council at Constantinople in 381, of ‘one οὐσíα in three υποστάσεις.’29 But, he clearly finds importance in distinguishing the relations in the Trinity by persons, using υποστάσις frequently throughout his corpus, most pointedly in CM and ET.30 His use

28 ET 2,14,2–3; parenthesis added. 29 For synodical letter from the council, see: Theodoret, Historia ecclesiastica 5,9; for more Cappadocian discussion of ὑπόστασις, see: Basil, Epistula 236,6; Gregory of Nazianzus, De theologia (Oratio 28), 31; Gregory of Nyssa, Epistula 38,3. 30 Eusebius uses the term πρόσωπον in ET and CM occasionally but tends to do so when distinguishing the persons exegetically, in the biblical text. Noted by: Spoerl and Vinzent (2017), 42–43. For further examples, see: ET 2,21,4; ET 3,1,1; ET 3,2,1; ET 3,2,31; ET 3,2,32; ET 3,3,39. This supports the thesis of Rondeau. ‘On retrouve chez Eusèbe la

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of ὑπόστασις seems to be fairly singular, especially in his theological work: it distinguishes the individual subsistences of the persons in the Trinity, specifically the Son and Father.31 In CM and ET, Eusebius consistently uses the term in his critique of Marcellus’ radical oneness in God—in Marcellus’ presentation of the Father and Son as distinguishable by activity alone. For Marcellus, there are no distinct persons or subsistent beings in the Trinity; there is only one ὑπόστασις.32 But to deny a being of independent subsistence, even in the Godhead, is to deny their existence, for Eusebius. Thus, the actions and subsistence of the Son must be viewed as real and in tandem with the will of the Father, or the Son is non-existent. Eusebius’ understanding of the Word as mediator is appropriate here: ‘And he (the Son) was not, as a mere word of God (ψιλὸς θεοῦ λόγος), non-subsistent (ἀνυπόστατος), existing as one and the same (ταὐτὸν) with God (for he would not then be a mediator (μεσίτης)); but he existed and pre-existed (ἦν καὶ προῆν) as “only begotten Son full of grace and truth.”’33 The crux of the issue is the subsistent nature of the Son—if he does not have his own existence, he could not properly be a mediator. He continues, by quoting Gal 1:20, ‘a mediator implies more than one (“ὁ δὲ μεσίτης ἑνὸς οὐκ ἔστιν”).’34 If there is an active meditator between two parties, this mediator cannot logically be one of those parties. Eusebius seems to be relying on an understanding of actions and personhood that mirror humanity’s—a person must have their own existence for actions to be fairly posited to them.35 It is this logic which provides the foundation for his accusation of Patripassianism against Marcellus. ‘For of whom will [the Father] be Father, if no Son subsists (ὑφεστῶτος)? … But if [the Father] is entirely one (εἷς δὲ ὢν πάντως), I suppose he himself will be the one who was incarnated (σαρκωθεὶς) and suffered and ended mortal life along men.’36 By critiquing Marcellus’ use of ‘entirely one,’ Eusebius is not arguing for ditheism, but is referring to a being with a single subsistence. If there is one monad, with no distinct υποστάσεις therein, the incarnate Christ is the same person as the Father. Or

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vieille argumentation de Justin, d’Irénée, de Tertullien tirant d’un petit noyau de versets scripturaires soumis à l’exégèse prosopologique la distinction des personnes divines.’ Rondeau (1985), 177; see also: Slusser (1988). Eusebius does seem to use ὑπόστασις with some limited variety in his other works. On several occasions, Eusebius uses it when speaking of human or creaturely existence. CH 47,2; CommIs I,89; 27:1; CommIs 1,89; 27:1. He also, on two occasions, uses ὑπόστασις when speaking of the immaterial—an argument or idea. CommIs 2,21; 41:24–26; OratCoet 6,10. Every other use is from quotations from another writer (scriptural, philosophical, etc.) or in reference to God’s persons. CM 2,1,2. CM 1,1,32. CM 1,1,32. That is not to say that Eusebius has a modern notion of divine personhood, as the center of consciousness—Eusebius never articulates this view. ET 1,4,1.

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rather, there is no Father and Son, but a single being acting in creation and history. For Eusebius, this is not tenable with a biblical theology—the Son, as active agent in salvation history, must have his own ὑπόστασις. Importantly, Eusebius rarely uses this term to describe how the Son is distinct from creation—for this, Eusebius uses οὐσíα. Rather, it is primarily used to distinguish the Son and the Father. But there is single a comparative use of ὑπόστασις with creation at the end of ET, when Eusebius uses 1 Cor 15:28 and Act 17:28 to criticize Marcellus’ eschatology. And all these things have been said about us (the aforementioned verses), who subsist (ὑφεστώτων) in our own hypostasis and live and have nothing in common with the paternal divinity (πατρικὴν θεότητα). Why, then, is it necessary to wonder, if such statements are also applied to the Son, given that they neither take away his hypostasis, nor teach that the Father and Son are the same (οὐδ’ αὐτὸν εἶναι πατέρα καὶ υἱὸν), but show the extraordinary honor characteristic of the Father in comparison to him and the glory of the divine communion (θεϊκῆς κοινωνίας) that belongs to an only-begotten?37 First, Marcellus’ eschatology seems to imply (although, it is not completely clear) that all of creation will be subsumed into the monad, where every being, including the Son, will cease to exist in themselves.38 Thus, ‘God will be all in all.’ Eusebius, in contrast, does not view the kingdom as the cessation of independent being, but a place in which ‘we might be with him (σὺν αὐτῷ) (the Father) where he himself is and that we might see his glory.’39 Therefore, God being ‘all in all’ is not the conflation of all ὑπόστασις into one, thereby denying subsistent beings, but is a way to participate in his divinity. So, if humans maintain an independent reality from the Father in the eschaton, while being one with him, how could this be denied for the Son? Second, this does imply the ὑποστάσεις of created beings is, at least, analogous to the ὑπόστασις of the Son. But importantly, the Son has something ‘in common with the paternal divinity’ in his distinct ὑπόστασις, in ways that creation does not—he has ‘a divine communion (θεϊκῆς κοινωνίας)’ with the Father. There is the question of whether or not Eusebius identifies three ὑποστάσεις in the Godhead, as the Cappadocians and later writers. Significantly, he never once in his extant corpus talks of three, nor directly attributes a divine ὑποστάσις to the Spirit. Rather, he always speaks of two: ‘and again he and the Father existed as two (δύο) hypostases (ὑποστάσεις).’40 This may lead one to view his theology as binitarian—but there is reason to doubt this judgment, on this count at least. First, he never corrects Asterius on this, who writes:

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ET 3,20,1–2; parenthesis added. CM 2,4. ET 3,18,3; parenthesis added. ET 1,20,40–42.

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‘there are three hypostases (τρεῖς ὑποστάσεις),’ despite taking significant steps to correct or distance himself theologically from the Sophist.41 Second, he has this interesting formulation at the start of ET: For the man (Marcellus) who composed a single large and error-riddled treatise (σύγγραμμα) says that ‘he has done this so as to make known the one (ἕνα) God,’ lest, having divided up the text, he unwittingly gives the Son of God the rank of a hypostasis (ὑποστάσεως). But, honoring the all-holy thrice-blessed Trinity (τριάδα), we have brought together in a corresponding number of books.42 In opposition to Marcellus’ one-ὑποστάσις theology, for which he wrote one book, Eusebius writes three books to demonstrate the three ὑποστάσεις in the Godhead. If he was truly binitarian, it seems he would have written two books in response. But if Eusebius thought this, why would he not simply ascribe to the Holy Spirit his own ὑποστάσις? Most likely, because the Bible never does—only the Son is referred to by his ὑποστάσις in Hebrews 1. As a fierce student of the Bible, Eusebius seems unwilling to attribute titles or words to God without biblical or traditional support, which is one of the reasons he struggled with the term ὁμοούσιον.43 In conclusion, Eusebius does use several later orthodox terms for discussing the Trinity: particularly οὐσíα and υποστάσις. But it is important to note the shift in use and clarity in the mid-fourth century after Eusebius’ lifetime. The Caesarean is using the same words with a different, or at least, more ambiguous definition. Interestingly though, Eusebius may have been instrumental in the use of Trinitarian language in an anti-Sabellian context, specifically υποστάσις. As Spoerl and Vinzent write, ‘Clearly one of the main contributions of the anti-Marcellan tradition to the later shape of Trinitarian orthodoxy is the main-streaming of the use of the term hypostasis for what will become the personal distinction between Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit.’44 Whether a direct line can be drawn from Eusebius’ theology to the Cappadocians here, requires further research, but Eusebius is an early example of this important terminological distinction in the Godhead. In sum, Οὐσíα is used in a nontechnical sense for nature, particularly for distinguishing the nature of God and creation. Further, the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo demonstrates why there is a distinction in natures between God and the universe—God is the unknowable, preexistent, source of all being. Finally, υποστάσις is used to discuss inter-trinitarian relations and the subsistence of the Son, perhaps maintaining a closer definition to post-Nicene writers.

41 ET 3,4,5. 42 Epistula ad Flacillum; parenthesis added. Text and translation from: Spoerl and Vinzent (2017), 159–60. 43 EpCaer 15. 44 Spoerl and Vinzent (2017), 68.

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Trinitarian Theology of Persons Eusebius has a staunch apophatic understanding of the Godhead and the relations therein, and often chastises his opponents for pontificating about that which cannot be understood.45 Nevertheless, Eusebius does expound on the natures of each respective person of the Trinity in rich and detailed ways. In this, there is an implicit understanding of biblical personalism which motivates his Trinitarian system—the Father is the ‘source’ from which the other persons of the Trinity are derived. This is foremost a Trinitarian formulation, predicated on the biblical language of Father to Son. As Father, he must be source of a Son. Further, as the Son is derived from the divine Father, he too is God, according to Eusebius. That is to say, his nature as Son is primary for understanding his nature as God. This understanding of the Son allows Eusebius to mediate between Arian and Sabellian interpretation, as he continually seeks to ‘protect’ the Son’s divinity from both heretical extremes. Finally, in the theological heritage of Origen, the Holy Spirit is derived from the Son, as the Son is from the Father. In his brief passages about the Spirit, Eusebius identifies him with the divine Godhead, rather than the created universe, even if he avoids explicit language about the divinity of the Spirit—not unlike the Nicene and Constantinopolitan creeds. While he implicitly views the Spirit as God, especially seen in his involvement in salvation, Eusebius’ system does not have adequate markers to uphold the Spirit’s unique nature as God. Father

Eusebius and the Eusebian party have been characterized as the ‘theologians of the one unbegotten,’ by Lewis Ayres.46 That is to say, the starting point, shape, and emphasis of his theology centers on the unbegotten one, the Father. This is evident in nearly every Eusebian work—he starts with the Father’s unbegotten nature, then moves to the derivative nature of all else. But, the emphasis of his work is on the Father as ‘source’ (ἀρχή), rather than as the ‘First God’ (ὁ πρῶτος θεός). In other words, Eusebius understanding of the nature of God is this: the source (ἀρχή) of all must be prior to all—i.e. unbegotten. Thus, there is a strong emphasis on the creator-creature divide in Eusebius work. Interestingly, he applies this distinction to the natures and relations between the persons in the Godhead in a qualified manner. The Father is also the source of the Son and the Holy Spirit.

45 For example, see: ET 1,12,1–2. 46 Ayres (2004b), 52. The term ‘unbegotten’ has received decent scholarly attention. For the general use of the terms in patristic literature, see: Prestige (1956), 37–54. For use during the period of Eusebius life, see R. Williams (1983); Ayres (2004b), 52–61, 112–13, 144.

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In order to understand the Father as the source of all things, he must first be understood as without source himself. As Weber points out, the Father’s divinity consists of his originlessness: ‘Das göttliche Wesen besteht also in seiner Ursprungslosigkeit.’47 To be the first cause, the Father must be the first himself. ‘The former [namely, the Father] would still be the one (εἷς) and only God (θεὸς μόνος), the only one without source (ἄναρχος) and unbegotten (ἀγέννητος), the one who possesses the divinity as his own (θεότητα οἰκείαν).’48 Here and in his broader work, the primacy of the one and only God is directly attributed to his unbegotten nature or sourcelessness—there must be a single source from which all else came to be. It is this concept which provides the ground to speak of the Father as God by nature (φύσει). ‘The First (Father) is to be reckoned God, alone being God (θεὸν καὶ μόνον) by nature (φύσει), and not receiving (divinity) from another.’49 In other words, only a being without source or higher authority can be God by nature—or have divinity as his own. Eusebius discusses this in the difference between the Father and the Son, ‘Since there is one (μιᾶς) source and head (ἀρχῆς τε καὶ κεφαλῆς), how could there be two gods, and not one, that one alone, who acknowledges no higher being nor other cause than himself, who possesses the divinity of monarchical authority as his own (μοναρχικῆς ἐξουσίας τὴν θεότητα κεκτημένος), without source and unbegotten?’50 Eusebius is able to distinguish between the Father and all else (including the Son) because he is the source and head, against those who argue that a theology of two υποστάσεις in the Godhead posits two gods. The Father’s monarchical authority, as the monotheistic God, is unchallenged because he comes before all else. Eusebius’ conceptual framework for the Father’s unbegotten nature therefore identifies him as the source of all. All creation must come from an unmoved mover—the Father:51 Everything that has ever existed or now exists derives its being from the One (ἑνὸς), the only existent and pre-existent Being, who also said: ‘I am the existent (“ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν”),’ because, you will see, as the Only Being (μόνος ὢν), and the Eternal Being, He is Himself the cause of existence

47 48 49 50 51

Weber (1965), 35. ET 1,11,1. DE 5,4,14; parenthesis added. ET 1,11,3. Eusebius is positing a particular conception of Aristotle’s ‘Unmoved Mover,’ despite not using the phrase (ὃ οὐ κινούμενον κινεῖ) or Aristotle’s work. Importantly, Eusebius never directly quotes Aristotle, and thus there is a possibility that the library in Caesarea did not contain Aristotle’s works. In Eusebius direct discussion and critique of Aristotle in PE 15,2–13, he uses the writings of Aristocles, Atticus, Plotinus, and Porphyry. For discussion, see: Carriker (2003), 84–86; Festugière (1981), 255–58; Runia (1989), 8. If Eusebius is using this thought from Aristotle, it is filtered through middle and neo-platonic (and most likely Christian) thinkers.

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(εἶναι κτησαμένοις) to all those to whom He has imparted existence (εἶναι κατέστη) from Himself by His Will and His Power.52 Here, Eusebius draws from an Origenian interpretation of Ex 3:14, when Moses approaches the burning bush and God utters ‘ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν.’53 Eusebius understands this statement to be explicating the unbegotten nature of the Father, as the only ‘existent and pre-existent Being (μόνου ὄντος καὶ προόντος).’ In other words, this scriptural title is metaphysical—all existence flows from this Being, on account of his pre-existence. While this will be further explained in the next section, this is clearly how Eusebius views the relationship of the Father and Son as well: For the One (Father) gives (δίδωσιν), and the Other (Son) receives (λαμβάνει); so that strictly the first is to be reckoned God (εἶναι θεὸν), alone being God by nature (φύσει), and not receiving (divinity) from another. And the other is to be thought of as secondary (δευτερων), and as holding a Divinity in both being conceived of as one in type, God in Himself being one without beginning and unbegotten.54 Again, Eusebius’ conceptions of the Father are founded on his nature as underived: he did not receive his divinity, or anything else, from another source. This notion of the Father as cause (and thus underived) is shared by Gregory of Nyssa: ‘But with regard to the Holy Trinity … there is one and the same prosopon (πρόσωπον), that of the Father, from whom the Son is begotten and the Holy Spirit proceeds. Therefore we properly and confidently say that the one cause (τὸν ἕνα αἴτιον), together with his caused (αὐτοῦ αἰτιατῶν), is one God (ἕνα θεόν), since he exists together with them.’55 Gregory, here, is describing the relationship between the triune πρόσωπα—Father, Son, and Spirit—by distinguishing between the uncaused and caused. Only the Father is uncaused and is thus ‘God overall.’ John Behr writes about Gregory’s conceptions, ‘“The God overall” is known specifically as Father, and the characteristic marks of the Son and the Spirit relate directly to him.’56 With this similarity granted, Eusebius does assign a secondary and tertiary status to the Son and Spirit in ways Gregory does not. Eusebius further argues if all beings rely on the Father for existence, they can possess nothing which may add to his existence. Even the Son cannot add to the existence of the source: ‘The One, perfect in Himself (ἑαυτὸν τέλειος) and first (πρῶτος) in order as Father, and the cause (αἴτιος) of the Son’s existence (συστάσεως), receives nothing towards the completeness of His Deity (συμπλήρωσιν τῆς ἑαυτοῦ

52 DE 4,2,7–8; see also: PE 7,15,8. 53 See: Origen, De principiis 1,3,6. 54 DE 5,4,14. 55 Gregory, Ad Graecos ex communibus notionibus 47; translation from Behr (2018), 329. 56 Behr (2018), 328.

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θεότητος) from the Son.’57 Therefore, as the only unbegotten one, the Father must be the source of all—a source which cannot be added to. If ‘unbegotten’ is the chief understanding of the Father, his other titles for God the Father should be viewed accordingly, despite sounding highly concerning to modern ears. For example, the Father is described as the ‘one and only God (ὁ εἷς καὶ μόνος θεός)’ and the ‘first God (ὁ πρῶτος θεός),’ by Eusebius.58 ‘But he (the Son) is celebrated as Only-begotten Son by nature (φύσει) and as our God (θεὸς ἡμῶν), but not as the first God (ὁ πρῶτος θεός).’59 These statements may seem to lower the divine status of the Son—he is not the ‘one and only God’ with the Father. Rather than seeking to reduce the Son’s divine nature though, Eusebius is using ‘one and only God,’ to refer to the nature of the Father as without beginning. As the Son derives his (divine) being from the Father, he cannot be considered as the one and only God by nature. He is God through the will of the Father, in his begetting. Likewise, this conception shapes his understanding of the Father as ‘first’ and the Son as ‘second.’ In Eusebius’ mind, the Son is second because the Father precedes him. ‘But the Father precedes (προϋπάρχει) the Son, and has preceded Him in existence (γενέσεως), inasmuch as He alone is unbegotten (μόνος ἀγέννητος).’60 While there are a host of later systematic problems with this formulation—particularly in the notion that the Son is not God according to his own nature—it is clear that the order of the Father and Son is of primary importance for Eusebius. This understanding of the unbegotten one, in many ways, is deeply Trinitarian—Eusebius is consistently thinking about the Father as Father. If unbegotten is viewed as the source of all else, the Father is naturally viewed as a parent of the Son, as in human relations. ‘And surely from the name (προσηγορίας) itself, the Son shows [his] natural relationship (φυσικὴν σχέσιν) to the Father.’61 DelCogliano illuminates Eusebius’ use of names here: ‘Eusebius focuses almost exclusively upon that fact that the names for the Son indicate his relationship with the Father—terminological-relational entailment. The names “Father” and “Son” are revelatory of a distinctive and natural relationship between the pair.’62 By ‘terminological-relational entailment,’ DelCogliano means Eusebius conceives of a natural relation between Father and Son—rather than the existence or implication of a Father and Son.63 That is to say, the title of Son is a derivative one which implies a relationship—a son is known as son in relation to his parents. But Eusebius seems to imply that

57 DE 4,3,6; translation altered. 58 Other instances where the Father is called the ‘one and only God’ or the ‘first God’: DE 4,1,5; DE 5,5,10. 59 DE 5,4,11. 60 DE 4,3,5. 61 ET 1,10,3. 62 DelCogliano (2010), 245. 63 For discussion of these terms, see: DelCogliano (2010), 235.

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the title of Father, in itself, implies the generation of children as well. ‘For of whom will [the Father] be Father, if no Son subsists (ὑφεστῶτος)?’64 In some regards, then, the title ‘Father’ demonstrates his nature as source of the Son, just as ‘unbegotten’ would. While these titles are not necessarily synonymous, there is much of the same theological thought at play. The source theology of Eusebius seems to imply an embedded Trinitarian conception of God as Father and God as Son. Further, the title of Father is of fundamental importance for knowing the Christian God, although this can become obscured by the titles of the Father used in Eusebius’ other works. For instance, in PE and LC, Eusebius often uses ‘the One’ or ‘First God’ as he is particularly concerned with demonstrating the validity of the Christian God in accordance with philosophy. Conversely, in DE, Eusebius exhibits the prophetic fulfillment of Christ from the Hebrew Scriptures, and thus uses titles such as Creator (although, he frequently uses Father here). But, in CM and ET, he seeks to show the core of Christian theology, which is markedly different from Judaism and Polytheism. This core starts with the Triune God—Father, Son and Spirit. At the outset of CM, Eusebius writes: But who was this [man] who teaches [us] to know God as Father (ὁ θεὸν πατέρα εἰδέναι) and hands over [to us] the knowledge of a Son of God (υἱὸν θεοῦ γιγνώσκειν) and the zeal to participate in a Holy Spirit? Indeed, these things would be the distinguishing features of Christians alone (Χριστιανῶν γνωρίσματα) … teaching [human beings] to know the same God (αὐτὸν θεὸν) as Father of an only-begotten Son, a Son who is truly existing and living and subsisting. In saying, ‘For as the Father has life in himself, so also he has given to the Son to have life in himself,’ the only-begotten of God himself taught [this], so that the Father is truly Father (ὁ πατὴρ ἀληθῶς πατὴρ) (not being called so only in name (χρηματίζων), nor having acquired the title falsely, but [being] in truth and deed (ἀληθείᾳ δὲ καὶ ἔργῳ) Father of an only-begotten Son) and also the Son is truly Son (ὁ υἱὸς ἀληθῶς υἱός).65 It is only in the context of the Scriptures and Christian theology (filtered through the church) that God is properly known as Father. In other words, the formulations of middle platonic philosophers (‘first God,’ ‘good,’ ‘perfect,’ ‘unbegotten’) and the Hebrew bible (such as ‘I Am’) do not, in themselves, get to the core of the Christian God. The source must be known as Father, in contradistinction to the Jews and polytheists. In sum, Eusebius’ theology of the first person of the Trinity, of the Unbegotten One, emphasizes his nature as source. As the Father is without source himself, he must be the highest monarchical authority, the fountain

64 ET 1,4,1. 65 CM 1,1,13–15; emphasis added.

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from which all else flows. This reading of Eusebius guides the other titles for the Father, such as ‘First God’: logically, the source must be prior to that proceeding from it. Similarly, this conception naturally fits the Trinitarian language of Father and Son—so much so, one wonders if Eusebius conceptions of the unbegotten are founded on an understanding of the Father as truly Father. This may be evidenced by his employment of divine titles, which are distinct from Arius and Eusebius of Nicomedia (and later in Eunomius of Cyzicus), who seem to use ‘unbegotten’ rather than ‘Father’.66 In other words, Eusebius distinguishes himself by marrying philosophical language for the ‘uncaused’ with scriptural notions of the Father, modifying the former with the latter. Thus, biblical personalism, in which the source is identified as Father, seems to be central to Eusebius’ understanding of God. The First God is first because he is Father: ‘We believe in One God Father Almighty Maker of all things, seen and unseen.’67 Son

If Eusebius’ theology of the Father is focused on his nature as the source, his subordinate theology of the Son is focused on his derivative nature. As noted in the introduction, the philosophical strand of Eusebian scholarship has traditionally viewed this as an ontological subordination akin to middle platonic philosophy. For instance, Pollard writes in observing Eusebius and Marcellus on John 1, ‘The only-begotten Son of God is, for Eusebius, none other than the cosmological Logos; the content of his Son-concept is nothing more than the old cosmological Logos-doctrine under a different and more biblical name.’68 But, subordinationism is not necessarily derived from platonic philosophy. Lyman notes insightfully, ‘If a cosmology were constructed on the basis of the biblical record of the relationship between the Father and the Son, an ontological hierarchy and separation would naturally result, a hierarchy and separation more striking than in contemporary Platonism because of the personal relational language of obedience and worship.’69 If biblical personalism roots his Trinitarian doctrine, this interpretation is a natural, perhaps even inevitable, one. Further, scholarship needs to ask how the Son is subordinate to the Father, in order to better explicate Eusebius’ understanding of the Son. First, the second person of the Trinity in Eusebius’ theology should be primarily viewed as Son as expounded in the New Testament. Of course, Eusebius uses many titles for the Son throughout his work such as the Second

66 On Arius and Eusebius of Nicomedia: Opitz (1934), 6.2; 8.3; Athanasius, De synodis 15.3; on Eunomius: Basil, Adversus Eunomium 1,16; see also: Widdicombe (2004), 138–40. 67 EpCaes 8; translation from Behr (2004), 155. 68 Pollard (1970), 286. 69 Lyman (1993), 117.

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God (δεύτερος θεὸς),70 Word (λόγος),71 demiurge (δημιουργός),72 governor (ὔπαρχος),73 helper (ύπουργός),74 servant (ύπηρετικόν),75 and living instrument (ὄργανον ἔμψυχον καὶ ζῶν).76 But these should be understood in light of his Sonship. Eusebius writes: It (the church) proclaims the Son of God to be God and Lord (θεὸν καὶ κύριον) and teaches that he is truly Son and God (ἀληθῶς υἱὸν εἶναι καὶ θεὸν), not as many men have been called in name (ὀνομασθέντας) sons and gods, concerning whom it has been said, ‘I said, you are gods and sons of the most High, all of you,’ but because the one who alone was begotten (γεννηθεὶς) from the Father himself ‘existed in the form of God’ and was ‘image of the invisible God and first-born of all creation.’ For this reason, the Church has learned to honor (τιμᾶν) and revere (σέβειν) and worship alone (προσκυνεῖν μόνον) as Lord and Savior and its God (κύριον καὶ σωτῆρα καὶ θεὸν ἑαυτῆς).77 Eusebius bases ecclesiastical theology and worship of the Son on his nature as the only begotten Son of God—he is truly Son and God. Eusebius then clarifies how this sonship is not to be confused with the descriptions of humanity’s sonship to God from Ps 82:6 LXX. That is to say, he alone is begotten and exists in the form of God. Further, this passage strongly asserts the Son’s divinity over any interpretation of the Son as a human or demi-god of sorts (ontologically subordinate). It is the Son’s begotten nature from the Father which allows him to be worshiped as God. ‘And the general cause (αἴτιον) also of His being God (εἶναι θεόν), would be the fact that He alone is Son of God by nature (φύσει τοῦ θεοῦ υἱὸν), and is called Only-begotten.’78 Throughout his work, Eusebius appeals to the divinity of the Son on the basis of his Sonship, as the only-begotten of the unbegotten one. ‘In una parola, che egli è Figlio reale, e per questo è Dio,’79 summarizes Simonetti. He is the real Son, and therefore he is God. For the Son to be a true Son he must have his own ὑποστάσις, according to Eusebius. ‘For the Word that does not subsist (ὑφεστὼς) is not a Son, just as neither would the word that is in man ever be said [to be] a son of man, having arisen within the one speaking by virtue of activity alone (ἐνεργείᾳ

70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79

DE 5,30,3. PE 7,15,7; ET 2,14,2–3. DE 4,5,1; ET 1,10,1; ET 2,7,12; HE 1,2,3; PE 11,14,4. LC 3,6. DE 4,10,16; DE 5,1,17. ET 1,20,5; ET 2,14,9. DE 4,4,2. ET 1,10,5; parenthesis added. DE 5,4,12. Simonetti (1975), 63.

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μόνῃ).’80 Here, Eusebius is critiquing Marcellus’ Logos theology on his titles for the Word. Marcellus argues about the pre-incarnate titles of the Word, ‘Before the descent (παρθένου) and birth (τεχθῆναι) through the Virgin, he was only Word (λόγος ἦν μόνον).’81 For Eusebius, to argue the title of the second person of the Trinity can only be known as Word, as Marcellus does, is to deny his nature as Son. Indeed, the pre-incarnate Son is also known as the Word, but Marcellus’ interpretation denies a fundamental teaching of the church: It (the church) teaches with great courage and boldness, by means of a confessed and unambiguous faith, to confess that God is a Father of a Son (θεὸν πατέρα εἶναι υἱοῦ τοῦ), the Only-begotten, and to name neither the Son Father nor the Father Son (μήτε τὸν πατέρα υἱὸν εἶναι ἢ τὸν υἱὸν πατέρα νομίζειν), but to worship (σέβειν) on the one hand the Father who is ingenerate, and eternal and without source and first and only, but on the other to believe (πιστεύειν) that [the Son] has been begotten by the Father and subsists (ὑποστῆναι) and is alone only-begotten Son (μόνον υἱὸν μονογενῆ), and also to acknowledge him as God as being truly Son of God (θεόν τε αὐτὸν ὡς ἀληθῶς υἱὸν ὄντα θεοῦ γνωρίζειν).82 To deny the distinct ὑποστάσις of the Father and Son is either to reject the existence of the Son or to confuse the distinct persons in the Godhead: to name the ‘Son Father’ or the ‘Father Son’. By emphasizing what makes them distinct from one another—unbegotten and only-begotten—Eusebius is able to protect the divinity and the persons of the Trinity. The Son is God not by his unbegotten nature, but because he is the Son of God. If the Son is God because he is Son, Eusebius has reason to condemn both Sabellians and Arians. He writes: For this reason, one might rightly censure those who have dared to represent him as a creature (κτίσμα), which came into existence out of nothing (ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων), like the remaining creatures. For how will he still be Son? And how will the one who assumes the same nature (φύσιν) as the remaining creatures be only-begotten of God? For by virtue of the latter he would instead by the brother (ἀδελφὸς) of these [creatures], but not the Son of God (οὐχὶ δὲ υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ).83 If the second person of the Trinity is Son by nature, he cannot be generated as the rest of creation—he is different from all else, because he is the only-begotten. Thus, for the Arians to pose a creaturely commonality between the Logos and creation, in being generated in the same way, is to deny his distinct

80 CM 2,4,21–22. 81 Marcellus, Fragmenta 5; see: CM 2,2,1. This project follows the numeration of Vinzent (1997), rather than Klostermann and Hansen (1972). 82 CM 1,1,17–18; parenthesis added; translation altered. 83 ET 1,9,1; emphasis added.

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nature as only-begotten Son. In this sense, Eusebius supports and upholds this anathema from Nicaea: ‘And those who say: “There was once when he was not” and “before being begotten he did not exist,” and that “he came into existence from nothing” … these things the Catholic and Apostolic Church anathematizes.’84 The title (and nature) of the Son demands a generation which is distinct from the rest of creation; a generation from before time. Likewise, Eusebius reads Marcellan theology as a denial of the Sonship of the second person of the Trinity—he is simply a manifestation of the Monad’s divine activity. In other words, there is no substance or reality to the title. This is why Eusebius argues so strongly for the distinct ὑποστάσις of the Son. Marcellus, by denying the Son’s nature and positing a ‘mere Logos’ theology, is denying the reality of the second person of the Trinity altogether. But you (Marcellus) innovate recklessly … denying the truly only-begotten Son of God and assuming [that he is] a mere (ψιλὸν) word, without being and non-subsistent (ἀνούσιον καὶ ἀνυπόστατον), which you say is nothing other than one and the same with God (ἓν καὶ ταὐτὸν τῷ θεῷ), which indeed even everyone would say with good reason if he were denying (ἀρνούμενος) the Son of God.85 The substance of Eusebius’ critique here is not that the Word is an improper title for the Son, but that the positing of his nature as mere (ψιλὸν) Word is to deny the pre-incarnate nature of the Son as Son. The main issue with the Sabellians and Arians, then, is not their respective insistence on the oneness of God or the primacy of the Father—it is their subsequent denial of the Son’s unique subsistent nature. Sabellians deny the Son’s distinct nature wholesale, while the Arians deny his unique nature as only begotten, placing him on this side of creation. So also the Church hands down (the) only-begotten Son of God, Jesus Christ, who has been begotten (γεγεννημένον) before all ages (πάντων αἰώνων) from the Father, but who is not the same (οὐ τὸν αὐτὸν) as the Father, but who exists in himself and lives and truly coexists (συνόντα) as Son, God from God and light from light and life from life … he subsists not in the same way that the remaining begotten beings do (οὐχ ὁμοίως μὲν τοῖς λοιποῖς γενητοῖς ὑποστάντα), nor does he live a life that resembles that of the creatures that have been begotten through him, but he alone was born from the Father himself and is life itself (αὐτοζωὴν ὄντα).86 Here, Eusebius is critiquing both parties by noting the Son is different from the Father, but also different from creation. Only by staying between these two poles—Sabellianism and Arianism—can one stay within the bounds

84 EpCaes 8; translation from Behr (2004), 155. 85 CM 2,4,21–22. 86 ET 1,8,2–3.

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of orthodoxy, for Eusebius. These boundaries are founded on the nature of the Son of God as truly (and uniquely) Son.87 Gregory of Nazianzus, later, echoes this sentiment: So we adore the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, dividing their individualities (ἰδιότητας χωρίζοντες) but uniting their godhead (ἑνοῦντες δὲ τὴν θεότητα); and we neither blend the three into one thing (εἰς ἓν τὰ τρία συναλείφομεν), lest we be sick with Sabellius’s disease, nor do we divide them into three alien and unrelated things (διαιροῦμεν εἰς τρία ἔκφυλα καὶ ἀλλότρια), lest we share Arius’s madness.88 From Eusebius onward, there is an acknowledgement that the Godhead must maintain multiple υποστάσεις to be truly triune. But, to attribute the divinity of the Son solely on his nature as Son, as second in the order of existence, does carry an implicit subordinationism—one rooted in his derivation from the Father. To be clear, then, Eusebius is a subordinationist, but in a more nuanced way than previously argued.89 Eusebius utilizes an Origenist hermeneutical key for this qualified subordination in John 1, with the distinction of the God (τὸν θεόν) and God (θεόν). For Eusebius, the article is of great importance for understanding the distinction between the Father and Son: ‘Indeed, he ( John) could have said, “And the Word was the God (ὁ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος),” with the addition of the article, if indeed he thought that the Father and the Son were one and the same (ἓν καὶ ταὐτὸν) that the Word himself was the God who is over all (πάντων θεόν)—but he did not write in such a way.’90 This is unsurprisingly reminiscent of Origen: We must say to them that at one time God (ὁ θεός), with the article, is very God (αὐτόθεος), wherefore also the Savior says in his prayer to the Father, ‘That they may know you the only true God (ἀληθινὸν θεόν).’ On the other hand, everything besides the very God (αὐτόθεος), which is made God by participation in his divinity (θεότητος θεοποιούμενον), would more properly not be said to be ‘the God (ὁ θεὸς),’ but ‘God (θεὸς).’91

87 Spoerl writes on Eusebius’ importance as one of the first writers to use these poles to sketch out orthodox theology. ‘Insofar as the Ecclesiastical Theology combines, however briefly, an anti-Arian with anti-Marcellan/anti-Neosabellian perspective, it may constitute one of the first documentable sources of the awareness that Arianism on the one hand and Neosabellianism on the other, constitute the extremes between which Trinitarian orthodoxy must be found.’ Spoerl (1997), 38. 88 Gregory, De dogmate et constitutione episcoporum (Oratio 20), 5; translation from: Daley (2006), 100. 89 This is the dominant viewpoint in the ‘philosophical theology’ strand of scholarship, as discussed in the introduction. On the other side of the spectrum, Beeley has underplayed this subordinationism, perhaps in an attempt to read him more charitably. Beeley (2012), 88. 90 ET 2,17,1–2; parenthesis added. 91 Origen, Commentarii in evangelium Joannis 2,2,16–17; see also: Hammerstaedt (1991); (1992).

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Eusebius’ ET is clearly influenced by this interpretation, in viewing the God as the source in which the Son is derived from and participates in.92 Eusebius likewise writes, ‘Rather, he (the Son) is filled with divinity by participating (μετουσίας) in the paternal [divinity] itself, which pours into him as from a fountain (πηγῆς).’93 Importantly, for both of these authors, the Son’s subordination is attributed to his derivation from the Father as a fountain (πηγῆς) or source. Anders-Christian Jacobsen’s comments for Origen here apply to Eusebius as well: ‘The Word’s subordination to the Father does not imply that the Word is of another substance than the Father, but that the Word derives from the Father … the subordination is one of relation, not of substance.’94 As a result of this conception, Eusebius is able to speak of the Son as a second god: ‘our Lord and Saviour the Word of God is God, a Second God (δεύτερον θεὸν) after the Most High (ἀνωτάτω) and Supreme (ἐπὶ πᾶσι).’95 Here, researchers must resist the temptation to equate ‘second’ with ‘ontologically subordinate’ without qualification. Mark Edwards helpfully writes of this tendency, ‘The fallacy begins when at the outset deuteros theos is shortened to deuteros, and this adjective is interpreted to mean that the Son is inferior to the Father. Yet should we not pause at least to ascertain that deuteros signifies second in rank, not second in order of knowledge or discourse?’96 By taking Edward’s advice to first determine how the Son is second, it becomes clear that ontological subordination is not Eusebius’ goal. When writing about the classic fragrance metaphor, of the Son emanating from the Father, Eusebius writes: For what variation could there be from this complete likeness (ἀφωμοιωμένης) (speaking of the Son) to the Father, except one that was a declension and an inferiority (ὑποβεβηκὸς καὶ χεῖρον); a supposition that we must not admit into our theology of the Son (ὃ οὐδαμῶς ἡμῖν ἐν τῇ τοῦ υἱοῦ θεολογίᾳ παρεισακτέον): for he is a breath of the power of God, and a pure effluence of the glory of the Creator.97 In other words, to introduce the difference between the Father and Son as inferiority is to misunderstand the unity and nature of the persons in the Trinity. The difference can only be attributed to the unbegotten nature of the First and the begotten nature of the second—Father as Father, Son as Son. Thomas 92 Origen’s exegetical works were of particular interest to Eusebius, as his library contained Origen’s Hexapla and many of his commentaries. His support and use of Origen are attested throughout his work, first by composing a defense of Origen with Pamphilus, second by his numerous quotations, third by his (now lost) catalogue of Origen’s works found in the library in Caesarea. For background on Eusebius use of the Hexapla, see: Grafton and Williams, M. H. (2006), 89–91; for background on the texts of Origen which Eusebius collected and interacted with, see: Carriker (2003), 235–43. 93 ET 1,2,1. 94 Jacobsen (2015), 125. 95 DE 5,30,3. 96 Edwards (2006), 191. 97 DE 4,3,10; emphasis added.

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Kopecek notes this when discussing the differences between Alexander of Alexandria’s and Eusebius’ thought: ‘Eusebius thought Alexander’s position made nonsense of the biblical language of Father and Son, which for the Caesarean prelate signified the notion of priority: The Father is first, the Son is second.’98 To draw from a human understanding of parental relationships (something Eusebius relies on too heavily, admittedly), a Son must literally come second in existence. As quoted above, ‘But the Father precedes (προϋπάρχει) the Son, and has preceded Him in existence (γενέσεως), inasmuch as He alone is unbegotten.’99 In other words, the Son’s begetting marks not an ontological distinction, but a relational one. As Eusebius writes on Psalm 29 LXX in his commentary, ‘Σημειωτέον, ὅτι τὸ, ἐγενήθη, οὐκ ἀεὶ οὐσίωσιν σημαίνει· ἀλλ’ ἔσθ’ ὅτε καὶ πρός τινα σχέσιν. Εἴ ποτε οὖν καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ Σωτῆρος τοιαύτη γένοιτο φωνὴ, σχέσιν πρός τι καὶ οὐχὶ οὐσίωσιν σημαίνει.’100 Here, Eusebius discusses the biblical term ἐγενήθη (became) for the Son’s generation from the Father. He insists this word does not refer to a becoming of ontological essence (οὐσίωσιν), but to a relational one (σχέσιν). In other words, it is the Son’s participation in the Father’s divinity, as his Son, which marks his becoming. If this reading is correct, this clarifies the incoherence often attributed to Eusebius on his understanding of the generation of the Son. Eusebius denies the eternality of the Son but still places his begetting before time. The Son was ‘not at one time non-existent (οὐ χρόνοις μέν τισιν οὐκ ὄντα), and existent at another afterwards, but existent before eternal time (πρὸ χρόνων αἰωνίων), and pre-existent (προόντα), and ever with the Father as His Son (καὶ τῷ πατρὶ ὡς υἱὸν διὰ παντὸς συνόντα), and yet not Unbegotten (ἀγέννητον).’101 Anatolios clarifies, ‘To make the Son co-eternal with the Father is to make him co-begotten and thus to posit two gods; he rebukes Marcellus for speaking of the Son as “eternal,” which Eusebius himself qualifies, “that is, unbegotten.”’102 Eternality for Eusebius, then, is equated with the unbegotten nature of the Father and thus the Son cannot be eternally begotten. To do so, would posit two unbegotten beings—something he continually denies.103 Beeley offers some helpful comments concerning this apparent problem as well. ‘What seems to have confused interpreters is that Eusebius uses prefixes and presuppositions that often carry a temporal meaning (such as “pre-” and “before,” or “co” and “with”) in a nontemporal sense … The idea of the Father’s “pre-” existing the Son is for Eusebius an expression of the relationship of origin and derivation, not of a temporal interval.’104 Therefore, to say the Son is co-eternal with the

98 99 100 101 102 103 104

Kopecek (1979), 8. DE 4,3,5. CommPs 30 (29) (PG 23,264). DE 4,3,13. Anatolios (2011), 61. For example, see: ET 2,23,1–2. Beeley (2012), 91. R. Williams and Widdicombe also offer interpretations for this ‘problem’: R. Williams (1987), 172; Widdicombe (2004), 134.

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Father (and thus posit two unbegotten beings) is to confuse the nature of the Father and Son, or to posit ditheism. But, as Son, he is coexisting with the Father from before all time: ‘Therefore, coexisting (συνὼν) in this way with the Father and being present (συμπαρὼν) to him when he was preparing the heavens and the things within them, he [the Son] taught this, saying, “When he established the heavens, I was present with him.”’105 While the Son is not the eternal source, he is begotten before time—eternally generated. This interpretation also clarifies Eusebius’ understanding of the classic Trinitarian metaphors, such as the ray and the fragrance.106 Eusebius is unable to affirm the ray metaphor without alteration—he modifies it in four ways. 1) ‘The radiance is inseparable (ἀχώριστος) from the light of sense, while the Son exists (ὑφέστηκεν) in Himself (ἰδίως) apart from the Father.’ 2) ‘The Son is something different (ἕτερόν) from a channel of energy (ἐνέργειαν), having His Being in Himself (ἑαυτὸν οὐσιωμένος).’ 3) ‘The ray is coexistent (συνυπάρχει) with the light … But the Father precedes (προϋπάρχει) the Son.’ 4) ‘The ray does not shine forth from the light by its deliberate choice (προαίρεσιν), but because of something which is an inseparable accident of its essence (οὐσίας): but the Son is the image of the Father by intention and deliberate choice (γνώμην καὶ προαίρεσιν).’107 These four caveats—the Son has his own essence, is distinct from the Father, is second to the unbegotten, and is generated deliberately—are conceptions found throughout Eusebius’ work, particularly when discussing the multiple υποστάσεις in the Godhead (perhaps, most clearly in his EpCaes). Eusebius sums up the deficiency: ‘The ray being of one origin (σύμφυτος) with the nature (φύσει) of light, and being in essence the same (οὐσιωδῶς συνυπάρχουσα) as light, could not exist outside that in which it is.’108 This metaphor, then, does not fit within Eusebius’ understanding of the Son as distinct—it is too easy to confuse the natures of the ray and origin of the light, and can thus fall into Marcellan interpretation. Therefore, Eusebius qualifies the distinct natures of the source of the light and its emanated ray.109 Eusebius’ preferred description for the likeness between the Father and the Son is a biblical one, namely from passages such as Col 1:15: the Son is the Image of the Father. Rowan Williams writes on the importance of this 105 ET 3,3,56–57; translation altered. 106 For discussion, see Weber. He notes how Eusebius’ interpretation of the ray metaphor, in which the Son is contingent, also allows for the Arian creaturely interpretation which Athanasius fought against—even if Eusebius himself did not support this Arian view. ‘Gerade dies wird das entescheidende Problem im arianischen Streit sein; Athanasius wird jene Auffassung, die eine Möglichkeit zur Kontingenz des Sohnes—und damit zur Geschöpflichkeit—offenlässt, wie dies bei Eusebius der Fall ist, wenn er sich dessen auch nicht bewusst ist, aufs heftigste bekämpfen.’ Weber (1965), 50. 107 DE 4,3,4–7; for discussion, see: Robertson (2007), 48–53; Stead (1973). 108 DE 5,1,19. 109 Eusebius does not have the same conceptual problems with the classic fragrance metaphor for the Son’s relationship to the Father, as the distinction between the fragrance and the source is easier to maintain. See: DE 4,3,12.

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theme for Eusebius: ‘Eusebius’ theology is, from first to last, quite heavily marked by the eikōn theme: the Son is theos because he is an image, because the Father has given to him an unparalleled share in his own godhead.’110 By using this title, Eusebius is able to ascribe complete likeness between the two, while maintaining their respective natures. ‘So I say the Only-begotten Son, being the only image of the Unseen God, is rightly called the image of the Unseen God, through bearing His likeness (ὁμοίωσιν), and is constituted God (θεοποιεῖταί) by the Father Himself.’111 This likeness is paramount for Eusebius’ understanding of the unity between Father and Son, while maintaining their distinctiveness. DelCogliano, in discussing the differences and similarities for the image theology of the Eusebian party, notes for Eusebius: ‘Therefore, the Son is ontologically constituted so as to be “with the greatest degree of exactness possible” like the divinity of the Father, and, as the image of God, his being consists in likeness to the archetype, the Father.’112 In other words, it is in his nature as image (and as the Son) to be exactly like the Father. Thus, this metaphor maintains Eusebian convictions for the primacy of the Father, the derivative nature of the Son, and the unity and likeness therein. While the derivative nature of the Son is often used to demonstrate the exact likeness of the Father and Son, it has problematic theological results at times. For example, the derivative nature of the Son does mean his relationship to the Father is one of reverence, glorification, and even worship—a theological concept which he shares with Arius, albeit in a nuanced sense.113 Eusebius writes, ‘He (the Son) reveres (σέβει), worships (προσκυνεῖ), and glorifies (δοξάζει) his own Father, acknowledging his as God even of himself, to whom he has been reported also to pray, to whom he also gives thanks, and to whom he also became obedient unto death.’114 In this passage, Eusebius makes no distinction between the eternal Son and the incarnate Jesus, in his prayer and worship—the Father is the source of the Son’s divinity, and thus he is worshipped and obeyed accordingly. While this notion does not necessarily entail a curbing of the Son’s divinity, it does break down the distinction between the Son and creation—both worship the Father, even if they are worshiping in different ways. Importantly then, 110 111 112 113

R. Williams (1987), 171. DE 5,4,10. DelCogliano (2006), 472. Using Jn 17:3, Eusebius writes, ‘For even the Only-begotten of God and First-born of the whole world, the Beginning of all, commands us to believe His Father alone true God (θεὸν ἀληθῆ), and to worship only Him (μόνον σέβειν).’ PE 7,15,18. Arius speaks of the Son’s inability to know the full nature of the Father, and thus he worships as other creatures do. ‘Mighty God as he is, he (the Son) sings the praises of the Higher One with only partial adequacy (εκ μέρους).’ Arius, Thalia 30; translation from R. Williams (1987), 103. While Eusebius likewise roots his worship in the Father’s nature as source, he does not limit the Son to the nature of created beings—he leads this worship, not out of inadequacy, but because he is the only being capable of knowing the Father, contra Arius. 114 ET 2,7,5.

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this language does not allow for strong safeguards for the Son’s divinity—it will always carry an implicit danger of Arianism. While Eusebius only occasionally talks about the Son worshipping the Father, he frequently discusses how the Son glorifies the Father by obeying his will as a result of his subordinate nature. This is largely derived from a reading of Christ’s obedience in the economy as indicative of his eternal relationship. A unique place where this is seen is in his pairing of Gospel passages in his Canons Tables. Before noting the evidence from this source, it is important to briefly discuss the nature of Eusebius’ Canon Tables: essentially, they are a Gospel cross-referencing system. That is, Eusebius created a paratextual device to pair corresponding passages throughout the four Gospels, with discreet marginalia and ten canons placed at the front of the Gospels.115 By utilizing these tables, a reader is able to read through a single Gospel, while flipping to corresponding passages in the others. Importantly, there is no theological commentary on why passages are paired together therein. But the pairings do reveal an implicit theological understanding if viewed in the context of his broader theological framework—Eusebius is making a theological claim by pairing certain Gospel passages together. One example of this implicit theological claim is revealed in his pairing of passages about the obedience of the Son in the incarnation, namely in the Garden of Gethsemane, in which Christ prays: ‘My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.’116 Eusebius pairs two unique (and perhaps surprising) passages from John with the Synoptic Gospels passages. Table 1

Matthew

Mark

Luke

John

295/26:39b: Yet not what I want but what you want.

176/14:36b: ‘Yet, not what I want, but what you want.’

282/22:42: ‘Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.’

295/26:39b:

176/14:36b

282/22:42

42/5:30: ‘I can do nothing on my own. As I hear, I judge; and my judgment is just, because I seek to do not my own will but the will of him who sent me.’ 57/6:38: For I have come down from heaven, not to do my will, but the will of him who sent me.

115 For discussion of the table’s operation, see: Crawford (2019b), 1–7. 116 Mt 26:39; see Canon I. It is not altogether clear why Eusebius split the verse from Matthew and Luke in two, while pairing the full verse from Luke, despite nearly identical wording from the synoptic accounts.

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While Eusebius does not provide reflection on these verses, the pairings do demonstrate the biblical nature of this claim: the Son has come to do the will of the Father, not his own. Thus, the obedience (and even worship) of the Son is tied to order and obedience from the biblical account. The Son comes to do the will of the Father. A final reflection on a Eusebian text frequently used to demonstrate the ontological subordination of the Son, would be profitable to summarize the approach explored thus far. According to this, then, the true and only God must be One (ἀληθὴς καὶ μόνος θεὸς εἷς ἂν εἴη), and alone owning the Name in full right. While the Second (δεύτερος), by sharing in the being (μετουσίᾳ) of the True God, is thought worth (ἠξίωται) to share His Name, not being God in Himself (οὔτε ὢν καθ’ ἑαυτόν), nor existing (ὑφεστὼς) apart from the Father Who gives Him Divinity (θεοποιοῦντος), not called God apart from the Father, but altogether being, living and existing as God, through the presence of the Father in Him, and one in being (συνών) with the Father, and constituted God from Him and through Him, and holding His being as well as His Divinity not from Himself but from the Father (τό τε εἶναι ὁμοῦ καὶ τὸ θεὸς εἶναι οὐκ ἐξ ἑαυτοῦ παρὰ δὲ τοῦ πατρὸς ἐσχηκώς).117 Here, the Father as ‘the One’ should not necessarily be viewed as the platonic One, but the Father as source. The Son, derivative of the Father, is second according to their order of eternal existence, not second in being or substance, as he lives as God. Rather, his title of ‘second’ refers to his generation, in being Son by nature. Thus, he is not God ‘in himself,’ a role for the unbegotten alone, but is God in his presence and participation in this source. For the Father to give divinity to the Son, (i.e. the Son does not hold his divinity in his nature), is a form of subordination. ‘For the One gives (δίδωσιν), and the Other receives (λαμβάνει).’118 But, this is a different claim than that of ontological subordination, in which the Son is less divine than the Father. While the Father is the unbegotten source (and is therefore God by nature), so the Son is the only-begotten Son of God, and thus God. ‘But since it was fitting for us to know also to what rank (ἀξιώματος) he belonged, he necessarily added, “and the Word was God.” For how was he who was begotten from the one and only unbegotten God not going to be God (πῶς γὰρ οὐκ ἔμελλεν θεὸς εἶναι ὁ ἐκ τοῦ ἑνὸς καὶ μόνου ἀγεννήτου θεοῦ γεννηθείς)?’119 Thus, the primary lens in which to view the second person of the Trinity in the work of Eusebius is not as the Logos, but as the Son. Biblical personalism clarifies Eusebius’ problematic language about his nature as ‘second,’ his apparent

117 DE 5,4,9. 118 DE 5,4,14. 119 ET 2,14,15.

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denial of eternal generation, and his modification of the classic Trinitarian metaphors. The Son is not second in ontological existence, but in eternal order—the Father relationally precedes the Son. Thus, the subordinationism of Eusebius is more akin to that of Origen, a derivative subordinationism. While this sort of subordinationism was rejected by later writers, this is not incompatible with orthodox theology at the time, nor with the Nicene creed: We believe ‘in one Lord, Jesus Christ the Son of God, begotten from the Father, Only-begotten, that is, from the substance of the Father, God of God, Light of Light, true God of true God, begotten not made…’120 While Eusebius qualifies how ‘of the essence of the Father’ must be understood, his vision of the Son aligns with the creed, particularly in the language of Father to Son, understanding of the Son as from the Father (God of God), and his nature as uniquely begotten. Constituted God: Protecting the Son’s Nature as God

Clearly, Eusebius argues the Son is God through his relationship with the Father. But does his theological system truly allow this? In other words, does Eusebius’ derivative subordinationism adequately protect the nature of the Son as God? To answer this, one must probe into what Eusebius means when he refers to the Son being constituted—or deified (θεοποιεῖταί)—as God.121 Are both the Son and humanity deified in the same way? In looking to Eusebius’ theological predecessor, Origen, this appears this is the case: To be sure, his ‘firstborn of every creature,’ inasmuch as he was the first to be with God and has drawn divinity into himself (σπάσας τῆς θεότητος εἰς ἑαυτόν), is more honored than the other gods beside him (τοῖς λοιποῖς παρ’ αὐτὸν θεοῖς) (of whom God is God as it is said, ‘The God of gods, the Lord has spoken, and he has called the earth’). It was by his ministry that they became gods (γενέσθαι θεοῖς), for he drew from God that they might be deified (θεοποιηθῆναι), sharing ungrudgingly also with them according to his goodness.122 Origen, here again, marks out the God (ὁ θεὸς) from the gods derived from him, the first being the Son, then deified humanity through the Son. In other words, there is a parallel process in which the Son is made or constituted God which also applies to humanity, albeit in a qualified manner. While Eusebius certainly inherits this tradition, he does seek to distance himself from this notion, particularly leaning on the difference between the begetting of the Son and the creation of the world.

120 EpCaes 8; translation from Behr (2004), 155. 121 DE 5,4,10. 122 Origen, Commentarii in evangelium Joannis 2,2,16–17.

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Eusebius exegesis of Prov 8:22 is instructive on this point, which is distinct from his Arian allies on the one hand, and Marcellus on the other.123 Arians typically understood the three verbs in the passage as synonymous (created, established, begets) to demonstrate how the Son was a creature.124 Conversely, Marcellus interpreted this begetting as the incarnation of Jesus Christ, not the eternal Word.125 Eusebius offers up a unique reading which is primarily concerned with the distinction between the creating and begetting for the Son—the Son is not created in time in any sense, but appointed by God to rule in time. ‘Therefore, in this way, even here the statement, “The Lord created me (ἔκτισέν) as the beginning of his ways for his works,” was used for, “He appointed (κατέταξέν) me to rule over his works.” For this reason, [Scripture] did not simply say, “He created (ἔκτισέν) me,” but added, “as the beginning of his ways for his works.”’126 Eusebius’ creative use of the translation from Aquila and Symmachus, found in Origen’s Hexepla, allows an interpretation which places the begetting of the Son before creation. Further, he argues the verb ‘created’ from Proverbs 8 refers to the Son’s appointment to rule in time (at the dawn of creation), thus subverting both Arian and Marcellan interpretations. Further, this terminological distinction ensures the Son is properly known as Son. For what would an offspring of God (θεοῦ γέννημα) who has been made like the one who has begotten him be [other than a true Son]? Therefore, on the one hand, a king creates (κτίζει) but does not beget (γεννᾷ) a city, while on the other, he is said to beget (γεννᾶν), but not create (κτίζειν), a son. And the craftsman would be a fashioner (δημιουργὸς) but not a father of that which is crafted by him, nor would he be called fashioner of the son who came forth from him.127 For Eusebius, the constitution of the Son as God is not akin to that of a deified humanity, because it is a unique relationship—a Father to a Son. Further, distinct from Origen, he distances the Son as ‘God’ from the ‘gods and sons’ (humanity) in Ps 82:6 LXX—the true Son is uniquely begotten as the image of God, not created.128 In this sense, the distinct begetting of the Son in contrast to the creation of the world protects his divine nature.

123 Maurice Dowling offers a helpful guide to exegesis in this passage leading up to and during the fourth century, with particular reference to the Arian controversy: Dowling (2002). Weber analyzes the interpretation of this passage from Eusebius, Marcellus, and Athanasius. Weber (1965), 125–58. Simonetti, likewise, notices the unique exegesis of Eusebius in contrast to distinctively Arian interpretation. Simonetti (1975), 66. 124 For example, see Eusebius of Nicomedia’s letter to Paulinus of Tyre: Opitz (1934), 8.4–5. 125 See: CM 2,3,8–21 for Marcellus’ exegesis and fragments commenting on this passage. 126 ET 3,2,14. 127 ET 1,10,1. 128 ET 1,10,5.

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Nevertheless, while Eusebius takes significant steps in distancing himself from the Origenian discussion of the deification by putting up distinct markers between the Son and creation, one must ask if he overcomes a fundamental issue of Origen’s theology: participation logic and language. While creation certainly participates in God, in being created and deified by him, this language becomes problematic when applied to the relations in the Godhead. The reason being, there is a lack of clarity about whether the Son’s participation in God’s being is qualitatively or quantitatively different than creation’s participation. While Eusebius makes significant steps past Origen to demonstrate a qualitative difference (particularly in his exegesis of Prov 8:22 and doctrine of creatio ex nihilo) he does not seem to be entirely successful. This is seen in his understanding of the willed begetting of the Son. If the Father actively wills the Son’s begetting, the Son’s nature seems to be contingent—that is, the Unbegotten one is God whether he wills the Son or not. This is further seen when Eusebius insists the Son adds ‘nothing towards the completeness of His Deity (συμπλήρωσιν τῆς ἑαυτοῦ θεότητος),’ as quoted formerly.129 While previous statements about the Father not being Father apart from the Son may cause the attentive reader pause, here,130 the Son’s divinity being a product of his participation in the Father’s divinity, however nuanced, does not adequately distinguish the Son from creation nor fully protect his divinity. Granted, there are ‘degrees’ to which one can uphold divinity when using participation language in the Godhead, but the Son is never by nature God: he is God because he is made so.131 The theological flaw here, then, is participation language and structure itself. One can do much to protect and uphold the divinity of the Son in this system (which Eusebius does), but the logic of participation implies a collapsing of the qualitative divide between the Son and creation, and a subordinationism of some type. For Eusebius, the collapse is found in the shared existence of the Son and creation being found in the Father and in the necessary subordination of the Son in being derived from the Father. While Eusebius’ theological system constantly declares that the Son is truly God, participation language does limit how effective Eusebius’ system is able to maintain and protect this claim. Holy Spirit

Eusebius, like many other theologians in this period, does not develop a detailed pneumatology—throughout his extensive corpus of apologetic,

129 DE 4,3,6. 130 See: pg. 45-6. 131 Arius and Asterius seems to believe the Son continually participates in the divine nature, to retain his nature—not unlike creation’s participation in the Father as source. For Eusebius, the Son is constituted as God—he participates in the Father in his begetting, and is thereafter constituted as God in his nature. In this sense, the participation of the Son in Eusebius is unique from the continual participation of creation in God’s being. For discussion, see: Delcogliano (2006).

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biblical, and theological works, the Spirit is only given a few pages of focused discussion. This, in itself, has led most scholars to argue that Eusebius’ pneumatology is hopelessly deficient. ‘Everybody agrees,’ writes Hanson, ‘that Eusebius’ doctrine of the Holy Spirit is meagre and inadequate.’132 Some scholars, such as G. Kretschmar and W. D. Hauschild, even go so far as to accuse Eusebius of binitarianism for his subordinationism and negligence of the Spirit.133 While this reading was specifically countered by Strutwolf, there remains support for Eusebius’ apparent binitarianism.134 As Spoerl and Vinzent write, ‘For the most part, Eusebius’ anti-Marcellan works are predominantly binitarian,’135 due to his focus on the Father and Son rather than the Spirit. But this view of Eusebius’ pneumatology is problematic for several reasons. First, it simply overlooks much of the Spirit’s role in Eusebius’ work, in the economy and in the Godhead. While the Spirit is rarely the main point of discussion in these passages, he clearly plays a vital role in Eusebius’ theology. The Spirit is significant for Eusebius, even if he does not parse out a detailed pneumatology. Beeley writes on his use of the Spirit: ‘In fact, the Spirit plays an important role in Eusebius’ theological and historical works, from the Ecclesiastical History forward, making his work solidly Trinitarian from the start.’136 Second, modern scholarship often views his pneumatology through the lens of middle Platonism, his opponents, or later orthodoxy. Yet, it rarely views Eusebius’ theology of the Spirit on its own terms or in accordance with his broader theological system and Trinitarianism.137 While Eusebius’ pneumatology is undoubtedly deficient in light of later orthodoxy, so are most of the pneumatologies in the first four centuries of the church. To critique Eusebius for his lack of discuss on the Spirit is to critique Nicaea itself. There is no protection of the divinity of the Holy Spirit, nor discussion as to his roles in the one line from the creed dedicated to the third person of the Trinity: We

132 Hanson (1988), 55. 133 Kretschmar (1956), 2; Hauschild (1967), 151–52. For a survey of the German conversation, see: Drecoll (2013); This reading still has some traction in some Anglo-American scholarship, although its emphasis is slightly different. For a modern example, see: Johnson (2014), 138–44. 134 Strutwolf argues the Spirit is truly divine in his apologetic work (but not his theological work, when pressed by Marcellus) and is a form of the ‘World-Soul’ from middle Platonism. He concludes: ‘Es kann also festgehalten werden, daß Euseb in seinem apologetischen Doppelwerk nicht nur deutlich bemüht ist, den Heiligen Geist in die göttliche Trias einzubeziehen und von den Geschöpfen abzugrenzen, sondern auch in der Lage war, den Heiligen Geist in seinem Eingebundensein in die Trias als Gott zu bezeichnen.’ Strutwolf (1999), 223. 135 Spoerl and Vinzent (2017), 48. 136 Beeley (2012), 88–89. 137 This is also the approach of John K. Mackett, in the most extensive and thorough treatment of Eusebius’ pneumatology. Mackett (1990).

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believe ‘in one Holy Spirit.’138 If Nicaea is ‘trinitarian,’ in its creedal inclusion of the Holy Spirit, so Eusebius is—the Spirit is a person of the holy Trinity. Many of the strongest affirmations of the divinity of the Spirit in Eusebius’ work are found in creedal formulations. These are especially prevalent through ET—he argues it is the church who has received the doctrine of the Trinity, and therefore it has a responsibility to preserve it. ‘Thus the Church of God received and preserves the holy, blessed, and mystical Trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit (τριάδα πατρὸς καὶ υἱοῦ καὶ ἁγίου πνεύματος) as its saving hope through the regeneration in Christ.’139 This is especially pertinent in his debate with Marcellus. While Marcellus’ pneumatology is never a point of extensive conversation in his extant work, his Sabellianism (in the eyes of Eusebius) reduces the Trinity into the Monad and thus denies the very thing which makes the Christian church unique from Judaism. ‘Well now, let Marcellus learn … that the “mystery hidden for ages and generations” was dispensed to his Church alone through his grace, in which mystery the teaching of the holy Trinity of Father and Son and Holy Spirit was included (τριάδος πατρὸς καὶ υἱοῦ καὶ ἁγίου πνεύματος περιείχετο λόγος).’140 The conspicuous inclusion of the Spirit in this formulation should not be overlooked, even if it is formulaic: clearly Eusebius feels the need to preserve the Spirit in the mysterious ‘teachings of the holy Trinity’ alongside the Father and Son. The church teaches of a triune God—not a monad. The root of these creedal formulations is Mt 28:19–20, which Eusebius references often throughout his works as the basis for church teaching and mission. In a reiteration of the Nicene Creed, in his EpisCaes, he writes, ‘We believe each of these to be and to exist, the Father truly Father, and the Son truly Son, and the Holy Spirit truly Holy Spirit (πνεῦμα ἅγιον ἀληθῶς ἅγιον πνεῦμα), as also our Lord, sending forth his disciples for preaching, said, “Go teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”’141 In this statement, discussing the creed, there is clear reliance on this passage for the Spirit’s nature. This should not be taken lightly, as if Eusebius’ includes the Spirit reluctantly on the basis of this verse alone. This doctrine is importantly a faith statement in the cited letter: ‘We believe … the Holy Spirit (is) truly Holy Spirit.’142 Unsurprisingly, Eusebius’ doctrine of the Spirit emphasizes the distinct nature of the third person in the Trinity in relation to the other two. Similar to the relationship of Father to Son, there is an explicit subordination of the Spirit to the Son. ‘For through these [statements] the Savior himself clearly taught that the Holy Spirit exists as another (ἕτερον) besides himself … Yet he

138 139 140 141 142

EpCaes 8; translation from Behr (2004), 155. CM 1,1,12. ET 2,22,4–5. EpisCaes 3; translation altered; emphasis added. EpisCaes 3; parenthesis added.

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is surely subordinate to [the Son] (ὑποβεβηκός γε μὴν [εἶναι] αὑτοῦ).’143 Despite the Holy Spirit maintaining its own subsistence (or existence) alongside the Son, there is clear subordination to the Son—which, predictably, has been viewed as ontological subordination by modern scholarship.144 But, Eusebius uses the same logic for the Spirit as for the Son—the Spirit is derived (or precedes) from the other, and thus cannot be the same as the one he preceded from. In other words, the subordination of the Spirit does not entail a lesser divinity, on this point. Eusebius clearly views the Spirit as third in the Godhead: ‘Whereas next to the doctrine of Father and Son the Hebrew oracles class the Holy Spirit in the third place (τρίτῃ τάξει), and conceive the Holy and Blessed Trinity (ἁγίαν καὶ μακαρίαν τριάδα) in such a manner as that the third Power (τρίτης δυνάμεως) surpasses every created nature … third from the First Cause.’145 John K. Mackett expounds on this notion, ‘In Eusebius’ mind, to say that the Holy Spirit has third place is not a denigration of the Spirit’s status. Of all the things that come after the Son, it is the Holy Spirit who is counted “in the first and royal dignity and honor of the primal cause of the universe.”’146 In other words, the Spirit is not depreciated by being third in the Godhead, quite the opposite. His title is on account of his derived nature, not only from the Father, but also by the Son. The Spirit is ‘third’ because he is made through (or derived from) the Son. Using Jn 1:3 and Col 1:16, Eusebius writes: Since the Son has been honored with the paternal divinity (πατρικῇ θεότητι τετιμημένος), he would be the maker and fashioner of all created things, both visible and invisible, and surely also of the very existence of the Counseling Spirit (καὶ δὴ καὶ αὐτῆς τῆς τοῦ παρακλήτου πνεύματος ὑπάρξεως). For ‘all things were made through him, and without him not one thing was made,’ and ‘in him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible.’147 Eusebius’ logic follows as such: The Father begets the Son—thus the Father (as the Source) is known as the ‘first,’ while the Son (who is generated from the first) is ‘second.’ If the Spirit is generated from the Son (or second), his place as the ‘third’ would follow. In sum, ‘Therefore, he himself, seeing as he is the only-begotten Son, receives (λαμβάνει) from the Father and listens (ἀκούει) to [the Father], while the Holy Spirit supplies (χορηγεῖται) [what he receives] from him [the Son]. Hence [the Son] says, “We will take what

143 ET 3,5,17–18. While Eusebius uses the term ὑποβεβηκός (from ὑποβαίνω) for the Spirit’s subordination to the Son, he does not use it for the Son’s subordination to the Father. 144 Johnson (2014), 141. 145 PE 11,20,1. 146 Mackett (1990), 209. 147 ET 3,6,1–2.

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is mine and declare it to you.”’148 But, if the Spirit is made through the Son, is the Spirit created like the rest of creation? It seems not, for several reasons. First, Eusebius speaks of the Spirit as being with the Father before time, using imagery from Daniel 7:10, ‘The Holy Spirit, too, having stood eternally (παρεστὸς ἀεὶ) by the throne of God, since even “a thousand thousands” stood by it according to Daniel, was himself also sent out.’149 It would not seem plausible that a created being (like the rest of creation) would be allotted a co-eternal place in the throne room of God. Second, Eusebius clearly sees a distinction between creation and the Spirit, despite using terms of generation and comparisons with the created order. ‘The Sun of Righteousness (Son) and His fellow the Holy Spirit (σύζυγον ἅγιον πνεῦμα) rule and preside over … angels, and archangels, and spirits, and divine powers’, etc.150 Here, Eusebius could have listed the Holy Spirit alongside created beings, even as the chief being of creation, but places him as ruler with the Son instead. In Eusebius’ work, here and elsewhere, there is consistent identification of the Spirit with the Godhead rather than creation.151 Nevertheless, his identification of the Spirit as being created through the Son, in Jn 1:3, is very problematic. This exegetical strategy is an application of Origen’s work, which so much of Eusebius’ trinitarian work is indebted to.152 Interestingly, Basil of Caesarea defends the unique nature of the Spirit in Adversus Eunomium 3,7, without explicitly rejecting the use of Jn 1:3 therein. For him, ‘this text in no way communicates to us that the Holy Spirit is created (κτιστὸν), as if the Spirit were numbered among all things (πᾶσι).’153 While Eusebius fails to make the important qualification that Basil does here (and to some extent, Origen)—that the Spirit is not numbered with all things—he implicitly uses this understanding in noting the eternal nature of the Spirit and in identifying him with God rather than creation. That is to say, the use of Jn 1:3 to speak of the origin of the Spirit, does not necessarily mark out a creaturely nature, especially in the context of his broader thoughts on the Trinity. Nevertheless, the notion that the Spirit is created by the Son, without explicitly distinguishing the nature of this creating from the rest of creation, is a damning problem for Eusebius if evaluating his system dogmatically. While the derived nature of the Spirit is explained eternally, this subordination is primarily demonstrated in the economy, in the work of Christ to the apostles. ‘His (the Son’s) giving (διδόναι) the Spirit, again, shows that he is other than the one who is given (διδομένου). For the one who gives (ὁ διδοὺς) and that which is given (τὸ διδόμενον) could not have been the same, but the ET 3,5,19. ET 3,4,7–8; translation altered. PE 7,15,15–16; parenthesis added. Although, Eusebius’ does not specifically distinguish the Spirit from those created out of nothing, as he does for the Son. 152 Origen, Commentarii in evangelium Joannis 2,73. 153 Basil, Adversus Eunomium 3,7. 148 149 150 151

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one who provides [the Spirit] (to the apostles) was the Savior.’154 The argument in this passage is the same as the one given for the relationship between the Father and the Son—‘For the One gives (δίδωσιν), and the Other receives (λαμβάνει).’155 Eusebius uses scriptural passages, such as Jn 16:14–15, which speak of the Son giving or sending the Spirit, to demonstrate their unique identities as well as the subordinate nature of the Spirit.156 In other words, the Holy Spirit is other than and obedient to the Son because he is sent.157 This is a common theme throughout his pneumatological references, where the Spirit is seen as the inspiration to the prophets and the distributer of the gifts given to the church by the Son.158 Therefore, the derived (and subordinate) nature of the Spirit is primarily reflected in its economic work. It is worth evaluating scholarly claims about the ontological subordination of the Spirit in the work of Eusebius. First, there is one passage, in particular, which is frequently used to discuss Eusebius’ apparent denial of the Spirit’s divinity: And he alone would be called ‘one God and Father (εἷς θεὸς καὶ πατὴρ) of our Lord Jesus Christ (τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ),’ while the Son would be ‘the only-begotten God, who is in the bosom of the Father.’ But the Counseling Spirit would be neither God nor Son (τὸ δὲ παράκλητον πνεῦμα οὔτε θεὸς οὔτε υἱός), since he himself has not also received his generation (γένεσιν) from the Father as the Son (ὁμοίως τῷ υἱῷ) has, but is one of those things brought into existence through the Son (διὰ τοῦ υἱοῦ γενομένων), because ‘all things were made through him, and without him not one thing was made.’159 According to an ontological reading of this passage, the Spirit is denied divinity here because he is ontologically subordinate to God as a created being—he is ‘neither God nor Son’ (οὔτε θεὸς οὔτε υἱός). The Counseling Spirit is not divine as the Father or the Son, but merely another created spirit—even if the chief spirit. There should be further examination into this phrase, ‘But the Counseling Spirit would be neither God nor Son,’ though. Eusebius is concerned here with explicating who the persons in the Trinity are, rather than if they are ET 3,5,2–3; parenthesis added. DE 5,4,14. ET 3,4,9. ET 3,5,1–2. While this study does not have the space for a study of the Spirit’s function in the economy, he performs two related roles: 1) inspiration of the prophets: (CommPs 66 (65) (PG 23,647); PE 7,11,1–2); 2) teaching, counseling, and providing spiritual gifts for the church after the ascension of Christ (ET 3,5,7–8; ET 3,5,12; ET 3,6,1–2). In this sense, Drecoll is right to term the Holy Spirit’s main function as ‘distributive’. He provides inspiration to both the prophets and the church: ET 3,5,21–22; Drecoll (2013), 297. For an exhaustive list of the Spirit’s functions, see: Mackett (1990), 195–201. 159 ET 3,6,3. 154 155 156 157 158

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divine. Importantly, this passage is part of Eusebius’ rebuttal to Marcellus understanding the oneness of God, when extended to the Holy Spirit. Eusebius is devoted to showing how the Holy Spirit is other than the Son, and the Son is other than the Father. To support this argument, he uses prosopological exegesis to distinguish the distinct persons in the Godhead, particularly in Eph 4:5–6.160 In other words, this passage is about identifying the persons within the Godhead by their scriptural titles and distinguishing marks. Thus, in the quotation under consideration, Eusebius is likely using the Origenian distinction between the God (τὸν θεόν) and God (θεόν), as noted above, to detail the nature of the Father as the first—although, the article is conspicuously missing in the quotation under consideration, as is often the case with predicate nouns.161 ‘God’ here, is not the category for the divine, but a title for the Father.162 On the Son, he specifically notes his nature as the ‘only-begotten’ to detail how he is distinct from the Father. Finally, on the Spirit, Eusebius notes how he is neither of these. In sum, Eusebius is marking out how the persons in the Godhead are different, rather than if they are divine: their distinguishing marks. Rather than a denial of the divinity of the Spirit (and Son) in this pericope, Eusebius is marking out what makes the Father ‘Father,’ the Son ‘Son,’ and the Holy Spirit ‘Holy Spirit,’ against Marcellus’ doctrine of a single ὑποστάσις in God. The Father is the ‘one God and Father’ while the Son is the ‘only begotten’ of the Father—an appeal to derivative subordination. Eusebius extends this appeal to the Spirit by marking out its own existence within the Trinity through his creation by the Son. A second critique of Eusebius’ pneumatology is he never explicitly refers to the Spirit as ‘God,’ (θεóς)—only divine (θεῖον). Simonetti thus remarks that Eusebius denies the Holy Spirit ‘la qualifica di Dio.’163 Further, Eusebius never gives the Spirit a ὑποστάσις alongside the Father and Son, despite discussing his unique existence. The reason seems to be Eusebius’ careful reading of Scripture (or strict biblicism). Beeley writes on the connection between biblicism and the titles for the Spirit in Eusebius’ work: ‘With this title (the divine spirit), which runs across his corpus, Eusebius names the Spirit in the strongest terms that one could expect at this time, calling it divine (θεῖον) but otherwise not wanting to move beyond the language of Scripture

160 ET 3,6,2–3. 161 A point made by Drecoll (2013), 300–01. 162 Contra Strutwolf. Struwolf nuances the reading of this as an outright denial of the Spirit’s divinity from Kretschmar, but does see explicit ontological subordination here, where the Spirit does not maintain the full divinity of the Father and Son: ‘Der Sinn dieser Begründung scheint mir der zu sein, daß der Geist gerade wegen seiner bloß indirekten Ableitung vom Vater, die sich in seiner Gewordenheit durch den Sohn ausdrückt, weder Sohn ist, noch an der Fülle der Göttlichkeit der Vaters teilhat, weil beides eine Unmittelbarkeit zum Vater verlangt, die dem Geist nicht zukommt.’ Strutwolf (1999), 230. 163 Simonetti (1975), 64.

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to call it “God” (θεός) outright.’164 As the Bible does not give the title of God to the Spirit, Eusebius seems reluctant to use this term. This does not redeem Eusebius, of course—the Pneumatochians, later, seem to make this argument. Gregory of Nazianzus writes, ‘Time and time again you repeat the argument about not being in the Bible (ἄγραφον).’165 But, ironically, Gregory also aims sarcastic rhetoric at Basil of Caesarea—the often-supposed defender of the Spirit’s divinity—for his refusal to title the Spirit as ‘God’.166 But to redeem Eusebius (and Basil) to some extent, there is never a denial of the divinity of the Spirit, as the Pneumatochians in these systems. Through the Spirit’s role and relationship with the Godhead, it seems that Eusebius did view the Spirit as God—but, as biblical titles are to the fore of his Trinitarian thought, he held to explicit scriptural terminology. Finally, Eusebius uses odd language when speaking of the Spirit’s relationship in the Godhead in one chapter of ET. For him, the Son is clearly God (and thus belongs in the Trinity) on the basis of his Sonship. But, as the Spirit comes through the Son, as the rest of creation does, this criterion no longer holds for inclusion into the Trinity. In other words, the procession of the Spirit marks how he is different than the Father and Son, but not necessarily how he is embraced in the Godhead. For Eusebius, it is the Spirit’s outstanding rank and role in the economy that marks his inclusion. For through these [statements] the Savior himself clearly taught that the Holy Spirit exists as another besides himself, outstanding in honor and glory and privileges, greater and higher than any [other] intellectual and rational being (τῆς νοερᾶς καὶ λογικῆς τυγχάνον οὐσίας) (for which reason he has also been received into the thrice-blessed Trinity (διὸ καὶ συμπαρείληπται τῇ ἁγίᾳ καὶ τρισμακαρίᾳ τριάδι)).167 And later in that chapter, he continues: But given the Holy Spirit is another (ἑτέρου ὄντος) alongside the Father and the Son, the Savior, showing his unique characteristic, has called him ‘Counselor,’ distinguishing him from the common run of similarly titled [spirits] through the title ‘Counselor.’ … But none of these can be equal (ἐξισοῦσθαι) to the Counseling Spirit. For this reason, only this [Spirit] has been received (συμπαρείληπται) into the holy and thrice-blessed Trinity (τρισμακαρίᾳ τριάδι).168 164 Beeley (2012), 89. Lienhard comments on this, but ascribes it to sheer disinterest. Lienhard (1999), 121–23. 165 Gregory, De spiritu sancto (Oratio 31), 21; translation from Williams and Wickham (2002), 133. Michael Haykin argues this is foundational for their theology, although, there is not much evidence to corroborate this. Haykin (1994), 175, fn. 36. 166 Gregory of Nazianzus, Epistula 58; Basil, Epistula 71. For a fuller conversation on Cappadocian pneumatology, see: Beeley (2010). 167 ET 3,5,17–18; emphasis added. 168 ET 3,5,21–22; emphasis added.

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The term ‘received,’ as translated by Spoerl and Vinzent here, is slightly misleading. Συμπαρείληπται would, perhaps, be better translated as ‘included’ or ‘bunched together,’ as other translators have used.169 But, even in these passages, there is ambiguity as to the mode of inclusion of the Spirit into the Trinity. Is the Holy Spirit included because he is ‘greater and higher’ than other spirits, or is he ‘greater and higher’ because he is God? While this is not completely clear, it would seem the latter better accounts for Eusebius’ understanding of the Son’s divinity being ascribed on account of his Sonship (the Holy Spirit is truly Holy Spirit). It seems the Spirit does not have to earn a place, thereafter being received—he is included alongside the Father and Son as God. While Eusebius does not explicitly grant the Spirit the title ‘God’ (as many of his contemporaries and theological successors, such as Basil of Caesarea), his system openly includes the Holy Spirit in the Godhead, as a vital person of the Trinity. In this sense, the Spirit appears to be God in his system, despite his reluctance to plainly express him as such. This is perhaps best seen in his role in the Godhead and his sanctifying work of the Spirit in the economy—while the Son reveals the knowledge of the Father, the Spirit sanctifies and illuminates believers to see this knowledge. ‘The one who with a mind made clear and the eyes of the soul made pure and illuminated by the Holy Spirit … he will also see the Father himself through the Son, as he is seen by those who have been cleansed in their mind.’170 The Spirit is instrumental in salvation and sanctification, roles which only God can undertake.

Unity of the Godhead Throughout his statements on the Trinity, Eusebius consistently discusses how there can be multiple beings—the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—in the Godhead. But what of monotheism? How does Eusebius preserve the oneness of God while maintaining distinct ὑποστάσεις therein? In other words, how does he answer the fundamental patristic question posed by James D. Ernest: ‘Is God one or more than one?’171 For many scholars, this is not a true concern of Eusebius—the oneness is overshadowed by the plurality. Pollard, for example, writes, ‘He overemphasizes the distinction at the expense of their (Father and Son) unity … the Father and the Son are so distinguished from each other that they are in fact “two Gods.”’172 But, this has been recently challenged by several scholars for good reason: Eusebius does hold to God’s unity, albeit in a

169 Mackett uses ‘included’: Mackett (1990), 239. Drecoll uses ‘bunched together’: Drecoll (2013), 299. 170 ET 3,21,1. 171 Ernest (2009), 126. 172 Pollard (1970), 279.

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specific sense. For Eusebius, the oneness of God is firmly rooted in the Father, not in a common substance—the Son (and Spirit) are one by participating in the Father’s nature. ‘For the Son of a Father who is One must be also One (ἕνα γοῦν χρὴ ἑνὸς πατρὸς καὶ τὸν υἱὸν εἶναι).’173 While later Trinitarian thinkers, such as Augustine, are able to maintain this oneness on the basis of a single substance (or essence) in the Godhead, this Trinitarian category is yet to reach fruition. Eusebius’ Trinitarian theology rests completely on relations in the Godhead, in both the plurality and oneness of God. Thus, even in seeking to maintain the unity of the divine persons, Eusebius’ theological system inevitably leads to an emphasis on their distinction. As a result, it seems Spoerl’s analysis is correct for Eusebius: rather than unity, ‘perhaps it would be better to say continuity—of the Trinity’s members.’174 As noted, Eusebius firmly locates the oneness of God in the Father’s primacy, as the source of the Son and (by extension) Holy Spirit. ‘But God, being an indivisible (ἀδιαίρετος) monad (μονὰς), begot his only-begotten Son from himself (ἑαυτοῦ ἐγέννα), neither being divided nor undergoing alteration (οὐ διαιρούμενος οὐδ’ ἀλλοίωσιν).’175 Here, the Father is assigned the title of monad, as the cause of the Son’s generation—but, the begetting of the Son does not change the monad’s nature as one. There is no division or alteration. Likewise, ‘The former [namely, the Father] would still be the one and only God (θεὸς μόνος), the only one without source and unbegotten, the one who possesses the divinity as his own (θεότητα οἰκείαν κεκτημένος), and who has become the cause (αἴτιος) of being (εἶναι) and of being (εἶναι) in such a way for the Son himself.’176 This is afterwards supported with Jn 5:26, 6:57 and 20:17—passages discussing the Son’s dependence on the Father. The Father’s nature as source is foundational for his understanding of divine unity. But the one God also includes the Son on account of his participation in the Godhead by being Son. ‘Whereas the Father is Father and Lord and God even of the Son. Wherefore a reverent theology in our opinion rightly recurs to one Source (μίαν ἀρχήν) of being and to one God (ἕνα θεὸν).’177 While the Father and Son are distinct ὑποστάσεις, Eusebius appeals to the exact likeness of the Son to the Father, in both nature and number, to demonstrate this unity. So that a likeness is implied not only of the being (οὖσα) of the first, but also one of numerical (ἀριθμοῦ) quantity, for one perfect Being (ἑνὸς εἶναι) comes of the one (ἑνὸς) eternal light, and the first and only-begotten Issue was not different or many (οὐ διάφορα καὶ πολλά), and it is this very Being to Which, after the Being which had no origin or beginning, we give the

173 174 175 176 177

DE 4,3,9. Spoerl (1997), 34–35. ET 2,6,3. ET 1,11,1–3. DE 5,8,3.

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names of God, the Perfect, the Good: for the Son of a Father who is One must be also One (ἕνα γοῦν χρὴ ἑνὸς πατρὸς καὶ τὸν υἱὸν εἶναι).178 As the Father is the one God, and because the Son is like the Father in every way, he is also the one God. In this sense, the nature of ‘one’ is the Father’s, in which the Son shares. DelCogliano helpfully notes in this context, ‘Eusebius also stresses that the Father and Son are one because the Father is the unbegotten source and cause of the only-begotten Son—what is called derivational unity.’179 Thus, the Godhead is unified because the Son is derived from and participates in God’s oneness. Eusebius is able to continually dismiss the criticism that two ὑποστάσεις posits two Gods, on this thought. ‘It teaches one source and God (μίαν ἀρχὴν καὶ θεὸν) and that the same is Father of the only-begotten and beloved Son, just as it also teaches one image (μίαν εἰκόνα) of the “invisible God,” which is the same as his only-begotten and beloved Son.’180 Beeley comments on the unity of the Godhead in Eusebius: The Son shares fully in the Father’s divinity, possessing the same divinity and no other, so that there is only one God in both. Rather than diminishing the divinity or being of the Son, as is often assumed without warrant in Eusebius’s text, the Son’s derivation from the Father and his character as the image of God is precisely what causes him to be divine in the first place, sharing fully in the divinity of the Father, who is ‘the only true God.’181 The derivation of the Son (and thus his subordination to the Father) does not lower his ontological nature, then, but allows him to maintain full divinity. Focusing on God as one through the derivation of the Son and Spirit is, as Kevin Corrigan notes, a traditional way to answer this question of how God is one and three by identifying ‘the Father with the common οὐσία to which the Son belonged qua derivation.’182 A precedent found in Origen’s work: ‘There is also a certain particular working of God the Father (dei patris) … he bestowed upon all things so that they should by nature (naturaliter) exist.’183 The Father is the source who extends existence to all—including the Son and Holy Spirit. This is likewise, albeit in a qualified sense, found in two later writers, Athanasius and a Cappadocian (either Basil of Caesarea or Gregory of Nyssa, in Epistula 38). The former writes, ‘For the Father and the Son were not generated from some pre-existing origin, that we may account Them brothers, but the Father is the Origin of the Son and begot Him; and the Father is Father, and not born the Son of any; and the Son is Son, and not

178 DE 4,3,8–9; translation altered. 179 DelCogliano (2013), 280. 180 ET 2,23,1–2. 181 Beeley (2012), 71. 182 Corrigan (2008), 120. 183 Origen, De principiis 1,3,7; translation altered.

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brother.’184 Likewise, the Cappadocian later writes, ‘But God (ò . . . Θεός), Who is over all, alone has, as one special mark of His own hypostasis (ἑαυτοῦ ὑποστάσεως), His being Father (Πατὴρ), and His deriving His hypostasis from no cause (μηδεμιᾶς αἰτίας).’185 While this view is nuanced slightly by both of these theologians, the Father’s role as source is a common theological motif within the Origenist theological tradition, even after Eusebius’ lifetime.186 If God is one on the basis of the Father as source and the Son as the ‘exact imprint of his nature,’ it is exactly that which distinguishes the Father and Son that unites them. Well then, learn that because there is one (ἑνὸς) God who is without source and unbegotten, but the Son has been begotten from him, there will be one source and a single monarchy (μία ἔσται ἀρχὴ μοναρχία) and kingship, since even the Son himself acknowledges his Father as source (ἀρχὴν). ‘The head of Christ is God,’ according to the Apostle. But are you anxious that one might have to accept that there two gods (δύο θεοὺς) if you confess that there are two hypostases (δύο ὑποστάσεις) of Father and Son? But know this too: that the man who grants that there are two hypostases (δοὺς ὑποστάσεις) of Father and Son is not compelled to say there are two Fathers, nor that there are two Sons, but will grant that one is the Father (ἕνα πατέρα) and the other is the Son (ἕτερον υἱόν). Thus, in the same way, it is not necessary for the man who posits two to grant that there are two gods. For we neither deem them equally worthy of honor, nor both without source and unbegotten, but deem the one [hypostasis] as unbegotten and without source, while [we deem] the other as begotten and having the Father as his source.187 Here, Eusebius answers a Marcellan concern about arguing for multiple ὑποστάσεις in the Godhead: it posits two Gods. Eusebius seeks to demonstrate how the concept of the Father and Son avoids this pitfall, by simultaneously showing the oneness and plurality of God therein. In this passage, he posits a theology of the ‘one God’ while still maintaining the distinctions in the Godhead on the basis of the Father as Father and the Son as Son—there is one God (source), and thus one God. It is on these grounds that one need 184 Athanasius, Apologia contra Arianos 1,5,14. 185 Basil, Epistula 38,4. 186 For differences between Origen’s and Athanasius’ use of this theological claim, see: Meijering (1975). While discussing Gregory of Nyssa (who is the assumed author of Epistula 38, by these writers), Johannes Zachhuber argues the Cappadocians reject this aspect of the tradition, that being the notion of unity on the basis of relations, ‘For the Cappadocians, this solution had become untenable, or so at least I have argued elsewhere, on account of the slight, yet decisive, subordination that was bound up with it.’ Zachhuber (2005), 85. While there is merit to this, Richard Cross notes how Gregory of Nyssa clearly makes an exception in at least one place, even if he discusses this differently elsewhere. Cross (2002), 394. See also, on Gregory’s use of universals: Zachhuber (2000); (2001), 67–69, 78–81. 187 ET 2,7,2–3.

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not ‘accept that there are two gods.’ But, similarly, one cannot confuse the Father and Son on the basis of their relations—one is unbegotten and the other is begotten. Importantly, Marcellus is right to identify the danger in this position though—υποστάσις discourse can quickly lead into Arianism. That is, the relations in the Godhead naturally lead to a hierarchy of sorts without a common substance. While Eusebius is largely able to avoid this pitfall, by showing how the relation of Father and Son demonstrates their unity, he demonstrates a clear desire to show how the nature of the Father is superior, in the aforementioned pericope. In this sense, even if the Son is declared to be fully God, this system always has a proclivity to subordinationism. Finally, throughout his oeuvre, Eusebius seems to have an implicit or structural Trinitarianism in place, which maintains the tension of unified action and distinction in persons, as argued by Beeley.188 For instance, Eusebius writes of the tetragrammaton in connection to the Father and Son, using Ex 3:14: ‘Therefore, if the Father (πατὴρ) or the Son (υἱὸς) should say, “I am who am,” (“ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν”) the statement would be true (ἀληθεύοι) of each (ἑκατέρως).’189 While there is a distinction between Father and Son, they are both able to claim the title (and action) of Yahweh. Further, in a different statement which subtly demonstrates his Trinitarian thinking, Eusebius writes, ‘And He (Christ) has received the oil, not that prepared of material substances, but the oil of the divine Spirit as befits his divinity (ἀλλ’ αὐτὸ δὴ πνεύματι θείῳ τὸ θεοπρεπές), by His participation (μετοχῇ) in that divine nature (θεότητος) which is unbegotten and of the Father.’190 Here, the Son is anointed as God by the Holy Spirit, by participation in the divine nature of the Father. Thus, the pre-cosmic Christ or ‘anointed one,’ is a member of the Trinity in his anointing and nature—he ‘was always united to the Father (συγγενόμενον ἀεὶ τῷ πατρὶ).’191 This offers some insight into Eusebius’ pneumatology and the unity of God. As noted, Eusebius clearly thinks the Spirit comes forth from the Son.192 But how can the Spirit’s come forth through the Son, while the Son is anointed with divinity by the Spirit? There are several options to explain this: 1) The anointing of the Son is logically after his begetting (i.e. two different acts), thus the Spirit is already created during the anointing. In this case, the anointing would not be a bestowal of the Father’s divinity or the Son would not be able to create the Spirit. 2) Eusebius is inconsistent or has evolved in his thinking on this point, which may be evidenced by the lack of material for the ‘anointing’ conversation in his later work. 3) Eusebius does not hold as strongly to the temporal language, when speaking of the eternal acts of

188 189 190 191 192

Beeley (2012), 71. ET 2,20,15. HE 1,3,13; parenthesis added. DE 5,1,18. ET 3,6,1–2.

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begetting, anointing, etc., as once understood. In other words, the logical progression of the Son coming after the Father, and Spirit after the Son, does not necessarily have to be in tension with the Spirit’s bestowal of divinity onto the Son—they both happen outside of time. Thus, the anointing and begetting of the Son are feasibly allowed, if Eusebius is consistent on his thoughts on eternity. Considering his insistence that the anointing is of the Father’s divinity in HE and DE, and overall consistency on the unity of will in triune action, the final options seem most likely. So, while biblical personalism is primary in Eusebius’ understanding of the triune relations, they are consistently placed before time. In this sense, Eusebius is clearly no Arian—his subordinationism is qualified as an eternally derived one. Further, the action of the triune Godhead before time demonstrates their unity—they all participate as one in this anointing. In sum, Eusebius seeks to maintain the unity and plurality in the Godhead on the basis of relations, rather than substance—the Son and Holy Spirit are God in their derivation and likeness to the one God (the Father). Thus, the ὑποστάσεις of God simultaneously unifies and distinguishes the persons of the Trinity. But, despite this and his implicit Trinitarianism, his understanding does ultimately seem deficient. Take this statement from HE: ‘The whole temple he adorns with a single, mighty gateway, even the praise of the one and only God (ἑνὸς καὶ μόνου θεοῦ), the universal King: and on either side (παρ’ ἑκάτερα) of the Father’s sovereign power he provides the secondary beams (δευτέρας αὐγὰς) of the light of Christ and the Holy Spirit.’193 Eusebius’ system inevitably falls into this sentiment—the Son and Holy Spirit are identified with (and as) the one God, but always as secondary beams to be distinguished from the Father. Therefore, the Trinity is always an extension—or continuum—of divinity rather than a true unity. Granted, this seems to be on account of theological categories accessible to Eusebius in the early fourth century. As he is completely reliant on ‘relations’ in the Godhead, there are always separate persons to be related to. In other words, Eusebius struggles to maintain the coherency of God’s oneness without the category of substance. Despite this shortcoming of his theological system, Eusebius clearly cares to preserve God’s unity and a Trinitarian monotheism throughout his work.

Conclusion While Eusebius’ conceptions of the Trinity are, in some ways, unique from later writers, it is clear the Trinity is at the center of his theological vision and the core of his writings, especially CM and ET. The heart of his vision is predicated on biblical personalism, in which the Father’s nature as the unbegotten source is genuinely Trinitarian—he is foremost understood as Father. This 193 HE 10,4,65; translation altered.

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further qualifies the nature of the Son as Son. As he is derived from the one God, he is also God. While Eusebius’ use of participatory language and his derived subordinationism is surely problematic, dogmatically, one should not overlook the important steps Eusebius takes to protect the divine nature of the Son. He is uniquely the Son of God, as shown in his distinction between the Son’s begetting before time and the rest of creation (out of nothing), and as the exact likeness of the Father. The Spirit is an extension of this divine derivation, coming forth from the Son as the ‘third’. While Eusebius does less to protect the divinity of the Spirit (a common problem in the early and mid-fourth century), he does identify him with the triune Godhead regularly, arguing for his vital role there both in trinitarian relations and in the economy. Finally, the Father is also the source of the unity of the Godhead—because the Father is one, so is the Son who is derived from him. While Eusebius struggles to maintain a true unity on the basis of relations alone, he presents one of the most rigorous attempts to do so in the early church. In this sense, his thought demonstrates the diversity of Trinitarian thought in and around the famous council of 325: it can be read as a Nicene vision of the Trinity, insofar as Eusebius remains firmly within its theological boundaries and is committed to the scriptural language found therein for understanding the Godhead, particularly in the early fourth century. This is, perhaps, a more sophisticated way to say this simple argument: Eusebius is clearly in the theological (orthodox) mainstream in the early fourth century. But dogmatically, according to the unified and common nature of the Father and Son, he falls short principally in his subordinationism and use of participation language. In this sense, Eusebius is certainly orthodox in his historical context and, even if he is deficient in several ways according to the weight of tradition, his account of the inter-trinitarian relations in the Godhead is both rich and compelling.

Cosmological Son: God in Creation

‘Therefore, “there is one God” and “one mediator of God” for all creatures, the saving mediation beginning not now, but even before his divine appearance among men, as the statement thus showed.’1

After discussing Eusebius’ Trinitarian theology and exploring how the persons of the triune Godhead interact and relate, the next discussion of his theology naturally falls to cosmology—how God interacts with creation. This doctrine carries vital implications for Eusebius’ conceptions of the Son as mediator, who ‘stands midway (μέσος τε ἑστὼς) between the unbegotten God and the things after Him begotten.’2 By discussing Eusebius’ theological cosmology—the ordering of the universe in light of the nature of the Father, Son, and creation—his emphasis on the importance of the mediatorial role of the Son becomes clear. It is the Son who creates, who sustains, who acts in history, and most importantly, who intercedes between the Father and creation. His doctrine presents a unified vision of the Son as the agent of the Father, drawing from an array of biblical and philosophical sources to provide a rich account of how the world is created through the Son, as declared in Jn 1:3. This doctrine has been explored in modern scholarship by many. Three prominent works to specifically treat the subject in recent years are Holger Strutwolf ’s Die Trinitätstheologie und Christologie des Eusebius von Caesarea, Rebecca Lyman’s Christology and Cosmology, and Jon Robertson’s Christ as Mediator. In many ways, the latter two works sought to accomplish the same goal: to discuss early Christian cosmological models for the Son, particularly on how the Son mediates. Lyman and Robertson even use some of the same figures (Origen, Eusebius, Athanasius), to accomplish these ends. While the focus and patristic sparring partners are largely the same, they do support very different convictions and aims. Lyman’s work endeavors to push back against an overreading of platonic philosophy onto these figures, parsing out the important differences of thought in the Christian writers from their philosophical counterparts. Robertson largely avoids philosophical comparative work and seeks to place divine mediation at the heart of Nicaea and the Arian

1 CM 1,1,35–36. 2 DE 4,10,16.

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Controversy. Strutwolf ’s work, conversely, exhaustively addresses platonic influences and places Eusebius’ Logos theology in direct discussion with them.3 Despite discussing Eusebius cosmological framework impressively, none of these works have space to focus on his scriptural and biblical emphasis, thus presenting only half of the picture. This chapter seeks to discuss the biblical aspects of Eusebius’ cosmology, focusing again on biblical personalism and the diverse roles of mediator therein as a root of much of his thought. The treatment will begin with the apophatic essence of the Father, who is beyond all human conception. Second, the nature of creation will be discussed in contrast to the Father’s essence. Third, the cosmic mediatorial nature of the Son will be surveyed. This will include four aspects: the Son as image of the invisible God; the figure of the great high priest; New Testament language which speaks of divine activity through the Son, particularly from the Marcellan debate; and the manifested activity of the cosmic son in creation, providence, and the theophanies. In other words, this account will view Eusebius’ cosmic Christ as the divine mediator of the biblical narrative. In all of this, there is no dispute that Eusebius viewed the Son as a mediator—but how he thinks the Son mediates should be reviewed. In past assessments, as seen in Ricken, Eusebius’ cosmological theology has been viewed as an ontological one—that is, predicated on filling an ‘ontological’ gap between the Father and creation, as a step in the Platonic ascent to the One.4 But this assumes the Father is ineffable by nature and the Son finds his identity primarily in his mediatorial function. In other words, the Son is not truly himself without a created order to mediate for (between the Father). But does the Son need creation to be truly Son? Another interpretation predicated on ontological mediation is proposed by Robertson who argues Eusebius’ mediatorial scheme is deictic: the Son is not to be identified with the Father (although associated); he merely points to the First.5 If this is the case, how do we interpret Eusebius’ emphasis on the unity of the Father and Son and his insistence that the Son is to be worshipped as God?6 In discussing Eusebius’ cosmological scheme, it is important to parse out his interpretation of the Son’s cosmological role from the scriptures: how does the Son’s identity as image of the invisible God, great high priest, and creator, alter past assessments of Eusebius? Through this, we may better understand how Eusebius’ Christ mediates, particularly as the agent through whom the nature, power, and will of Father is revealed.

3 Strutwolf (1999), 187–94. 4 Ricken (1967), 350–54. 5 Robertson (2007), 56. 6 ET 2,10,5.

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The Unknowable Father Eusebius’ theological framework is founded upon an apophatic understanding of the Father—he is completely unknowable. ‘For He is an Essence beyond and above all, which can neither be described, comprehended, nor approached; and (which) dwells in the glorious light, to which nothing can be compared—as the Divine words declare.’7 Consequently, the Father is described in primarily negative terms, in what he is not, rather than what he is. This is, perhaps, best demonstrated by his heavy reliance on the term unbegotten—a negative modifier of begotten. Eusebius creates a system of stark contrast between the unbegotten Father and creation by emphasizing their origin: creation began in the Father, while the Father has no beginning. As a result, the Father could not be more different from creation for Eusebius. Or rather, more strongly, there can be no comparison with or comprehension of the Father. As noted in the previous chapter, the Father is the first God because he is prior to all else—thus, the Son is second insofar as he logically proceeds from the Father as his source. Eusebius extends this logic to the rest of creation, although with important qualifications. To make this point, Eusebius uses Jn 5:26, in which the Father has ‘life in himself.’8 The Father is the fountain from which all being flows: ‘Everything that has ever existed or now exists derives its being from the One (ἐξ ἑνὸς).’9 While there is an important qualitative difference between the generation of the Son of God and the creation of all else, which he makes with the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, all being is derived from the Father because of his unique nature nevertheless—the Father is the only being without source himself. Thus, Eusebius’ conception of the Father’s place and role in the ordering of the cosmos is predicated on his nature as unbegotten, or subsequently, as source. For Eusebius, the unbegotten one (ἀγένητον) must have a nature which is far greater than any human conception on account of their radically different natures. In a passage in LC, where Eusebius utilizes platonic and biblical language, Eusebius explains: For the One (Father) was ungenerated (ἀγέννητος), above and beyond (ἀνωτάτω τε καὶ ἐπέκεινα) the universe, beyond description, beyond understanding, unapproachable, living in unapproachable light (φῶς οἰκῶν ἀπρόσιτον), as the holy writings say, while the other (creation), brought forth from that which did not exist (ἡ δ’ ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων προβεβλημένη), stood the furthest apart and was completely isolated from ungenerated nature (ἀγεννήτου φύσεως).10

7 Theo 1,5. 8 ET 1,20,33. 9 DE 4,1,7. 10 LC 11,12.

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The unbegotten essence, in this quotation, is the primary means to distinguish between the Father and creation—the world was created from nothing, while the Father was uncreated. That is, the Father’s ungenerated nature is what makes Him unapproachable and unknowable to humanity. Importantly, divine nature itself is not ineffable—it is ungenerated nature which is unknowable to a generated world. In this sense, it would not be appropriate to deem the Godhead as ineffable, in Eusebius’ framework—only the Father. This becomes clear in his exegesis of 1 Tim 6:15–16, which says: ‘he who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords. It is he alone who has immortality and dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see.’11 Eusebius specifically identifies the Father as ‘the blessed and only Sovereign,’ which allows him to distinguish the cosmological roles of the Father and Son. The ‘one who is unapproachable and unfathomable (ἀπρόσιτος καὶ ἀχώρητος) to all would be the Father … the one (Father) was beyond (ἐπέκεινα) the universe and over all things, “dwelling in unapproachable light.”’12 Importantly, the Son is not ineffable or unknowable as he is the one ‘who is nearer (ἐγγίων) to all since indeed he governs (διακυβερνῶν) all things with the Father’s consent (νεύματι).’13 This point has been misread slightly in some modern Eusebian scholarship. Brian Daley, for example, writes, ‘God, in his primordial being, is beyond all perception and communication, and so can have no effective contact with creatures.’14 But an important caveat must be made, here: The Father dwells in unapproachable light, but is not himself unapproachable according to his nature. The mistake here, is to place the emphasis of unknowability on the Father as with the Middle Platonic ‘One’. Yes, Eusebius continually insists upon the unknowability of the Father, but he primarily accounts this to human’s inability to comprehend him rather than the innate nature of the divine. For instance, Eusebius writes on the generation of the Son, ‘He (the Son) was not cast forth (προβεβλημένον) from the being of the Father by separation, or scission, or division, but unspeakable and unthinkably to us (ἀρρήτως δὲ καὶ ἀνεπιλογίστως ἡμῖν) brought into being from all time (πρὸ πάντων αἰώνων).’15 In this formulation, Eusebius clarifies not only the unchanging nature of the Father, but also how knowledge of the Father (and the begetting of the Son) is unthinkable to us (ἡμῖν). The Father can be, and is, fully known—by the Son on account of his divine nature. Admittingly, there is no functional difference for humanity in this distinction, as they cannot know the Father whether he is unknowable in his being or unknowable to creation. But it is 11 This verse is foundational for Eusebius apophatic theology—this is particularly clear in his Marcellan polemics. For example: ET 1,20,8–9; ET 1,20,33; ET 1,20,69; ET 2,23,2. 12 ET 2,17,7. For brief discussion on this verse from 1 Timothy and the Father in Eusebius’ framework, see: Weber (1965), 30–31. 13 ET 2,17,7. 14 Daley (2018), 108; emphasis added. 15 DE 4,3,13; parenthesis added.

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an important theological distinction, particularly in the context of the Arian controversy. Arius thinks the Son cannot fully know the Father, as the rest of creation, because of the Father’s unknowable nature. ‘To put it briefly, God is inexpressible to the Son … for it is impossible to search out the mysteries of the Father, who exists in himself.’16 Eusebius distinguishes himself from the Arian position by placing the burden of ignorance on the shortcomings of humanity—God is only unknowable to us. Eusebius’ position is further evidenced by his Gospel exegesis where the Father (in his ὑπόστασις) is able to speak of and for himself, unlike the Neo-Platonic One. Thus, it is the deficiency of created beings which makes him unthinkable and unknowable—the unapproachability of the Father is primarily about creation’s defect, rather than God’s transcendence. Interestingly, Eusebius frequently discusses the apophatic nature of the Father from the starting point of the Son. Here, the words of Christ from Mt 11:27, ‘No one knows the Son except the Father,’ are foundational for his understanding of the Father throughout salvation history.17 For example, in CM he writes, ‘So the Savior himself would become a worthy interpreter (ἱεροφάντης) of these sacred mysteries for us (ἡμῖν), claiming … “(no one knows) the Father except the Son.”’18 While he does utilize biblical passages which speak of the Father in himself—invisible, above all, unapproachable19—he leans more heavily on passages where the Son is said to know or reveal the Father for his framework. In this sense, the relationship of Father and Son is on the fore when explaining the ineffable nature of the Father. Eusebius also utilizes language which speaks of the splendor, power, and glory of God—these attributes are part of why creation is unable to gaze upon the Father without mediation: ‘His being none can worthily comprehend (εἴ τις ἐπαξίως νοῆσαι τοῦτον δύναιτο); and the ineffable splendor of the glory which surrounds him repels (ἀπείργει) the gaze of every eye from his Divine majesty.’20 Eusebius’ emphasis here is on the unworthiness of all creation to gaze on the Father, in which our eyes are repelled. A startling example of the Father’s power in relation to creation is found in DE: Suppose, as the hypothesis of an argument, that the sun all-glowing came down from heaven and lived among men, it would be impossible for anything on earth to remain undestroyed (ἀδιάφορον), for everything alive and dead would be destroyed together by the rushing stroke of light … Why, then, are you surprised to learn the like about God (Whose work is the sun, and the whole heaven, and the Cosmos)? That it is impossible

16 Arius, Thalia, 30–35; translation from R. Williams (1987), 103. 17 See: ET 1,13,2. 18 CM 1,1,21. 19 See: Col 1:15; Rom 9:5; 1 Tim 6:16. 20 LC 1,1.

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for any that exist to have fellowship (μέτεστιν) in His unspeakable and inexplicable Power (δυνάμεώς) and Essence (οὐσίας) save for One alone.21 Here, the Father’s transcendent power is too glorious to be known—not unlike the seraphim hiding their faces22 or the utterance in the Pentateuch, ‘for no one may see me and live,’23 the splendor and glory of God is totally overwhelming. John Chrysostom uses similar exegesis to illustrate this aspect of God’s nature, when discussing the seraphim in Isaiah 6. ‘Why, tell me, do they stretch forth their wings and cover (καλύπτουσι) their faces? For what other reason than that they cannot endure (φέρειν) the sparkling flashes nor the lightning which shines from the throne? Yet they did not see the pure light itself (ἄκρατον ἑώρων τὸ φῶς) nor the pure essence (οὐσίαν) itself.’24 The glory of God is totally overwhelming for both Eusebius and Chrysostom. While we must avoid pushing the metaphor of the sun too far (in Eusebius’ thought), as the focus of the passage is on the Son’s mediatorial provision rather than the Father’s destructive capabilities, it does demonstrate how God is transcendent, largely on account of his overwhelming power. Therefore, Eusebius views the Father as the source of all creation insofar as he is unbegotten. As the first and only eternal being, all the world must flow forth from the Father’s will. ‘For, by His (the Father’s) will exists whatsoever does exist; and, had He not (so) willed, neither had it (so) existed.’25 He is unknowable to humanity on account of his unique nature and is too glorious to be comprehended from a weak creation. This ineffability is a qualified one though: first, only the Father is unknowable, and thus it is not a proper designation of the Godhead—a problem for a truly trinitarian theology. Second, this ineffability is on account of humanity’s nature, rather than the Father’s nature in itself. Thus, any unmediated creaturely attempt to discuss, describe, or contemplate the Father is impossible—the perfect and unbegotten nature of the Father is completely unknowable to creation without mediation.

The Weakness of Creation As Eusebius roots his theological system in the apophatic and transcendent Father as the source, his understanding of creation naturally follows. Eusebius’ 21 DE 4,6,4–6. The term ‘Μέτειμι’ literally translates as ‘to be concerned with’ or ‘deal with,’ according to Lampe (1961), 863. 22 Is 6:2. Eusebius writes on the Seraphim in this passage: ‘They did not cover the face of the Lord, but their own face, not daring to look (θεωρούμενον) directly into the vision that was before them, because “no one knows the Son except the Father who begot him.”’ CommIs 1,41; 6:2. 23 Ex 33:20; see: DE 5,11,2–3. Eusebius uses this to explain how Jacob did not see the Father, but the Son. 24 John Chrysostom, De incomprehensibili dei natura 3,15. 25 Theo 1,22.

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primary discussion about the nature of the created universe juxtaposes the Father and all else. ‘And it (creation) was greatly different, and very far removed, from the nature of (the Father’s) Essence.’26 The distance between the Father and creation is, of course, a qualitative one—Eusebius consistently argues for the Father’s incomparability, here and elsewhere. These qualitative comparisons place their respective natures at the fore, one being immutable, the other mutable, etc. In order to root these distinct natures, Eusebius utilizes the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. All being is different from God because it was created from nothing. While creation is good, it is mutable and subject to change—it is wholly other to God. This otherness prevents unmediated fellowship between creation and the Father in every functional sense. While the Father has an active role in creation, insofar as ‘in him we have our being,’ he is not the agent directly creating, sustaining, revealing. It is in the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo where Eusebius is able to speak of the ontological unity of the whole of creation: all creation is unified through common createdness. ‘The nature of generated things (γεγονότων φύσις), while different in corporeal and incorporeal things, animate and inanimate, rational and irrational, and mortal and immortal, was not capable of drawing near (πελάζειν) to God.’27 Generated things have a shared nature, despite their material and immaterial differences, which unifies them—at least in their inability to draw near to the Father. Eusebius accounts for this separation in their respective natures, created and uncreated: ‘but they were created from nothing (ἡ δ’ ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων), and are infinitely far removed (ἀπεσχοινισμένη) from his unbegotten Essence (ἀγεννήτου φύσεως).’28 So, the common ‘createdness’ of all beings other than God is the primary factor distinguishing and distancing them from the uncreated Father. Created nature, in being created, is mutable and mixed—in Eusebius’ framework, this means creation is inferior to the immutability and simplicity of God noted above. For the perishable material of the body (ῥευστὴν τῶν σωμάτων) and the nature (οὐσίαν) of so newly (ἄρτι) created reasoning beings could not approach (πελάζειν) the All-Ruling God because of the greatness of their inferiority to the higher Power (δι’ ὑπερβολὴν τῆς ἀπὸ τοῦ κρείττονος ἐλλείψεως) (for the One was ungenerated (ἀγέννητος)) … while the other, brought forth from that which did not exist (ἐξ οὐκ), stood furthest apart (πορρωτάτω τε διεστῶσα καὶ μακρὰν) and was completely isolated (ἀπεσχοινισμένη) from ungenerated nature (ἀγεννήτου φύσεως).29

26 27 28 29

Theo 1,5; parenthesis added. ET 1,13,1–4. LC 11,12. LC 11,11–12.

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The unapproachability of God is accounted for by the distinction in the particular natures of God and the world. The perfections of the Father are ascribed directly to the unbegotten nature, while the inability to approach him, directly to the created nature of the universe. Created beings, ‘fail (ἀπολειψομένης) of the highest power of the Father through the exceeding greatness of His nature (φύσεως) inexpressible and infinitely vast to all.’30 Importantly, these theological statements emphasize the deficiency of humanity—they are related to a creaturely point of view (negatively) rather than to the divine attributes (positively). This once again demonstrates the perfections of God do not prevent his knowability, in Eusebius’ framework, but creation’s failure to comprehend him on account of their weakness. In the same way that Eusebius discusses the biblical notions of the unknowability of the Father, he likewise (and with more difficulty) seeks to develop an understanding of natural theology from Rom 1:20. Despite the stark apophatic system presented, there must be some sense in which humanity can know God, or at least know of a divine being through reason. For instance, he speaks of the false worship of the sun, moon, and stars due to ignorance: But the angel-guardians and shepherds of the other races allowed them, inasmuch as they were not able with their mind to see the invisible (τοὺς μὴ οἵους τε νῷ τὸν ἀόρατον ἐποπτεύειν), nor to ascend (ἀναβαίνειν) so high through their own weakness (ἀσθένειαν), to worship things seen in the heavens, the sun and moon and stars. For these, indeed, being the most wonderful of the things of the phenomenal world, invited upwards the eyes of those who see (τὰς τῶν ὁρώντων ὄψεις ἀνεκαλεῖτο) and as near as possible to heaven, being as it were in the precincts of the King’s court, manifesting the glory of Him that is the Source (γενεσιουργοῦ) of all by the analogy (ἀναλόγως) of the vastness and beauty of created visible things. ‘For his invisible things,’ as the divine apostle says, ‘from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead.’31 Due to their corporeal nature, humans are unable to see the invisible and, as a result, they worship the most wonderful beings in the natural world. But this is understandable to some extent, for Eusebius, as creation manifests the glory of God as source, seen in the direct quotation of Rom 1:20 above. This is akin to Origen’s natural theology: ‘Now the blind see, when they see the world and from the exceeding great beauty of the things created they contemplate the Creator corresponding in greatness and beauty to them; and when they see clearly the invisible things of God Himself from the creation of the world, which are perceived through the things that are made.’32 This

30 DE 4,6,2. 31 DE 4,8,1–2. 32 Origen, Commentarium in evangelium Matthaei 11,18.

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theological understanding of the beauty of creation as a sign of natural theology is expanded to the order of the world when Eusebius discusses Is 40:12–14: ‘Then, because “from the greatness (μεγέθους) and beauty (καλλονῆς) of created things comes a corresponding perception of the creator (γενεσιουργὸς θεωρεῖται),” he rightly sees that things which appear large to us are small in comparison with the higher thing, summoning (προκαλούμενος) in one’s mind the one who orders (συστησαμένου) the entire universe.’33 Eusebius speaks of the order of creation as proof of a creator, a specific manifestation of the glory of God. In sum, he posits a simple natural theology utilizing Rom 1:20 and Wis 13:5—matter points to the greatness of its maker, creation to its ordering creator—despite his apophaticism.34 Interestingly, he does speak of an apprehension of God through rational thought several times, even though natural theology is a rare occurrence within the Eusebian corpus: Hence the natural and instinctive reasoning (φύσιν αὐτομαθεῖς λογισμοί) powers in all (ἅπασιν) men, alike Greek and barbarian; Hence the concepts of Reason and Wisdom (λόγου καὶ σοφίας); hence the seeds of Prudence and Justice; hence apprehension of skills; the training of philosophy; hence knowledge of all goodness and beauty; hence the ability to conceive of God’s appearance (αὐτοῦ φαντασία θεοῦ), and a life worthy of God’s 33 CommIs 2,18; 40:12–14. 34 A natural theology founded on Rom 1:20 and Wis 13:5 is certainly not unique in the patristic period, although Eusebius does provide a nuanced approach within the tradition. Mark Elliott helpfully traces the theological use of these texts in writers across both the Latin and Greek traditions, noting their divergent exegesis. Within the Greek tradition, Elliot writes for Origen, how ‘the hidden things of creation … powerfully effect a distinct and clear knowledge of God.’ Elliott (2013), 12; See: Origen, Commentarium in evangelium Matthaei 11,18. Later, Cyril of Jerusalem clarifies that one is not able to see God, but is able to know his divine power from creation—one is able to get a better perception of God, but only proportionally by analogy. Cyril, Procatechesis 9,2. Didymus seems to have one of the most confident understandings of natural theology, in which humans are quite able to know God, while Theodoret disallows ‘seeing’ God at all through nature. Rather, he leans on the order of creation to show there must be a great God arranging it. Didymus, Commentarii in Psalmos 30,25; Theodoret, Graecarum affectionum curatio 3,16–17. Elliott concludes, ‘As one works from Origen to Theodoret through a number of church fathers, there seems to be a move from “power” to “glory” then to “order” as that which plays a kind of mediating role in conveying something of God to human knowledge.’ Elliott (2013), 16. Eusebius seems to be more agnostic about the knowledge of God gained through creation than Origen and Didymus, but allows more space than Cyril and Theodoret. Further, he emphasizes the power of God, as noted by Elliott, but also leans on order as a demonstration of the Father’s power. Thus, Eusebius writes, ‘And he demonstrates that he alone is God through the works (ἔργον) he performs in this universe. For if the world is one (εἷς) and its nature (συμφυὴς) is everywhere consistent, then the maker (δημιουργός) of this world should also be one (εἷς). For “from the greatness and beauty of created things comes a perception of the creator’ of all things.”’ CommIs 2,26; 44:7–11. Here, the order of the world as ‘one’ reveals that its creator should also be one. Thus, he sits between Origen and Theodoret in his balance of power and order, and the confidence in which God can be understood through nature.

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service (θεοσεβείας); hence man’s regal force and irresistible sway over everything on earth.35 Here, Eusebius seems to posit some sort of innate power of thought which admits for the apprehension of God, along with other forms of knowledge and understanding. In fact, this is the only matter in which humans can agree on, ‘Yes, even the entire species of mankind in general, people divided in their opinions on other matters, agree on this alone, calling on the One and Only God with an inbred logic (λογισμοῖς ἐμφύτοις), a self-taught and self-learned knowledge (αὐτομαθέσι τε καὶ αὐτοδιδάκτοις ἐννοίαις).’36 Similarly, in ET, he argues the ‘mystery, which was hidden for ages and generations’ from Col 1:26, is Christ—not a creator God. This is because ‘nature (φύσις) without the need of a teacher (αὐτοδίδακτος) compels every human being to confess these things about God.’37 It seems God is directly knowable, not just his glory. These quotations should be examined according to their context and the rest of Eusebius’ corpus, though. First, in the first LC quotation, he is quick to move from the apprehension of God himself to human matters, without discussing the implications for natural theology—this seems to be a small part of a larger list. Second, the LC passages are strongly platonic, atypical even for Eusebius, in light of his audience.38 He does not speak of it as strongly, for example, in the pericope from ET. Third, he is opposed to the concept of ‘self-taught’ (αὐτομαθεῖς) knowledge of God elsewhere.39 This passage, from PE, may prove illuminating: By nature and by our self-taught ideas (φύσει μὲν οὖν καὶ αὐτοδιδάκτοις ἐννοίαις), or rather ideas taught by God (θεοδιδάκτοις), there is a something noble and salutary that indicates the name and being of God: for all men had taken this for granted in their common reasonings (κοινοῖς λογισμοῖς), since the Creator of all things had implanted (ὑποσπείραντος) this conviction by innate ideas in every rational and intelligent soul.40 Eusebius seems to say that self-taught ideas are ideas taught by God, insofar as God placed them in human nature to reason in the first place. Humanity does not need a teacher for natural conceptions of God because they were

LC 4,2; emphasis added; translation altered. LC 1,3. ET 1,20,93; emphasis added. Eusebius uses αὐτοδίδακτος rather than αὐτομαθεῖς here. In the quotation from LC 4, quoted above, Eusebius is spelling out the ‘hierarchy of mystic virtues,’ which would be familiar to the non-Christian elite present at the address. Noted in Drake’s translation: Drake (1975), 161, fn. 6. 39 For instance, Eusebius uses the same word in DE to argue no teacher is self-taught, unless they are divine (while arguing for the divinity of Christ). DE 3,6,27; He also writes, in GEI, ‘οὐδαμῶς ὑπ’ ἀνθρωπίνης διδασκαλίας ἐπὶ τὸ γινώσκειν τὸν Κύριον παραγινομένους, αὐτομαθεῖς δ’ ὥσπερ, μᾶλλον δὲ θεοδιδάκτους ἐσομένους, ὃ καὶ αὐτὸ καταμάθοι ἄν τις κατὰ τὸν παρόντα καιρὸν πληρούμενον.’ GEI 141. He likewise rejects this in GEI Fragmenta 472. 40 PE 2,6,11–12; emphasis added. 35 36 37 38

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implanted in the act of creation itself. So, in a sense, they are taught by God as they are derived from him as a source, but self-taught in not needing direct revelation to acquire it. This may be akin to Eusebius’ odd statement about creatio ex nihilo discussed in the previous chapter.41 Eusebius is drawing out the ultimate source of our knowledge of God—Himself. Thus, even in (rare) occurrences when Eusebius discusses natural theology, it is predicated on the nature of the Father as the source of all being, even if the Father is not revealed without mediation. In other words, the natural apprehension of God is wholly qualified by the transcendent nature of the Father.

The Mediating Son Thus far, it seems the nature of the unbegotten Father and the created universe are fundamentally at odds in Eusebius’ framework: they cannot have fellowship with one another. Typically, the next step taken by Eusebian scholars is to focus on the ontological question: How do two ontologically incompatible and incommunicable natures—creation and the apophatic Father—meet? The answer is the Logos. Jon Robertson notes, ‘The Logos is the intervening being or “intermediary” between God and the world, which can have fellowship with both sides, acting as a sort of great “interface” between the two otherwise incompatible extremes.’42 On the basis of this sort of question, Neoplatonic comparisons and discussions of Word as the World-Soul naturally surface. But in this attempt to reconsider Eusebius, it seems appropriate to primarily discuss biblical images for mediation. Thus, Eusebius’ discussion of Christ’s role as the image of God, the great high priest, and passages which guide his reading of Christ’s cosmic, theophanic, and incarnate activity will be discussed. In this, Eusebius demonstrates an understanding of divine mediation which is diverse and multifaceted, reflecting the activity of the God in the biblical narrative. Image of the Invisible God

As noted, the Father is not ineffable in himself; creation is simply too weak to comprehend or see him. For the Father to be visible, creation needs a mediator—or rather, an image of this invisible God. Eusebius utilizes this title from Col 1:15 in two ways throughout his work: 1) To demonstrate the exact likeness of the Son to the Father, which maintains their unity while simultaneously distinguishing them (discussed in the previous chapter);43 2) to display how creation can know and see the one who is unknowable. As

41 See: pg. 36-7. 42 Robertson (2007), 45. 43 See: pg. 54-5.

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Weber writes, the inaccessible Father becomes, ‘zugänglich, erkennbar und fassbar’ through the Son as image.44 For Eusebius, the Son ‘completely preserves the living and vivid spiritual image (εἰκόνα) of the One God, being made (παρωμοιωμένην) in all things like the Father, and bearing the likeness of his actual divinity (τῆς θεότητός τε αὐτῆς τὴν ὁμοίωσιν ἐπιφερομένην).’45 That is to say, he is an exact image of the Father’s divine nature. DelCogliano details the nuanced interpretations of the Son’s nature as image in several members of the Eusebian party, which clarifies this point. In his argument, Arius and Asterius the Sophist have a ‘participative’ approach for this title, in which the Son permanently participates in God’s essence to maintain the image. Conversely, Eusebius and Acacius hold a ‘constitutive’ approach in which the Son’s essence is the manifestation of the Father’s divinity, and thus he is the image. He ‘bears the utmost accuracy of likeness to the Father in his own essence, not because he participates in these attributes of the Father through grace.’46 Thus, the Son eternally reflects the attributes of the Father: power, glory, etc., because he is ontologically constituted as these attributes in his essence. This is the crux of Eusebius’ disagreement with Marcellus’ interpretation of Col 1:15. Marcellus denies the title ‘image’ for the Son before the incarnation: ‘Therefore, it is absolutely clear that before the assumption of our body (σώματος ἀναλήψεως) the Word in and of himself was not “image of the invisible God.” For it is natural for the image to be seen (ὁρᾶσθαι προσήκει), so that through the image that which has hitherto been invisible might be seen.’47 For Marcellus, an image must be visible itself to be image, and thus it is not part of the Word’s eternal (invisible) nature. But this denies that the Son’s constituted nature is the manifestation of God’s attributes, the exact likeness to the Father’s being, for Eusebius. If the Son becomes the image in the economy, he is not eternally the exact likeness of his being. The Son, therefore, must be the image of God from eternity and in history. If the content of the image is the likeness of the Father’s divine nature, creation is recognizing (γνωριζόμενος) the Father himself, in gazing on the Son. ‘For if “there is one God, and no other besides him,” he (the Father) would be the one who is also recognized (γνωριζόμενος) through the Son as through an image (ὡς δι’ εἰκόνος).’48 In this sense, this title holds great mediatorial potential for Eusebius as the Son is the only means to make the Father recognizable and accessible. This is seen in another passage in ET, ‘And his (the king’s) word, having been begotten from [his] innermost chambers (ἀδύτων μυχῶν γεγεννημένος) as from a father, is made known (καθίσταται

44 Weber (1965), 95. 45 DE 5,4,12. 46 DelCogliano (2006), 473. 47 Marcellus, Fragmenta 53; see: CM 2,3,23. 48 ET 1,20,73; parenthesis added.

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γνώριμος) to all outside. Therefore, they may partake of the benefit of the word, but no one ever knows (οὐδεὶς πώποτε εἶδεν) the unseen and invisible mind, which indeed is the father of the word.’49 While Eusebius notes that the Father is not fully seen or revealed to humanity, as an image is not the being itself, he does become visible or manifested through the Son. People can recognize and benefit from the king in this illustration, even if they do not see him directly. Eusebius frequently utilizes the metaphor of a king and his likeness, such as an imperial statue, when discussing this aspect of his image theology. For as the image of a king (βασιλέως εἰκὼν) would be honoured for the sake of him whose lineaments and likeness it bears (ὁμοίωσιν φέρει) (and though both the image and the king received honour (τιμωμένης δὲ τῆς εἰκόνος καὶ τοῦ βασιλέως αὐτοῦ), one person (εἷς) would be honoured, and not two (οὐ δύο); for there would not be two kings, the first the true one, and the one represented by the image, but one in both forms (εἷς δ’ ὁ κατ’ ἀμφοτέρων), not only conceived of, but named and honoured (ὀνομαζόμενος καὶ τιμώμενος)), so I say the Only-Begotten Son, being the only image of the Unseen God (εἰκὼν ὢν μόνος τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ ἀοράτου), is rightly called the image of the Unseen God.50 We are given a description of how Eusebius’ image theology functions, here—while there are two forms, in the image and person imaged, there is one person honored. Eusebius sees a (derivative) unity between the person and the image insofar as the image shares in the name and honor of the person, but they cannot be confused, making his image theology consistent with his understanding of the Son’s derived (and subordinate) nature. This theology is likewise seen in Origen, who compares this image to that of Adam and Seth in Gen 5:3, ‘This image (imago) preserves the unity (unitatem) of nature (naturae) and substance (substantiae) of a father and of a son.’51 In this sense, if humankind can see the image of God through the Son, they are surely seeing God. Likewise, in the pericope which utilizes the metaphor of the destructive power of the Sun coming to earth, quoted above, Eusebius writes of creation’s ability to see the ‘Sun’ (Father) through the mediation of the Son: ‘They (creation) might behold the flashings of the sun falling quietly and gently on them, though they are not able (δυνάμεως) to delight in the fierce might of the sun because of their bodily weakness (σώματος ἀσθένειαν).’52 Creation is able to see the power of the Father through the Son, even if they would not be able to withstand the glory and power of the Father himself. This

49 ET 2,17,4–6; parenthesis added. 50 DE 5,4,10. 51 Origen, De principiis 1,2,6. 52 DE 4,6,3.

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metaphor, again, emphasizes an attribute of God—his power—becoming approachable through the Son. Eusebius summarizes this point well at the close of ET: For as also the one who has seen the king’s image (βασιλικὴν εἰκόνα) that has been made like him (ἀφωμοιωμένην) to the most accurate degree, receiving an impression (τεθεαμένος) of the contours of the form through the drawing, imagines the king, in the same way, or rather in a way beyond all reason and beyond any image, the one who with a mind made clear … by the Holy Spirit … will also see the Father himself (αὐτὸν) through the Son, as he is seen by those who have been cleansed in their mind.53 Eusebius is quite clear that the Father is perceived through the Son because he alone is the image of God, alongside the other biblical attributions for the Son. While the Father is not fully revealed, insofar as one can only ‘receive an impression (τεθεαμένος)’ and imagine him, as from a drawing, he is surely seen (ὄψεται) through the Son and the illumination of the Holy Spirit. The Son is making the Father knowable and visible to a weak and deficient creation through his unified nature with the Father as his exact imprint. Therefore, part of Eusebius’ mediatorial scheme is a revelatory one—the image makes the person imaged visible. The Anointed One: The Priest-King of Hebrews

In the New Testament, there are a number of ways to speak of the second person of the Trinity mediating between God and the world. One of the most striking is Christ as the great high priest. Heb 4:14 says, ‘Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession.’ Interestingly, Eusebius does not view this role as something arising from his incarnate life—Christ has been our high priest from all time. ‘Christ neither entered on His priesthood in time (ἀπὸ χρόνου), nor sprang from the priestly tribe, nor was anointed (κέχριστο) with prepared and outward oil (σκευαστοῦ καὶ σωματικοῦ ἐλαίου), nor will ever reach the end of His priesthood.’54 In other words, the Son’s mediatorial role is an aspect of his eternal nature as the Son. Importantly, this role is not confined to sacrificial propitiation of sin but includes creative and kingly functions as well—it is born out of Eusebius’ understanding of the name of Christ, the anointed One.55 Perhaps it is best to draw out Eusebius’ understanding of this role from his extended discussion in DE 4,15. He begins by explicating the nature of anointed priests in the Old Testament. While all priests are anointed with outward oil,

53 ET 3,21,1. 54 DE 5,3,17; emphasis added. 55 For discussion, see: Weber (1965), 59–69.

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or myrrh, true high priests are also anointed by God with ‘purity, justice, and all holiness.’56 That is to say, the high priest is anointed by the Holy Spirit: It was that Moses had seen by the help of the Divine Spirit (πνεύματι θείῳ τεθεαμένος), when he established figures and symbols (εἰκόνας καὶ σύμβολα) of Him (Christ), as suitable for men, anointing (χρίων) and hallowing (σκευαστῷ) the priest selected from among men with prepared (σκευαστῷ) unguents as yet, and not with the Holy Spirit, and calling him Christ (χριστόν) and anointed (ἠλειμμένον), as a representation of the True (ἀναφορὰν τοῦ ἀληθοῦς).57 First, Moses here is described as ‘Christ and anointed,’ a ‘representation of the True.’ This is on account of his anointing by the Holy Spirit, in the same fashion as the Son of God who is the True (ἀληθοῦς) Christ. In other words, Moses is given this title because he is an anointed one. But, in the anointing of the priests to follow, Moses is only able to use outward prepared (σκευαστῷ) unguents—not a divine anointing given by the Father through the Holy Spirit. ‘So far, then, we have learned that they who are called “Christs” (χριστοὺς) in the highest sense of the term are anointed by God (ὑπὸ θεοῦ), not by men, and with the Holy Spirit, not with a prepared (σκευαστῷ) unguent.’58 This allows Eusebius to title specific Old Testament prophets, kings, and priests, who have been given the divine Spirit, ‘Christs’.59 These individuals have traditionally been understood as prefiguring Jesus Christ in some sense—at least the New Testament writers seem to fashion him as such, particularly the author of Hebrews for his priestly role in the order of Melchizedek.60 Remarkably, Eusebius seems to reverse this completely. It is the anointed ones of the Old Testament who are fashioned in the likeness of the eternal high priest. Eusebius writes, ‘So then, he introduces (Moses) the High Priest, as he did all the other elements, and anointed him with earthborn unguents (μύρῳ γεώδει), working out a Christ and a High Priest of shadow and symbol (σκιώδη καὶ εἰκονικὸν), a copy (ἀντίμιμον) of the Heavenly Christ and High Priest.’61 Thus, those humans anointed by the Spirit are fashioned in the likeness of the true anointed one. While parsing out the content of this anointing, Eusebius mixes the classical christological metaphor of the Son being the fragrance of the Father’s essence and his anointing. Thus, in one passage, he assigns the title ‘oil’ to both the Father and Holy Spirit, and two different titles for the Son—the ‘anointed

DE 4,15,9. DE 4,15,44. DE 4,15,32. Eusebius notes this specifically for Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, David, Isaiah, and Melchizedek in this passage. 60 Heb 7:1–28. 61 DE 4,15,46; parenthesis added. 56 57 58 59

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one’ and the ‘fragrance’ of the oil.62 It seems when he is specifically referring to the anointing (rather than the christological metaphor), the Father is the ‘anointing one,’ the Spirit is the ‘oil,’ and the Son is the ‘anointed.’63 Further, this anointing, while metaphorically distinct, is essentially conflated with his eternal begetting. In other words, the Son is not anointed for a task, but as divine Son—it pertains to his eternal identity, not something he will do. When discussing Is 61:1, he writes, ‘For here again the prophet teaches that the Christ has been anointed not with a prepared unguent (οὐ σκευαστῷ μύρῳ), but with the spiritual and divine anointing of His Father’s Divinity (πατρικῆς θεότητος νοητῷ καὶ θεοπρεπεῖ χριστὸν γεγεν[ν]ῆσθαι), conferred not by man but by the Father.’64 Later, he writes: But the Christ, archetypal, and real from the beginning (ἀληθὴς ἀρχῆθεν), and for infinite ages (ἄπειρον αἰῶνα) whole through the whole, and Himself ever anointed by the Supreme God, with his unbegotten Divinity (ἀγενεῖ θεότητι κεχρισμένος), both before His sojourn among men, and after it likewise, not by man or by any material substance existing among men.65 This eternal anointing serves as another metaphor for the bestowal of divinity on, or the generation of, the Son. This, perhaps, clarifies why the pre-cosmic function of the great high priest is not discussed in Eusebius’ work—his understanding emphasizes the anointing (and therefore ‘title’) of the Son, rather than his function before creation. Some comparison between Eusebius’ discussion of the begetting and anointing of the Son is relevant here. In HE, Eusebius states: ‘And he has received (ἀπειλήφει) the chrism, not that which is prepared materially (σωμάτων σκευαστόν) but the divine anointing itself with the Spirit of God, by sharing in the unbegotten divinity of the Father (μετοχῇ τῆς ἀγεννήτου καὶ πατρικῆς θεότητος).’66 This statement is comparable to assertions about the Son sharing in the divinity of the Father through his generation. ‘According to this [generation from God] the fullness of the paternal divinity (πατρικῆς θεότητος) also made (ὑπεστήσατο) him, the Son, God, and so as a result he possesses a divinity that is not his own (ἰδιόκτητον) … he is filled with divinity by participating in the paternal [divinity] (πατρικῆς μετουσίας) itself, which pours into him as from a fountain (πηγῆς).’67 The

62 DE 4,15,16. 63 The Holy Spirit’s role as the oil, is further clarified by the anointing of the prophets in the OT and the church’s current state. The members of the church are anointed in the kingdom as ‘Christs’ now. See: DE 4,16,40–41, 45–46; ET 3,15,8. Although, this is not a developed aspect of this theology—Eusebius only mentions this in passing. 64 DE 4,15,29. 65 DE 4,16,59; see also: DE 9,10,4. 66 HE 1,3,13–15; parenthesis added. The Loeb translation, which is more precise in its wording than the Lawlor and Oulton’s translation (in this passage), is used here. Lake (1926), 37. 67 ET 1,2,1.

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similarities are clear: The Son (anointed one) shares in the divinity of the Father as his source, by the Father’s will and his participation—Eusebius’ derived subordinationism informs his cosmological theology. The primary distinction, it seems, between the two metaphors (generation and anointing) is the role of the Holy Spirit—in the Son’s begetting, only the Father’s will and role are apparent. Perhaps this is because of the personal relationship associated with the titles ‘father’ and ‘son’; the Spirit has no natural place in begetting language. But in the anointing metaphor, there is space for a Trinitarian formulation with the active role of all three persons—the anointer, anointed, and oil.68 Thus, the anointing of Christ is not so much for a specific task, such as kingship or priestly duties, but as Son. This is clarified in Eusebius’ thought when linked to the economic anointing of Jesus Christ, whether in his baptism69 or at Bethany70—or, more precisely, the general lack of connection.71 Eusebius only draws out the implications for the economic anointing in Christ’s baptism, in perhaps the last place one would have thought—when discussing Is 61:1–3, in his commentary. The reason this is odd is his continual utilization of this passage in DE to refer to the eternal anointing of Christ, or its prophetic fulfillment by Jesus in Luke 4.72 He notes on the descending of the Holy Spirit at baptism in CommIs, ‘Here, the anointing receives a special (ἐξαίρετος) honor above all others because it comes from the Holy Spirit, and our Savior is revealed to be the only-begotten Christ of God.’73 But this passage, which speaks of the economic anointing of Christ, is consistent with the eternal role of Christ as mediator. The anointing, here, is revelatory—it discloses who the Son already is, rather than anointing him for a task which was not found in the eternal state. Therefore, it seems the eternal anointing of Christ by the Spirit is the appointment of his divinity. As the true high priest, the Son is the only one who holds the priestly right to approach the Father. ‘So also in the designated heavenly city and chosen place of holiness, it is accessible to no one except “only the high priest”—clearly the Son of God. And it is his right alone (μόνῳ θέμις) to approach the divinity of the Father (τοῦ πατρὸς πελάζειν θεότητι) and to enter (διαβαίνει) the bosom (κόλπους) of the Father.’74 While earthly high priests are able to go before God for the people of Israel, the eternal high priest is the only one with access to

68 69 70 71

Beeley notes this passage’s important Trinitarian function: Beeley (2012), 72. Mt 3:16–17; Mk 1:10–11; Lk 3:22; Jn 1:32–34. Mt 26:6–13; Mk 14:3–9; Lk 7:36–50; Jn 12:1–8. When discussing the baptism of the incarnate Christ, Eusebius typically connects it to the sacrament of the church with a salvific emphasis. See: DE 9,6,9–10; CommIs 2,16; 40:3. 72 For this scriptural passage in relation to eternal anointing: see DE 8,2,42; DE 9,10,4. In connection to Christ’s fulfillment of this passage in Luke, see: DE 3,1,1–2. 73 CommIs 2,51; 61:1–3. 74 CommIs 2,58; 66:23; translation altered.

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the presence of the Father—the Son alone can approach the unbegotten One. The most important similarities with Origen’s discussion of the great high priest are found here. Origen is not explicit about when Christ becomes the great high priest but does note the mediatorial application of this title when speaking of the prophet’s knowledge of God. For as these (the prophets) have their faith well ordered who approach the God of the universe through Mediator (μεσίτου) and High-Priest (ἀρχιερέως) and Paraclete, and as his religion is a halting one who does not go in through the door (θύρας) to the Father, so also in the case of men of old time. Their religion was sanctified and made acceptable to God by their knowledge (νοήσει) and faith (πίστει) and expectation (προσδοκίᾳ) of Christ.75 There is no true knowledge of the Father without mediation—whether through Christ or the Holy Spirit. In this sense, the role as high priest for Eusebius and Origen is about accessibility to the Father, especially in prayer. Unfortunately, Eusebius does not frequently detail the nature of Christ’s priestly mediation before the incarnation. But in DE, there seems to be a brief hint: But insofar as it is inclusive of many ideas of the same (the divine ‘simple’ oil), i.e. the creative and kingly (ποιητικῆς καὶ βασιλικῆς), the conceptions of providence (προνοητικῆς), judgement (κριτικῆς), and countless others, such power as inclusive of many qualities is more suitable likened to the unguent, which the holy Scriptures teach us that the true and only High Priest of God uses.76 In this discussion, the high priest of God has many of the attributes of the Father. That is, he is ‘creative’ (ποιητικῆς) and ‘kingly’ (βασιλικῆς) in his role as high priest, which manifests itself in the guidance of creation. This is reflected later in a pericope which distinguishes the way humanity knows the Son, in his divine and human natures. ‘As Divine we recognize Him as … the Great Eternal High Priest, offering sacrifice for the existence and preservation of all (τῶν γεννητῶν ἁπάντων οὐσιώσεώς τε καὶ σωτηρίας ἱερωμένος), and propitiating the Father (ἱλεούμενος τὸν πατέρα).’77 It is interesting that Eusebius describes this role as ‘offering sacrifice for the existence and preservation of all,’ and ‘propitiating the Father,’ here. Propitiation is a clear priestly responsibility, in Hebrews and other places. But mediating for the ‘existence and preservation’ of the universe is not traditionally applied to this role. This seems to amount 75 Origen, Commentarii in evangelium Joannis 2,28. For brief discussion of Origen’s use of the high priest, see Rowan Greer’s work. He argues Origen’s interpretation is a precursor to ‘Arian’ exegesis of the eternal high priest, for which he cites Eusebius of Caesarea as the sole example. Greer (1973), 58–60; 94, fn. 77. 76 DE 4,15,16; parenthesis added. 77 DE 10,proem,3.

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to a priestly role which includes much more than the propitiation of sin—he mediates through his creating and guiding of all things. This is mirrored in Eusebius’ exegesis of scriptural passages when describing Christ’s role as high priest. His primary passage in drawing out Christ’s anointing is a royal one, Ps 45:6–7 LXX—an exegetical move borrowed from the author of Hebrews who quotes this passage in Heb 1:8–9. ‘Your throne, O God, endures forever and ever. Your royal scepter is a scepter of equity … Therefore God, your God, has anointed (ἔχρισέν) you with the oil of gladness (ἔλαιον ἀγαλλιάσεως) beyond your companions.’78 Similarly, he leans heavily on Ps 109:1–4 LXX, ‘The Lord says to my lord, “Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies your footstool.” The Lord sends out from Zion your mighty scepter. Rule in the midst of your foes … “You are a priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek (σὺ ἱερεὺς εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα κατὰ τὴν τάξιν Μελχισεδέκ).”’79 In both of these passages, the throne of God is apparent—the Son participates in the provision of creation through his role as the anointed, royal priest. In light of these passages, it is clear the kingly function found in Melchizedek’s role is of vital importance for Eusebius’ understanding of the priest. Notably, he is not only priest, but king. A point of some importance, although one from absence, is Eusebius’ conspicuous lack of discussion about sin, or Christ’s sacrifice, in his discussion of the great high priest. Granted, Eusebius does still allow space for these other priestly functions, even if not discussed as frequently. ‘Christ is certainly both the eternal High Priest of the Father (ἀρχιερεὺς Πατρός), conveying up our prayers to him, as well as being the King (βασιλεὺς) over all the universe, shepherding in the Spirit those whom he has freed, and being a partner in the government of the whole.’80 In this sense, he is able to intercede for humanity, as noted in Heb 7:25, while shepherding them. Further, as will be seen in the following chapter, sacrifice is an important facet of Eusebius’ soteriology, but primarily when speaking of the cross, rather than Christ’s role as priest. Nevertheless, it does seem somewhat problematic that Eusebius’ great high priest is rarely given the responsibilities associated with the priesthood, as discussed in Hebrews. Perhaps this is because Eusebius makes this an eternal role. If the Son is priest before creation and humanity’s descent into sin, he must be anointed for another reason (with divinity) and hold unique responsibilities (such as creative king) than is often assigned to the priesthood. In sum, Eusebius draws from scriptural language from Hebrews to show how the great high priest is a kingly and creative role—Christ creates the world and shepherds it for the Father as the anointed one.

78 Greek from Eusebius: DE 4,15,15. 79 Greek from Eusebius: DE 4,15,33. 80 GQS adSt 4.

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The Marcellan Debate: Δια and the Cosmological Role of the Son in the New Testament

Another important aspect for Eusebius’ understanding of the mediatorial function of the Son is the consistent attribution of the Father’s activity through him, which is derived from passages such as Jn 1:3: ‘All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.’ This, along with a number of other similar references, demarcate much of the mediatorial nature of the Son. The nature of this cosmic mediation is clearest in his polemic against Marcellus—both Marcellus and Eusebius have strong mediatorial schemes, but the nature of said mediation is fundamentally different. In (perhaps overly-) simplified terms, Marcellus thinks the Logos is divine mediation, while Eusebius views the Logos as divine mediator. In other words, the former views the Word as the activity of the Monad himself, while the latter views the Word as a divine agent of the Father in creation. First, it is important to note how Marcellus describes the mediation of the Word. Marcellus continually emphasizes the oneness of God in his work, which dictates his understanding of the nature of the Father and the Word. In his trinitarian theology, there is no difference between the two (either in οὐσία, ὑπόστασις, or πρόσωπον)—so much so that Marcellus seems unwilling to call the second person of the Trinity ‘Son’ before the incarnation. This becomes apparent in his critique of Asterius and other theologians with Eusebian affinities, ‘But when, failing to grasp the divine meaning, he (Asterius) tells us in a more human sense through a certain contrived theory that the Father is Father (τόν τε πατέρα πατέρα) and the Son Son (τὸν υἱὸν υἱόν).’81 Again, he writes, ‘Therefore Asterius, wishing to defend Eusebius (who wrote so badly), himself became his own accuser, having made mention of both “the nature of the Father (φύσεώς τε πατρὸς) and the nature of the Begotten (καὶ φύσεως γεννητοῦ).”’82 For Marcellus, it is clearly improper to speak of different natures (φύσεως) between the Father and Son. The force behind this critique is that it denies monotheism—to posit two different natures, is to deny a monotheistic God. But, if there is no difference or distinction between the Father and Son, how does the Word mediate? Marcellus explains, when expanding on Jn 1:1–3 (which is supplemented with 1 Cor 8:6): So that by saying, ‘In the beginning was the Word,’ he might show that the Word was in the Father by power (δυνάμει) (for God, ‘from whom are all things,’ is the source (ἀρχὴ) of all things that have come to be), and by saying, ‘And the Word was with God,’ [he might show] that the Word was with God by activity (ἐνεργείᾳ) (‘for all things were made through him, 81 Marcellus, Fragmenta 60; see: CM 1,4,5–6. 82 Marcellus, Fragmenta 9; see: CM 1,4,11. Marcellus is referring to Eusebius of Nicomedia, in this passage.

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and without him not one thing was made’), and by having said that the ‘Word was God,’ [he might show us] not to divide the divinity (μὴ διαιρεῖν τὴν θεότητα), since the Word is in him (ἐν αὐτῷ) and he himself is in the Word (ἐν τῷ λόγῳ) (for [the Word] says, ‘The Father is in me, and I am in the Father.’)83 Marcellus is reluctant to attribute any difference of essence or individuality to the Father and Son (‘not to divide the divinity’), so the Word is just that—the literal ‘word’ of God, or divine activity. The Logos is akin to human speech then, ‘For the word is one and the same (ταὐτὸν) with the man, and is separated [from him] in no other way than by the activity (ἐνεργείᾳ) alone (μόνῃ) of the deed.’84 For Marcellus, the nature of the Word is mediation—the Father and Son being distinguished by mediatorial activity alone before the incarnation.85 Thus, Marcellus’ Logos is not a personal agent, but the personification of God, as argued by Maurice Wiles.86 That is to say, Marcellus’ conception of the Son is essentially the personified action of (the one) God in the New Testament, not a distinct mediatorial actor between the Father and creation. There are interesting consequences for the creative activity of the Word in this formulation. Eusebius speaks of this activity, continuing to use the metaphor of human speech provided by Marcellus: (Marcellus) said that there is a word internally (ἔνδον) in God himself, which at one time is quiet (ἡσυχάζοντα) but at another time is active (ἐνεργοῦντα) for the purposes of communication, and comes forth from the Father in activity alone (μόνῃ τε ἐνεργείᾳ προϊόντα τοῦ πατρός), just as we also, in giving some command, would be active in saying and uttering something.87 This is crucially important for creation itself, as well as the activity of God throughout human history (although, Marcellus is not quoted on the latter point in this work). As the Word becomes active in creation, it is incorrect to speak of a pre-cosmic Logos. Marcellus writes, ‘Asterius calls the authority given to him … “pre-cosmic glory (προκόσμιον δόξαν),” not understanding that when the cosmos did not yet exist, there was nothing other than God alone (οὐδὲν ἕτερον ἦν πλὴν θεοῦ μόνου).’88 For Eusebius, the implication of this scheme is that there was a period when the Word had yet to come into

83 Marcellus, Fragmenta 67; see: CM 2,2,12–13; emphasis added. 84 Marcellus, Fragmenta 87; see: CM 2,2,31. 85 After the Incarnation, Marcellus is willing to call Christ a mediator, in line with 1 Tim 2:5. Marcellus, Fragmenta 78; see: CM 2,3,32. Marcellus interprets Col 1:16 as solely referring to the incarnation. 86 Wiles (1987). 87 CM 2,1,2; parenthesis added. 88 Marcellus, Fragmenta 77; see: CM 2,2,28.

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existence, insofar as God was yet to be cosmologically active. Ironically, here, Marcellus’ formulation seems to imply, ‘there was a time when the Son was not.’89 This is fundamentally opposed to Eusebius’ cosmological scheme. First, the basic presupposition that the Father can have unmediated fellowship with the created order sounds like Sabellianism and (when it comes to Christology) Patripassianism for the Caesarean. Eusebius is completely against the thought of the immutable Father being in direct contact with the world. Second, and perhaps more importantly, this denies the mediator (Son) any existence at all. Mediation necessitates a mediator, for Eusebius—if the Word is simply the power or speech of God, the Father himself is acting as the Word. As noted, ‘And he (the Son) was not, as a mere (ψιλὸς) word of God, non-subsistent (ἀνυπόστατος), existing as one and the same (ταὐτὸν) with God (for he would not then be a mediator (μεσίτης)).’90 Thus, for Eusebius, Marcellus’ Word has no real personhood; he is denied his own existence (ὑπόστασις). In direct contrast to Marcellus, Eusebius argues a being must mediate between the apophatic Father and mutable creation. Eusebius references διά specifically, using Jn 1:3 as a springboard for his interpretation. In addition, how can there be scope for the statement ‘and all things came to be through him,’ since the underlying reality is one (ἑνὸς ὄντος)? For he [the evangelist] does not say that all things have come to be ‘by him (ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ)’ or ‘from him (ἐξ αὐτοῦ)’ but ‘through him (δι’ αὐτοῦ).’ Now the addition of the preposition ‘through (διὰ)’ indicates that which is of service (ὑπηρετικὸν), as the same evangelist further on shows, saying, ‘The law was given through Moses (διὰ Μωσέως); grace and truth came through Jesus Christ (διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ);’ For as the Law, since it is not of human invention nor comes from Moses himself, but from God (ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ), designated Moses as servant (διάκονον) and helper (ὑπηρέτην) for the giving of the Law to human beings, and because of this it has been said, ‘The Law was given through Moses,’ so also, ‘grace came through Christ,’ the Father having effected it through Christ (τοῦ πατρὸς αὐτὴν διὰ τοῦ Χριστοῦ κατεργασαμένου). Therefore, in the same way it has also been said, ‘All things came to be through him,’ since there was one who did the making (ἑτέρου μὲν πεποιηκότος), himself having been assisted (διακονησαμένου), so that one must seek the maker (ποιητὴν) of the universe as another, the one who cause (ὑποστησάμενον) all things to subsist through the one who has been spoken as divine (διὰ τοῦ θεολογουμένου).91

89 A point helpfully made by Anatolios (2011), 92. 90 CM 1,1,32–34; parenthesis added. 91 ET 2,14,9–10; emphasis added.

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Here, Eusebius sees the preposition through (διὰ) as vitally important for explaining how the ‘underlying reality can be one (ἑνὸς ὄντος),’ despite the Word’s involvement in creation. It explains how there is one God but also a mediator between God and the world, which is founded on a close grammatical reading of the text. Perhaps it is relevant to take a brief look into the preposition διά grammatically, with Jn 1:3 in mind: ‘πάντα δι’ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο.’ Eusebius’ and Marcellus’ respective exegesis on this term clarifies their theological cosmology. With the genitive case, διά has four general senses—agency, means, spatial, and temporal.92 In other words, ‘through’ can have several different connotations, depending on context and structure of a sentence. Further, with a passive verb, such as ἐγένετο (from John 1), this preposition clarifies which agent is involved. Typically, as discussed by Daniel Wallace, the ‘ultimate agent’ of a sentence is expressed by ὑπό, ἀπό, or (rarely) παρά + genitive; an intermediate agent by διά + genitive; impersonal means by ἐκ + genitive.93 By ‘ultimate,’ Wallace means the person who is ‘ultimately responsible for the action,’ while the intermediate ‘carries out the act for the ultimate agent.’94 ‘Impersonal means’ has a slightly looser connotation, largely derived from context, but typically ‘is that which an agent uses to perform an act.’95 These different prepositions, then, clarify which agent is working in the sentence—something Eusebius leans on in his exegesis. Looking back at this passage, it is clear Eusebius clarifies the grammatical distinctions for this verse in this way. He notes the passage’s uses διά, and thus an intermediate agent—‘that which is of service (ὑπηρετικὸν σημαίνει).’ Eusebius even provides another verse to prove this grammatical (and theological) point, Jn 1:17: ‘The law indeed was given through (διὰ) Moses; grace and truth came through (διὰ) Jesus Christ.’ Just as Moses is an intermediate agent of God in giving the law, so the Son is an agent of God in creation in a cosmic sense. He then disqualifies other readings of διά which would have better been described by ὑπό (by him) or ἐκ (from him). For Eusebius, ὑπό marks out the ultimate agent—the Father by whom all is made. Likewise, ἐκ implies the ultimate agent but in an instrumental sense (from him), in which the Word is the instrument used by the ultimate agent. In another passage, Eusebius clarifies, ‘In any case, the evangelist could have said, “All things were made by him (πάντα ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο),” and again, “And the world was made by him (ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ),” but he did not say “by him (ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ)” but “through him (δι’ αὐτοῦ),” so that he might refer to us to the sovereign power of the Father that makes the universe.’96

92 93 94 95 96

According to Wallace (2008), 368–69. Wallace (2008), 431–38. Wallace (2008), 431–33. Wallace (2008), 431. ET 1,20,5–6.

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Eusebius is making a distinction between the Father and the Son on the basis of grammar—the use of ὑπό and διά respectively. By clarifying the grammatical sense of this passage, Eusebius is crafting a theological point: The Son is the agent of the Father, who is the source. Creation is not by or from the Son, but the Father. If creation was by the Son, he would not function as a mediator—he would be the source. Thus, for Eusebius, Marcellus is misreading the grammatical sense of Jn 1:3 or has been using another sense incorrectly. It seems, from Marcellus’ fragments, when he writes, ‘the Word was with God by activity (ἐνεργείᾳ) (“for all things were made through him (δι’ αὐτοῦ)”),’97 that he has impersonal means in mind, even though it is not supported grammatically.98 This instrumental use seems to fit with Marcellus’ notion of the Word, if he is the functional activity of the Monad himself. Succinctly, Marcellus views διά as a description of means or instrumentality, while Eusebius uses it to describe personal agency. In this passage, Eusebius is right to critique Marcellus: the grammatical distinctions in Jn 1:3 are difficult to rectify with Marcellus interpretation—Marcellus is quoting διά but should be using ὑπό or ἐκ instead. To sum up this debate and these writer’s respective positions therein, it is relevant to see how these texts are interpreted at length. And even Paul the divine Apostle, who says, ‘For us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things,’ clearly speaks of the Son of God, ‘through (δι’) whom all things were made,’ before his coming in the flesh, not as ‘Word,’ but as ‘Lord,’ ‘Jesus,’ and ‘Christ.’ But if, according to Marcellus, God and the Word in him were one and the same (εἷς καὶ ὁ αὐτὸς), it would have been sufficient for the Apostle to declare, ‘for us there is one God (εἷς θεὸς), the Father, from whom are all things.’ For the thought made full sense, and the statement was complete in itself because it described God as maker of the universe (ποιητὴν τῶν ὅλων). But even a Jew could say this. But the herald of the Church teaches us that in addition to the first clause [of his statement] we should also not be ignorant of the second. And what was this? ‘And one Lord Jesus Christ.’99 Eusebius’ main issue with Marcellus’ mediatorial claims becomes apparent here. By attributing every title of Christ to the incarnation (but Word), and by making the cosmological Logos a mere function of the Father, he is approaching a Jewish position. It is the Father who creates, through his speech and activity, without the person of Christ. But, according to Eusebius, this denies the teaching of the church and the δια formulations of the New

97 Marcellus, Fragmenta 67; see: CM 2,2,12–13. 98 The passage would read ἐξ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο, if this were the case. 99 ET 1,20,54–56.

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Testament—Christ must be the eternal mediator, as the Son. In other words, the Word must hold his own ὑπόστασις to mediate. In conclusion, the Marcellan polemic display how a Trinitarian debate— whether God has one ὑπόστασις or multiple—manifests itself in the cosmic activity of God, particularly in mediatorial function. While Marcellus emphasizes the Word’s role as speech and therefore the activity of God, which is indistinguishable from the speaking Father, Eusebius emphasizes the Word’s role as Son. It further displays how this debate was an exegetical one. Both interlocutors seek to demonstrate how the Word can be acted through, discussing passages such as Jn 1:1–3, 1 Cor 8:6, and Col 1:15. For Eusebius, these verses are used to explain how God is one, while the Son must simultaneously have his own nature as mediator between the unknowable God and his creation. Thus, the mediatorial function of the Son is to be the active agent of the Father, through whom all is made. Creative and Kingly: Christ’s Mediation in the Old Testament and Beyond

Eusebius’ theology of the Son clearly places importance on his mediatorial capacity and functions. But how does this manifest itself in the course of salvation history—the act of creation and continual provision? When it comes to the act of creation itself, Eusebius is typically clear: the Son is maker or creator. ‘Since the Son has been honored with the paternal divinity (πατρικῇ θεότητι τετιμημένος), he would be the maker (ποιητικὸς) and fashioner (δημιουργικὸς) of all created things.’100 Similarly, he calls him the ‘creative (κοσμοποιὸς) Word of God of our theology, Who is the Maker (δημιουργὸς) of the Universe.’101 This, of course, fits well with everything seen thus far from Eusebius’ cosmological scheme. If the Father is too perfect to interact with created beings, and creation comes through the Son, it is only natural to attribute the role of creator to the Word. But there are several statements which point to the Father as maker and creator. ‘All the more, the God of the universe would be said to be Father of the Son (υἱοῦ πατήρ), but also rightly creator (κτίστης) and maker (ποιητὴς) of the cosmos.’102 Likewise, in his CommPs, the Father is the creator alone: ‘μόνῳ Ποιητῇ καὶ Δημιουργῷ καὶ Βασιλεῖ τῶν ὅλων.’103 These contradicting statements can, perhaps, be explained using Eusebius’ distinction between the Father as the source and the Son as the creative agent who effects creation.

100 101 102 103

ET 3,6,1–2. DE 4,5,5; see also: PE 7,11,4. ET 1,10,1–2. CommPs 65 (64) (PG 23,628).

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As noted, the Father’s role is consistently described as source in these cosmological passages, ‘as the God of the Universe wells down (πηγάζοντος) from above.’104 Importantly, Eusebius does not speak of his absence or an inability to create when discussing creation. Rather, he is active insofar as his will and power are mediated through the Son. ‘There is one source (ἀρχῆς) … who through him (δι’ αὐτοῦ) [the Son] has brought all things into existence (ὑποστησάμενος), who sends him, who gives commands to him, who enjoins, who teaches, who hands over all things to him, who glorifies him, who exalts him in the highest, who revealed him as king of the universe.’105 In this quote, the Father is not only acting as source but is also sending, teaching, and guiding the Son in his role as maker. In this sense, Lyman is correct to note the immanence of the Father in creation through the Son.106 The Father demonstrates his will to the Son, who then effects his divine plan in the created order. The function of the Son is not diminished by the Father’s action though. Eusebius presents his unique interpretation of Prov 8:22 to demonstrates this point. ‘“Before the age, he founded me” … through all of which statements his usefulness (λυσιτελὲς) and necessity (ἀναγκαῖον) to all is shown, teaching that he both was and pre-existed (προϋπῆρχέν), and ruled over the whole cosmos, and guided it in accordance with its needs.’107 The Son is useful (λυσιτελὲς) to the Father as the creative agent, and a necessary (ἀναγκαῖον) ruler to creation, insofar as creation came through him. Eusebius speaks of the Son similarly elsewhere: ‘He is present to all things in His effectuating power; and He remains throughout all.’108 The Son is thus described as the creative agent (αἴτιος) of all these things, the one who brings creation into being, through the power and will of the Father.109 Accordingly, both the Father and the Logos are makers of the world, but in slightly different senses. The latter is ‘the maker (δημιουργόν) of all things with the Father (σὺν τῷ πατρὶ), the second cause (αἴτιον), after the Father, of the universe, the true and only begotten Son of God.’110 In this way, Eusebius’ theology shares the thought of Irenaeus who assigns roles to the persons in the Godhead in the act of creation. Irenaeus notes, ‘In this way, then, it is demonstrated [that there is] One God, [the] Father, uncreated, invisible, Creator of all … And, as God is verbal (λογικός), therefore He made created things by the Word; and God

104 DE 5,1,24. 105 ET 1,11,3–4. 106 Lyman (1993), 94, 100. Robertson wrongly critiques her on this, in arguing God is still distant. Indeed, the Father is distant in the sense of not having direct fellowship with creation, but it is incorrect to then deny his active role and presence through the Son, as Robertson does. Robertson (2007), 43. 107 ET 3,2,25. 108 Theo 1,34. 109 LC 11,14–16. 110 HE 1,2,3.

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is Spirit, so that He adorned all things by the Spirit.’111 While Eusebius does not discuss the role of the Spirit in creation as Irenaeus does, there is a shared emphasis—the Godhead makes all things together, in which the Father is the source and the Son is the creative agent. While the role of Creator can in some sense be attributed to Father and Son, Eusebius solely describes the Son as provider and sustainer. The Son ‘not only sustains all those things that had come into being from nothing (ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὄντος) through him (δι’ αὐτοῦ), but also so that he takes upon himself the oversight of the administration (διοικήσεως) of the universe … so that all things are governed (κυβερνᾶσθαι) and preserved (διασῴζεσθαι) through him.’112 In a passage in LC, Eusebius speaks of some of the ways the Word is active in the created order: The same Logos of God lowered himself (ἑαυτὸν βαθύνας) even to the earth and established the diverse classes of fauna and beautiful varieties of flora. This same Logos of God plunged right to the depths of the sea and devised the class of fish, again even there working out (ἐργασάμενο) myriad and numberless forms (ἰδέας) and varieties of all kinds of animal life … Then, like a conscientious gardener (γεωργὸς ἄριστος) who has thoroughly irrigated his land and blended the wet with the dry, he landscapes everything to adorn it at one time with seasonal flowers, at another with a variety of shapes, at another with fragrant aromas, at another with various types of fruits, at another with all kinds of gratifications for the taste.113 The care the Logos displays in creation is on the fore here—he is acting in the weather, the crops, and the flowers. He is responsible for every aspect of the created order from types of fish to the delightful taste of certain fruit. This providential attention demonstrates the continual work of the Son in the created order and all of history and may even illuminate why Eusebius spends so much time writing and studying history: it demonstrates the divine will of God, through the mediated activity of the Son. This is exemplified in the beginning of HE, when he emphasizes the nature of the Son by discussing his role in creation from Genesis 1: ‘Therefore, the great Moses … tells us of the Order (κοσμοποιὸν) and Creator (δημιουργὸν) of the universe conceding to the very Christ Himself (αὐτῷ δὴ τῷ Χριστῷ).’114 Eusebius’ understanding of history is predicated on the Father’s will for the world and the Son’s creative and providential guidance through it. A history must begin with this doctrine, because it is Christ who is guiding and effecting it.

111 Irenaeus, Epideixis 5. For discussion on Irenaeus’ doctrine of creation, see: Steenberg (2008). 112 ET 3,2,16–17. 113 LC 11,14–16. 114 HE 1,2,4.

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Therefore, when surveying Christ’s work in history, his role as mediator is further clarified and emphasized. His Old Testament prosopological exegesis is of great interest here, as a result—an aspect of Eusebius’ thought first discussed by Marie-Josèphe Rondeau. In her chapter on Eusebius, she discusses his exegetical strategies in applying the ‘persons’ in specific scriptural passages to the figures in the Godhead (specifically the Father and Son) and, conversely, to the human and divine nature of Christ. ‘D’une façon générale, c’est quand le lieu qu’invoque ou qu’évoque le psalmist est explicitement associé l’économie du salut qu’Eusèbe, conformément à sa conception du Verbe comme la personne divine qui intervient dans l’histoire, admet qu’il s’agit du Verbe.’115 That is to say, whenever a biblical author writes of God interacting with the created order, Eusebius assigns this to the person of the Word. He provides a hermeneutical key, of sorts, to distinguish which person or being is speaking and acting in the Scriptures. So Scripture is quite exact when the nature of an angel (ἀγγέλου φύσιν) is meant, for it calls (ὀνομάζει) him neither God nor Lord, but simply Angel. But when it knows that He that appears was Lord and God, it clearly uses those terms. And that by Lord and God they do not mean the First Cause (τὸν αἴτιον), the passages of Holy Scripture clearly shew which call Him the Angel of God, Who had previously been called Lord and God in the part concerning Jacob. It only remains (λείπεταί) for Him then to be God and Lord among beings (ἐν τοῖς οὖσι), after the Almighty God of the Universe.116 For Eusebius, there is no trouble in distinguishing the Son from angels—distinct language is used for each. But making the distinction between the ‘God of the Universe’ (Father) and ‘God’ (Son) is more difficult exegetically. They are distinguishable, it seems, by whether the Lord is among created beings—here, wrestling with Jacob. Meaning, if there is direct interaction with created beings in the account, the Scriptures are speaking of the Son. Thus, in every theophanic account of God, in light of this passage and his broad cosmological framework, the Word is the one being spoken of. To give an example, the Lord appears to Abraham in the appearance of three visitors in Genesis 18. Eusebius identifies Christ as the figure in this account, writing: For if reason does not permit that the uncreated and immutable essence (ἀγένητον καὶ ἄτρεπτον οὐσίαν) of God Almighty (Father) should be changed (μεταβάλλειν μηδ’) into the form of man … what other name may be given Him, the God and Lord who judges all the earth and does right, who is seen in the fashion of a man (ἐν ἀνθρώπου ὁρώμενος σχήματι)

115 Rondeau (1985), 183. 116 DE 5,11,8–9.

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(since we may not style Him the First (πρῶτον) cause (αἴτιον) of the universe), except His only pre-existent Word?117 Here, we see Eusebius’ cosmological understanding of the Father and Son manifested in creation and the biblical narrative—it is inconceivable for the Almighty God to change into the form of a man. Thus, it must be the Word. But this is not on the basis of the Son being changeable—Eusebius is adamant that he is impassible.118 Rather, it is the visibility of the Word, as image or icon, which distinguishes the Son from the Father in both the cosmic and incarnate (or theophanic) state. It is the Son’s nature to be the image of God, and thus to show the invisible. Irenaeus of Lyon, once again, shares this notion with Eusebius. The visibility of the Father is the nature of the Son: ‘All saw the Father in the Son: for the Father is the invisible (ἀόρατον) of the Son, but the Son the visible (ὁρατὸν) of the Father.’119 The visibility of God is reflected in DE through the theophanic activity of the Son when Eusebius discusses a picture of the aforementioned account (Genesis 18), in which one of the three figures is displayed more prominently: ‘For they who were entertained by Abraham, as represented in the picture, sit one on each side, and he (the Word) in the midst surpasses them in honour (ὑπερέχων τῇτιμῇ).’120 The Son of God, thereafter, ‘sowed the seeds of holiness (τῆς εὐσεβείας σπέρματα … καταβαλλόμενος)’ by revealing ‘to the godly ancestor Abraham Who He was,’ and showing ‘him the mind (γνώμην) of the Father.’121 In this Old Testament account, the Son is easily distinguished as the figure speaking to Abraham because the Father could not take on the form of man due to his unapproachable nature. That is not to say the Father is absent or not acting though. The Son reveals the mind (γνώμην) of the Father, being the revelation of God, and sows holiness in his theophanic activity. While there are certainly more exegetical examples that can be brought up, including his fascinating interpretation of Exodus 3,122 this example from Genesis should suffice as his general interpretive move: If there is direct activity in the created order by a divine Lord, it is the Son of God. ‘Thus, appearing to Abraham by the oak in human form (ἀνθρώπου εἴδει), He (the Son) reveals (ὑποδείκνυσιν) Himself in a calm and peaceful guise … He appeared to Jacob,

117 HE 1,2,8; translation altered. See also: DE 5,9,6–8; ET 2,21,1. 118 The impassibility of the Son of God is a central tenet of Eusebius Christology, discussed in a subsequent chapter. See: PAGES. 119 Irenaeus, Adversus haereses 4,6,6. 120 DE 5,9,8; parenthesis added. This picture/painting is discussed by Robin Jensen and Bucur. Jensen seeks to discuss how early Christian art is exegetical in nature, not unlike verbal forms (using this picture as a springboard for the chapter), while Bucur argues this reading is too simplistic in its descriptions (of ‘historical,’ ‘typological,’ or ‘allegorical’): Jensen (2007), 84; Bucur (2019), 93–95. 121 DE 5,9,8. 122 See: Bucur (2018).

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as an athlete and champion … and to Moses and the people in the form of cloud and fire, and lead them.’123 It is thus the Son who creates, provides, and leads throughout history as the Father’s mediatorial agent.

Conclusion: The Mediator In this sketch of Eusebius’ cosmology, several important points must be drawn out in conclusion. First, the Father is identified as the source of all being, in a similar way to his Trinitarian doctrine. Therein, his unbegotten nature and impassibility makes him unapproachable to a fallen and imperfect creation. But this apophatic theology does not mean the Father is the God of Plato or Plotinus—He is not ineffable in his nature, as the Son knows him, and creation can see him through the Son. Thus, the Son’s mediatorial nature is that of an image or an icon in Eusebius’ thought. The Father is seen through him because he is the Son of God and can thus be in full fellowship with the Father. Further, the Son is the active agent in creation and providence contra Marcellus. Thus, this mediation is twofold—creation sees the Father through the Son and the Father interacts with creation through the Son. In this sense, the mediation of the Son creates fellowship with these two divergent natures through his own nature as the Son and his roles as the image of the invisible God, great high priest, creator, and his theophanic activity. In taking a closer look at Eusebius’ exegetical moves his cosmology rounds itself out significantly. Importantly, contra Ricken, Eusebius is not so much interested in the ontological chasm between the World and the Father nor in a platonic hierarchy of being, which must be ascended to see the ‘One,’ in his cosmological scheme.124 While he does share language with the platonic philosophical tradition and even some of the concepts, he departs significantly from it in choosing to emphasize how the Father is revealed through the Son on the basis of their shared nature—only the Son can reveal his Father. That is to say, the Son of God must truly be God to be the image. ‘He also exists as image of the invisible God (εἰκὼν τοῦ ἀοράτου θεοῦ) … For this reason he also calls himself “He who is (ὁ ὤν),” since throughout the divinely inspired Scripture he calls himself both God (θεὸς) and Lord (κύριος) just as the Father was.’125 The Son is the image of God because he is God himself, here identified with the Tetragrammaton. Therefore, the mediation of the Son is part of his eternal nature, insofar as he is the visible manifestation of God, his image. The Son is truly himself, then, even without a universe to mediate between before creation—he is always God, and thus always the mediatorial image.

123 DE 5,19,4; parenthesis added. 124 Ricken (1967), 344. 125 ET 2,20,15.

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Finally, these mediatorial roles are not held together neatly in Eusebius’ work. Rather, the mediatory work of the Son is revelatory, salvific, creative, and kingly. He fulfills the will of the Father through his role as the creative agent in the universe, the provider, propitiator of sins, and the agent of God in the Old Testament. That is to say, the Son mediates for the Father as an intermediate agent of the source in different capacities as his Word. These biblical images for mediation, thus, shape the way Eusebius views and articulates his cosmology.

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A Soteriology of Knowledge: Christ as Teacher in Eusebius

‘He attracts to Himself great multitudes from all the world, and releases them that come to Him from all kinds of evil and diseases and troubles of the spirit; he summons to His holy school all races, Greek and Barbarian; He leads countless hosts to the knowledge of the one true God, and to a healthy and pure life, as befits those who promise to worship Almighty God.’1

The fabric of Christian worship, theology, and practice revolves around a fundamental question of the faith: how does God save? Or, perhaps, more importantly: who is this God who saves? For the writers of the New Testament, salvation is a gift of God accomplished through the work and person of Jesus Christ. The work of the Son throughout salvation history is presented as multifaceted by the biblical witness: Christ saves through healing, his sacrificial death, conquering death and sin, etc. But these images of salvation are firmly rooted in the identity of the Son. The God of the universe is also Immanuel, God with us. It is in this context, that Eusebius’ soteriology is rooted—the divine Son is savior of the world. Eusebius orders the various soteriological images of Christ in the New Testament—healer, sacrifice, conqueror, etc.—in his unique identity as Son of the Father and his ability to reveal him to creation. In this, the salvific role for the Son is, foremost, that of a teacher: Christ is the teacher and revealer of God the Father to an ignorant world. In other words, his whole soteriological system is focused on the unique nature of the Son—as the only teacher of the Father, he brings light and salvation to the world. In this, there is an emphasis on the Son’s ability to save from all time—the salvific work of Christ is not a work of the incarnation alone. This is why Kelly’s assessment of Eusebius is so perplexing: ‘his overriding interest is cosmological rather than soteriological.’2 Eusebius surely emphasizes the mediatorial work of the Son in his cosmology, but this is not in opposition to his salvific work—the opposite, in fact. For Eusebius, the cosmological role of the Son is salvific. It is his unique ability to image the Father from all time which allows for the 1 DE 9,13,9. 2 Kelly (1968), 225.

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salvation of humanity. While Eusebius’ Christ provides saving knowledge throughout salvation history, this knowledge reaches fruition in the incarnation—a human instrument was necessary for the knowledge of God to be fully efficacious to a fallen humanity. Thus, Eusebius’ soteriology is founded on the divinity of the Son as the true image of God, mediated through his cosmological role between the Father and creation, and accomplished through the incarnate work of Jesus Christ. In order to evaluate Eusebius’ soteriological system, this chapter discusses how Eusebius orders the multifaceted soteriological roles for the Son through his primary image for the savior: Christ as teacher. In doing so, it also focuses on why this knowledge is required, in humanity’s need for salvation, and what the content of this knowledge is—what is the knowledge that humanity so desperately needs? Further, and most importantly, it concentrates on the nature and work of the teacher as savior. It is the role and identity of the Son in the Godhead that allows for his whole salvific system to function. Finally, the ends of his soteriological system will be surveyed, answering the question: what does salvation do for the saved? On a methodological note, this chapter draws from other patristic sources, as in the others, but in a qualified sense. The diversity in patristic soteriology, not only between thinkers, but within an individual’s own corpus, means that broad comparisons bear little fruit. Therefore, this chapter will present patristic sources largely found in the Alexandrian tradition who use the same primary metaphor for understanding salvation—Clement of Alexandria and Origen. Thus, many authors—such as Irenaeus and Athanasius—who use similar language but utilize a different lens or image to interpret them are left unexplored here.

Eusebian Images for Christ as Savior Soteriological images are prevalent and varied throughout the New Testament—Christ is the miraculous healer, the revealer of the Father, the high priest, the sacrificial lamb, the victor over death, etc.3 Patristic authors, in response to this diversity, often present multifaceted accounts of Christ’s salvific work. So Daley notes, ‘One might find these themes, based on NT images, and other like them, in the works of almost every Patristic author, woven into the texture of broader theological argument or made into the subject of preaching and meditation.’4 These themes or images, for Daley, are: communication (revelation and the image of God),



3 For an excellent survey of New Testament language on salvation, see: Daley (1978); For another survey, which decentralizes any one soteriological image over another, see: Colijn (2010). 4 Daley (2004), 163.

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therapeutic (cleansing and healing), payment (sacrifice and ransom), and conflict (defeat of death and the devil).5 Eusebius is no exception to Daley’s insightful argument. When discussing Christ’s work on the cross, Eusebius writes: Such was the dispensation (οἰκονομία) that brought Him even unto death, of which one that wishes to seek for the cause (αἰτίαν), can find not one reason but many. For firstly, the Word teaches (διδάσκει) by His death that He is Lord both of dead and living; and secondly, that He will wash away (ἀπομάξοιτο) our sins, being slain, and becoming a curse for us; thirdly, that a victim of God (ἱερεῖον θεοῦ) and a great sacrifice (θυσία) for the whole world might be offered to Almighty God; fourthly, that thus He complete (ἀπεργάσαιτο) the destruction (καθαίρεσιν) of the deceitful powers of the demons by unspeakable words; and fifthly also, that showing the hope of life with God after death to His friends and disciples not by words only by deeds as well, and affording visible proof of His message, He might make them of good courage and more eager to preach both to Greeks and Barbarians the holy polity which He had established.6 Here, Eusebius notes five distinguishable reasons for the life, death, and resurrection of Christ, which demonstrates the validity of Daley’s claims above. First, Eusebius uses the communication image to demonstrate how Christ teaches (διδάσκει) his Lordship over all. Second, he utilizes the therapeutic image in washing away sins (ἀπομάξοιτο ἁμαρτίας).7 Third, in payment language, he reports how Christ was a great sacrifice (μεγάλη θυσία) for the whole world. Fourth, Eusebius writes on the destruction (καθαίρεσιν) of demons, tapping into the conflict image. Finally, Eusebius gives a fifth reason for the death and resurrection of Christ: to encourage the disciples in their ordained mission to the Greeks and Barbarians.8 It is relevant to discuss Eusebius’ use of each of these images in turn.



5 These themes in patristic theology have been explored by a number of scholars, in various forms. For instance, H. E. W. Turner (1952), in his seminal study, pushes back against any single model for salvation, discussing four in his work: Christ the ‘illuminator,’ the ‘victor,’ the ‘giver of incorruption,’ and ‘victim’. Gustaf Aulén (1956) discuss the ‘classic’ idea of atonement (Christus Victor) over Anselmian soteriology and the ‘subjective’ approach, arguing for the superiority of the first. Slusser (1983) discusses patristic soteriological schemes similarly to Turner, but draws slightly different lines between models. He categorizes patristic soteriological themes under: ‘victory,’ ‘atonement,’ ‘revelation,’ ‘eschatological judgement,’ and ‘exemplar.’ Finally, Colin Gunton (2003) explores these soteriological schemes, but focuses primarily on the nature and power of metaphors. After explaining his theory, he discusses victory, justification, and sacrifice. 6 DE 4,12,6–8; translation altered. 7 Although, this could also be considered to be ‘payment’ language, insofar as he ‘becomes a curse for us,’ according to Gal 3:13. 8 In the Theo, conversely, Eusebius suggests three reasons for the death and resurrection of Christ, focusing on conflict, communicative, and payment imagery. Theo 3,57–59.

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As noted, the communication image is the most prevalent one throughout Eusebius’ works. The Son is the ‘Teacher (διδασκάλου) of the whole race of mankind,’9 and ‘supreme teacher (διδάσκαλος) of wisdom (σοφίᾳ).’10 Most importantly, the Son is the ‘teacher of true knowledge of God (διδάσκαλον ἀληθοῦς θεογνωσίας).’11 In the economy, the preaching and teaching of Christ is to the fore: ‘God the Word, revealed (ἐπέφανεν) Himself, at the time announced for His Incarnation, preaching (εὐαγγελιζόμενος) the Gospel of the Father’s love … moving all to a common salvation in God (ἐν θεῷ σωτηρίαν), promising the truth and light of true religion (ἀληθοῦς εὐσεβείας), the kingdom of Heaven, and eternal life to all.’12 There are a number of reasons for this emphasis, from Eusebius’ commitment to apologetics (and thus saving non-Christians from ignorance of God), his reliance on Origenian theology and the wisdom tradition, to his own interest in education in Caesarea as the head of the library there.13 The primary theological reason, though, is the unique capacity of the eternal Son to reveal the Father. The second image is a therapeutic one—Christ as healer. This is best displayed in the Gospel narratives, in which Christ heals the sick and the diseased. Here, Eusebius broadens the physical dynamic in the healing acts of Christ to the spiritual plane as well. For instance, in his CommLk, ‘πρῶτα μὲν σώους καὶ ὑγιεῖς ἀποκαταστήσει, ἀνοίξας τυφλῶν ὀφθαλμοὺς, πᾶσάν τε νόσον καὶ πᾶσαν μαλακίαν τῶν ψυχῶν αὐτῶν ἰασάμενος.’14 Christ, as the bridegroom, restores (ἀποκαταστήσει; ἰασάμενος) humanity back to safety and health (σώους καὶ ὑγιεῖς), after restoring sight to diseased souls (ψυχῶν). This is seen elsewhere in his comments on Lk 9:1, when Eusebius discusses how the bestowal of healing power upon the disciples reveals (δείγματα) the salvation of body and soul (σωτήριοι ψυχῶν καὶ σωμάτων) in Christ kingdom, ‘ἦσαν δ’ οὖν ἀληθῶς Θεοῦ βασιλείας δείγματα αἱ τεράστιαι δυνάμεις, τά τε θαύματα καὶ σωτήριοι ψυχῶν καὶ σωμάτων θεραπεῖαι.’15 Eusebius, then, also views the salvific Son as Christus Medicus, the physician for lost souls and a diseased humanity.16 But, importantly, Eusebius often uses this image as a means to explicate Christ’s role as teacher—the healing of souls through instruction. After quoting Mt 5:1–2, the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount, Eusebius comments: ‘And it is recorded that He (Christ) gave sight (ἀνάβλεψιν) to many that were 9 DE 5,proem,24. 10 DE 10,8,99; translation altered. 11 DE 1,1,2. 12 DE 8,proem,11. 13 For some interesting thoughts into Eusebius’ pedagogical interests, see: Johnson (2011a); Penland (2011). 14 CommLk 14:18 (PG 24,580). 15 CommLk 9:1 (PG 24,544). 16 The Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity has an illuminating survey on this understanding and the supporters therein, despite Eusebius not being explicitly cited as a proponent of this view. Lombino (2014), 185–92. Eusebius is also an interesting source for an iconographic depiction of Christus Medicus. See: Knipp (1998), 107–08; HE 7,18,1–4.

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blind (τυφλοῖς), not only enlightening them that were deprived of bodily vision (ὄψεις τοῦ σώματος), but also causing them that were before blind in soul (τυφλώττουσιν) to receive spiritual vision (θεωρίας) and the knowledge (ἐπιγνώσεως) of God (θεοῦ).’17 First, the placement of this comment is revealing. Eusebius does not speak of Christ’s healing role in a miracle story, here, but in the context of his preaching. That is to say, Christ’s teaching to the poor (i.e. communication of salvific knowledge) is the starting point for healing. Second, Christ’s medical work, in this passage, focuses on the enlightening of those who need the knowledge of God (ἐπιγνώσεως … θεοῦ). This is not to say Eusebius’ understanding of Christus Medicus is shallow or misguided—it is derived, it seems, from his Alexandrian predecessors. Clement writes at the outset of the Paedagogus, ‘Just as our body (σῶμα) needs a physician (ἰατροῦ) when it is sick, so, too, when we are weak, our soul needs the Educator to cure its ills (ἀσθενοῦσι τὴν ψυχὴν). Only then does it (ψυχήν) need the Teacher (διδασκάλου) to guide it and develop its capacity to know (γνώσεως), once it is made pure and capable of retaining the revelation of the Word (ἀποκάλυψιν τοῦ λόγου).’18 While Clement seems to distinguish between the cure and the teaching of Christ, they are still the result of the pedagogical nature of the savior for him. In this sense, for both Eusebius and Clement, Christ’s teaching is healing. The third image, in which Christ pays the ransom for humanity, is another theme Eusebius draws from. This is observed by Hastings Rashdall in his survey on atonement in the patristic period, when he writes that Eusebius is ‘the first Greek writer who strongly emphasized the idea of substitutionary punishment.’19 Rashdall, unfortunately, paints a one-sided portrait of Eusebian soteriology—in the three pages dedicated to Eusebius, Rashdall uses this sole image, draws from one quote, and references two books (DE and PE). This is apparently enough for him to say, ‘It is unnecessary to illustrate further the crudity of Eusebius’ presentation: no Western, Catholic or Protestant, has ever presented the idea either of vicarious punishment or vicarious sacrifice in a more repulsively juridical form.’20 While his assessment is hastily made, Rashdall does point to an important aspect of Eusebius’ thought: Christ paid the penalty for our sins. Using Gal 3:13 and Is 53, Eusebius writes on Christ’s role as a ransom for humanity: And the Lamb of God not only did this, but was chastised (κολασθεὶς) on our behalf, and suffered a penalty (τιμωρίαν ὑποσχών) he did not owe, but

17 DE 9,10,6; parenthesis added. 18 Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus 1,1,3. 19 Hastings Rashdall (1919), 301. Strutwolf also notices this ‘transfer of guilt’ (Schuldübertragung) in Eusebius thought, particularly in light of Isaiah 53. Strutwolf (1999), 337–38. 20 Rashdall (1919), 302.

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which we owed because of the multitude of our sins (πεπλημμελημένων); and so He became the cause of the forgiveness of sins (αἴτιος τῆς τῶν ἁμαρτημάτων ἀφέσεως), because He received death for us (ἀναδεξάμενος θάνατον) … being made a curse (κατάρα) for us. And what is that but the price for our souls?21 This payment language is especially prominent in passages where the lamb of God is referenced, often in tandem with Isaiah 53. For instance, in DePasc, ‘For the body of the Savior (σῶμα τὸ σωτήριον) was handed over (παρεδίδοτο) to death as a sacrificial victim (σφάγιον), as the prophylactic (ἀποτρόπαιον) of all evils. Like a purifying (καθαρσίου) agent, it took away the sin (ἁμαρτίαν) of the whole world. So it is said that Isaiah cried out with great insight: This one bears our sins, and suffers pain on our behalf.’22 Eusebius mixes soteriological images by discussing gnostic soteriological themes in the following paragraph: ‘And so, when we nourish ourselves on the spiritual flesh (λογικαῖς σαρξὶ) of this sacrificial victim (θύματος) by whose blood the entire human race was saved—that is, when we nourish ourselves on his teaching (μαθήμασι) and his proclamation (καταγγελτικοῖς) of the kingdom of heaven—we feast on the rational delicacies of God (τὴν κατὰ Θεὸν εἰκότως τρυφῶμεν τρυφήν).’23 In other words, the food at the sacrificial feast of Christ (through whom this payment is made), is the teaching and proclamation of the kingdom of heaven, the revelation of God. The final image that Eusebius utilizes is conflict—the defeat of the devil and his demons. His demonology is discussed by Johannessen in The Demonic in the Political Thought of Eusebius of Caesarea. Her goal, in this work, is to offset the assessment of Eusebius as a naïve triumphalist, in which Constantine’s ascent to power marked the climax of human history.24 She accomplishes this by arguing demons are still a threat to humanity in his political thought. Christians still had to utilize free will in their struggle for virtue against this spiritual enemy—they were not living in the fully realized kingdom of God, void of all threats and issues. For all of the merits of this project, it unfortunately discusses salvation as some sort of moralism rather than the work of the Son: ‘For προαίρεσις was not only the key to salvation in Eusebius’ thought, it also lay at the centre of the demonic threat.’25 Further, for Johannessen, his emphasis on gnostic themes means ‘salvation and the defeat of the demons were gradual processes, in which the long-term instruction of humankind in virtue, rather than any particular one-off event, was key.’26 In

DE 10,1,23. DePasc 2; translation from DelCogliano (2011b), 60. DePasc 3; translation from DelCogliano (2011b), 60. There is a long list of individuals who hold this view, such as Barnes and Johnson, to name a few. See: Barnes (1981), 105, 186; Johnson (2013), 196. 25 Johannessen (2016), 137. 26 Johannessen (2016), 157. 21 22 23 24

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other words, salvation comes through a period of teaching from the Logos. But this view holds the same deficiency as Rashdall’s—it overlooks the other images Eusebius uses for salvation. Further, while Johannessen does briefly mention the co-operation of divine grace and human choice, her reading largely neglects the work and life of Christ, for Eusebius.27 For instance, in DE, Eusebius writes, ‘The malicious daemons (δαίμονας) who both visibly and invisibly had tyrannized (καταδυναστεύοντας) over those on earth … He (Christ) put to flight (τροπούμενος) and subdued (ἐχειροῦτο) with mighty and divine power.’28 The central soteriological factor for the defeat of demons was not humanity’s free will, but the incarnation and work of Jesus Christ. Eusebius further speaks of Christ’s sovereignty over death on the cross. ‘But, immediately after the signal mark of His first victory over the Demons, He engaged also in conflict with Death … He soon raised up the same (body) from death, for the purpose of proving that the Divine power, which was by Him … was superior to every kind of death.’29 Christ demonstrates true victory over demons and death in both his incarnate life and death—he is Christus Victor. The analysis thus far shows that Eusebius draws from the rich images in the New Testament to weave a vibrant soteriological tapestry. To argue Eusebius utilizes only one is to flatten his understanding of Christ’s saving work. But, to extend this textile metaphor, the most visible and utilized thread is the communication image. Or rather, this image dictates how the other soteriological themes are understood. This is most easily demonstrated, as noted by Michael Slusser, in what humanity is saved from: ‘death, sin, or ignorance.’30 While there should not be a rigid dichotomy between these, as Slusser argues, it does serve to show Eusebius’ emphasis throughout his corpus. Humanity is, first and foremost, saved from ignorance. And who can provide the remedy for ignorance? A teacher.

The Students: Enslaved Humanity As noted in the previous chapter, the Father is completely unknowable without the mediatory work of the Son. Thus, the divide between humankind and God is on account of human’s ignorance of who God is and what he calls humanity to. This complete unfamiliarity with the ‘true God (ἀληθῆ θεὸν),’ and the ‘true religion (εὐσεβείας ἀληθοῦς),’ results in pagan worship and sin.31 Without the knowledge of the one true God, humankind worships what they

27 28 29 30 31

Johannessen (2016), 159. DE 4,10,13; see also: Theo 3,56. Theo 3,57. Slusser (1983), 557. DE 3,6,27.

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can see—the created world—and lives in whatever way they please. Further, without this knowledge, demons are able to lead them astray at every turn. Humanity is fully ensnared in sin, false worship, and demonic rule without the revelation of the Son. Biblically speaking, Genesis 1–3 is the seemingly obvious place to begin a theological treatment of sin and human nature. But, surprisingly, Eusebius does not spend much exegetical time here. In fact, he rarely even references Adam—unlike Irenaeus, Eusebius does not develop the theme of Christ as the second Adam.32 G. C. Stead notes, ‘Eusebius occasionally refers to Adam by name, but hardly emphasizes his role as progenitor, or his failure and disobedience; this only appears rather incidentally at (PE) 7.18.8 … where the theme of neglect is still prominent.’33 But, even with the scant discussion, there does appear to be some change in human nature, or at least in conditions for humanity after the fall. Eusebius describes pre-lapsarian Eden as a time when there was ‘not yet any foundation of sin (μήπω ἁμαρτίας ὑποστάσης),’ a state which will return in the ‘consummation of the age,’ according to Mt 13:39.34 The fall, which is caused by the temptation of Satan, allows Adam ‘to fall (καταβαλὼν) from his position before God (τῷ θεῷ στάσεως).’35 Drawing from Gen 3:16, humanity has ‘been placed under the curse (κατάραν) of Adam, and it had been said to the woman “with pain you will bring forth children. And your recourse will be to your husband”’.36 Other than this reference to the curse, there is little of what Adam and Eve’s pre- and postlapsarian relationship with God looked like. While Stead discusses Eusebius and Athanasius’ understanding of ideal knowledge—i.e. the knowledge of God before the fall—few thoughts are substantively clarified for Eusebius.37 When humans sin and evil actions are performed, it is always attributed to their free choice in opposition to their good nature: ‘But when it (human nature) acts wickedly (φαύλως), it is not nature (φύσιν) that should be blamed: since evil comes to it not by nature (κατὰ φύσιν) but against nature (παρὰ φύσιν), being a matter of choice but not an effect of nature (προαιρέσεως ὂν ἀλλ’ οὐ φύσεως ἔργον).’38 That is to say, human nature is good, but humanity chooses to reject it through free will. This departure is marked, not by being overcome by bodily passions or pride, but by the soul’s rejection of reason 32 Eusebius does reference a ‘second Adam’ in an obscure Coptic fragment of GQS, although the fragments are derived from a late Gospel (at least sixth century) catena—the pericope may not be from GQS or even from Eusebius of Caesarea. Thus, this fragment should not hold much weight against this point. GQS Coptfrag. 13. The closest Eusebius gets to this theme is in several quotations of 1 Cor 15:21–22. See: DE 10,proem,6; CommIs 1,54; 9:6; CommPs 4 (PG 23,101). 33 Stead (1988), 232; parenthesis added. 34 CommIs 1,84; 24:6. 35 CommIs 1,89; 27:1. 36 CommIs 2,56; 65:23. 37 Stead (1988). 38 PE 6,6,51; parenthesis added.

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and piety. As Eusebius identifies rationality as characteristic of the soul, the rejection of good nature for evil is to live irrationally. ‘But man using his free-will badly (καλῶς τῇ αὐτεξουσιότητι χρησάμενος), turning from the right road, went wrong, caring (ἐπιλογιζόμενος) neither for God nor Lord, nor distinguished between holy and unholy, with all manner of rude and dissolute actions, living the life of the irrational (ἀλόγων) beasts (ἀνημέροις).’39 Despite human nature being good, everyone lives according to irrational passions, freely chosen—humanity is weak and prone to madness. This weakness is due to humanity’s incomplete knowledge of God—they do not fully grasp who God is, on account of their natural failings. In a passage discussed in the previous chapter, Eusebius writes on humanity’s inability to see God: ‘They were not able with their mind to see (ἐποπτεύειν) the invisible (ἀόρατον), nor to ascend so high through their own weakness (ἀσθένειαν), to worship things seen in the heavens, the sun and moon and stars.’40 This weakness seems to be the inability of human beings to properly (rationally) worship without knowledge of the true God. In other words, humanity has the potential or even inclination to fall into sin and false worship because of their inadequate knowledge of the Father. This view is also seen in Clement of Alexandria: In the same way that inexperience (ἀπειρία) yields (καταλύεται) to experience (πείρᾳ), and impossibility (ἀπορία) to possibility (πόρῳ), so darkness (σκότος) is completely dispelled (ἐξαφανίζεσθαι) by light. Darkness is ignorance (ἄγνοια), for it makes us fall into sin (ἁμαρτήμασιν) and lose the ability to see the truth clearly (ἀμβλυωποῦντες περὶ τὴν ἀλήθειαν). But knowledge (γνῶσίς) is light, for it dispels the darkness of ignorance (ἄγνοιαν) and endows us with keenness of vision (διορατικὸν).41 Without a standard by which to live and worship, humanity cannot possibly follow God rightly. Eusebius uses a number of metaphors for the handicapping ignorance of God on the soul, one of his favorites being blindness. Those without the knowledge of God live with minds that are ‘blinded (τυφλώττειν) and closed’42 and grope about ‘in the darkness (σκότῳ) of their own ignorance (ἀγνοίας).’43 Elsewhere, Eusebius writes: ‘The eyes of the blind (τυφλῶν)—those that had long been impaired in understanding (διάνοιαν πεπηρωμένων) … who before were involved, bound and chained in sin (δεσμοῖς δὲ καὶ σειραῖς ἁμαρτιῶν), in darkness and ignorance of true religion (ἐν σκότει καὶ ἀγνοίᾳ τῆς ἀληθοῦς εὐσεβείας)’44 are freed by the knowledge of God. Similarly, Eusebius uses the 39 DE 4,7,8. 40 DE 4,8,1. 41 Clement, Paedagogus 1,6,29. 42 CommIs 2,24; 43:8–11. 43 CommIs 1,87; 26:11. 44 DE 9,15,9.

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image of a lame person,45 prisoner,46 deaf individual,47 and savage animal.48 Essentially, Eusebius takes up the language of Jesus in Mt 9:12, here quoted from DE, when speaking of humanity’s ignorant state. ‘The strong have no need of a physician (ἰατροῦ), but they that are sick (κακῶς): I came not to call the righteous, but sinners (ἁμαρτωλοὺς) to repentance.’49 In this sense, the sickness of humanity is a description of their ignorant state. The blindness of humankind, then, provides an opportunity for demonic forces to draw them away from God. ‘And having uttered terrible threats against all mankind, he (Lucifer; ἑωσφόρος) discovered that men (ἀνθρώπους) could be caught otherwise by his weapons, since they possessed in their power of free choice (προαίρεσιν) the ever ready possibility of falling into evil (κακὸν) from their own thoughts (γνώμης).’50 Satan takes advantage of human nature and free will to lead all of humanity into sinful action and polytheism. ‘And from that day forward he ruled (κατεκράτει) all men with deceit (πλάνῃ) … thus the whole of human life was enslaved (καταδεδούλωτο) by earthly powers and evil spirits.’51 Eusebius sees humanity as fallen, insofar as they have sinned under the tyranny and deception of the devil. If not for their own ignorance, Satan would not have the same offense against humankind. It is important to note the universal nature of depravity for Eusebius’ conception of humankind. While he does not spell out an explicit theology of the ‘fall’ in his work, there is no one who is free from sin and death. ‘For death (θάνατος) had been, from ancient times, fearful (φοβερὸς) to all men as the destroyer (ὀλετὴρ) of our mortal race.’52 However, all of humanity is likewise able to be saved. Michael Simmons focuses on Eusebian ‘universalism,’ in which people of all nations, social statue, etc. can be saved through Christ: he is savior of all. Simmons, unfortunately, does not look into Eusebius’ theological reasoning, but makes his soteriological claim a reactionary one against Porphyry, the anti-Christian philosopher. In other words, Eusebius’ universal soteriology is simply an apologetic argument. For all the deficiencies of this reading, it does distinguish Eusebius from non-Christian gnostic soteriological systems and Christianity from other philosophical schools.53

CommIs 1,97; 29:22–24. CommIs 2,22; 42:6–7; CommIs 2,35; 49:6; DE 9,15,9. DE 6,21,1. DE 7,3,34. From a passage speaking of salvific knowledge: DE 4,10,11. DE 4,9,4; see also: Johannessen (2016), 121. Johannessen emphasizes how free will is still operative in these instances—humans are willingly led astray. 51 DE 4,9,8. 52 Theo 3,61. 53 Essentially, Simmons thinks that this language (‘savior of all’) is used as an anti-Porphyrian argument, particularly made at the end of Eusebius’ life after the Christianization of Rome. As Porphyry denied universal salvation, so Eusebius emphasized it in his apologetic (which he sees as solely anti-Prophryian) works. ‘The changes made to the soteriological formulae analyzed in this paper were intentionally designed, strategically locates, and served an 45 46 47 48 49 50

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Everyone can be saved by this knowledge. While knowledge is the primary mode of salvation, all are welcome and able to understand it. In sum, the crux of the issue is a lack of knowledge—humanity cannot, on account of their nature, know who God is. As Aaron Johnson insightfully writes, ‘In other words, the soteriological problem was also an epistemological problem: humans needed the image of God in order to see and know God.’54 Thus, in their blind unknowing, they sin and are led astray by demonic forces. The plights of humanity, while being multifaced (sickness, sin, demonic oppression/death) have a single cause: ignorance. Ignorance as cause does not deny the reality of these other issues though, but points to the fundamental issue to be solved. This is, perhaps, where D.S. Wallace-Hadrill’s work on Eusebius’ soteriology falls short—he is frustrated by the inconsistency between Eusebius’ appeal to humanity’s ignorance and sin. Quoting DE 4,10, he writes, ‘Christ came “promising the remission and forgiveness of their former ignorance and sins.” Eusebius never really convinces the reader that the two are inseparable elements of a single act of God. They lie side by side, but are never wholly integrated and, of the two, the gnosis receives the greater because the more constant emphasis.’55 It seems, rather, these two are not side by side—ignorance leads to sin. Thus, it is only natural for the former to be given the more consistent emphasis.

The Course: Christian Monotheism If the root of humanity’s deficiency is ignorance, knowledge is naturally the solution. But what is the content of saving knowledge? The course title of this divine teaching, to use a crude colloquialism, would perhaps be ‘Christian monotheism.’ On the most basic level, the knowledge of God is to recognize the God of the Christian Scriptures and the Christian tradition as Lord of all, for Eusebius. It is through this knowledge that people turn from the ‘delusion (πλάνην) of idols (εἰδώλων)’ to embrace ‘the true knowledge and worship (ἀληθῆ γνῶσίν τε καὶ εὐσέβειαν) of Him who is God over all.’56 This knowledge does not necessarily illuminate transcendent attributes of God, so much as who God is—His identity as the true God. In this sense, salvific knowledge is perhaps better described as a proclamatory or liturgical knowledge. Christ describes who God is and the church responds in faith and worship.

anti-Porphyrian purpose in Eusebius’ apologetic argument.’ Simmons (2013), 132. Simmons surveys this phraseology and argument in each of his major apologetic works. Simmons (2006); (2010); (2013). The first article focuses on PE, the second on DE, and the third on the Theophany. He also draws out Porphyry’s soteriology in: Simmons (2009); Simmons (2015). 54 Johnson (2014), 129. 55 Wallace-Hadrill (1960), 117–18. 56 PE 1,3,15.

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Eusebius is aiming for a broad Christian understanding of God when speaking about the knowledge of Him. This is especially clear amidst Eusebius’ apologetic and exegetical literature. ‘The doctrine of salvation in the Gospel (τῆς σωτηρίου καὶ εὐαγγελικῆς διδασκαλίας) caused the knowledge (γνῶσιν) of the one God, the Sovereign (παμβασιλέως) and Creator (δημιουργοῦ) of the universe, to dawn like light upon all mankind.’57 In passages such as the one quoted, which touch on the knowledge of God as salvific, Eusebius specifically titles God as Creator,58 the One God,59 and the God of and beyond the universe.60 It would appear, as in other early apologetic writings, that Eusebius is seeking to subvert polytheistic notions of religion with the Christian God. In other words, to know the true God means acknowledgment of the God of the Christian monotheistic religion, rather than Graeco-Roman cult gods. Interestingly, in his polemic against Marcellus, Eusebius frames salvific knowledge as a specific understanding of Trinitarian theology. For example, in CM, Eusebius attacks Marcellus for preaching a different gospel, quoting Gal 1:9—this false gospel being Marcellus’ understanding of the shared essence between the Logos and Father. Eusebius’ conception of the ‘true gospel’ is described in this same pericope: But what in the world was this gospel (εὐαγγελίιον) … if not, I suppose, that very gospel that indeed is recorded that the Savior publicly proclaimed (παραδιδοὺς) when he was handing it over to his disciples, saying, ‘Go, make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit?’ For he alone through the mystical (μυστικῆς) regeneration (ἀναγεννήσεως) has given to us this grace of the knowledge of the holy Trinity (τὴν χάριν τῆς γνώσεως τῆς ἁγίας τριάδος), since neither Moses not the prophet provided this to the people of old.61 Here, the gospel is the correct knowledge of the apophatic Father, the mediating Son, and the Holy Spirit. Marcellus, through arguing for extreme oneness in the Godhead, falls into Sabellianism and Patripassianism—or Judaism, according to Eusebius. As Trinitarian teaching is one of the chief distinguishers between Judaism and Christianity, a flattening of the two ὑποστάσεις denies the God of the Christian Bible and tradition. Thus, Marcellus does not know the Father because he has misunderstood the role of the divine Son and ‘has made himself a stranger to both the knowledge and the grace in Christ (τῆς δ’ ἐν Χριστῷ γνώσεώς τε καὶ χάριτος ἠλλοτριωμένος).’62 If Marcellus does not believe in the eternal triune God, he does not believe in the Christian God.

57 58 59 60 61 62

PE 5,1,2–3. For example, see: DE 3,6,24; PE 1,4,9; PE 4,4,1; PE 5,1,2; Theo 3,64; Theo 5,14. For example, see: DE 3,2,6; DE 4,12,9; PE 6,6,65; PE 8,1,6. For example, see: CommIs 2,19; 40:27–29; ET 2,20,31; DE 1,1,2; DE 3,6,25. CM 1,1,9–10. CM 1,1,17.

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Thus, the saving grace of Christ is what provides the proper knowledge of God. It is the mercy and love of God which initiates and extends the proclamation and revelation of his own identity. Eusebius continues in the same passage: But the saving grace (σωτήριος χάρις), which provides to us a certain transcendent (ὑπερκόσμιόν) and angelic (ἀγγελικὴν) knowledge (γνῶσιν) … (announces) that the very God (θεόν) who is beyond the universe (and) who was known to the men of old is at the same time God and Father (θεὸν ἅμα καὶ πατέρα) of the only-begotten Son (υἱοῦ), supplying as well the power of the Holy Spirit through the Son (ἁγίου πνεύματος διὰ τοῦ υἱοῦ) to those deemed worthy (ἀξίοις). Thus the Church of God (θεοῦ ἐκκλησία) received and preserves the holy, blessed, and mystical Trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit as its saving hope through the regeneration in Christ (τὴν ἁγίαν καὶ μακαρίαν καὶ μυστικὴν τριάδα πατρὸς καὶ υἱοῦ καὶ ἁγίου πνεύματος εἰς σωτήριον ἐλπίδα διὰ τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναγεννήσεως).63 It is not enough, at least in this theological context, to know of the creator of the universe. The saving knowledge of God is to recognize him as the Father in relationship to the Son and Holy Spirit—the mystical Trinity. In another passage, Eusebius notes how Marcellus and Sabellius maintain monotheism and even the virgin birth, but they reject the true role of the Son by denying him a ὑπόστασις: ‘the Son of God, who is light and truth, the very culmination of the salvation of us all (τῆς ἁπάντων ἡμῶν σωτηρίας), they threw overboard and were shipwrecked together by their denial (ἀρνήσει) of the Son and the light of truth.’64 While the debate between Marcellus and Eusebius, and the polemical nature of CM and ET, qualifies the extent to which this notion of salvific knowledge as Trinitarian can be described as normative in Eusebius’ thought, he does discuss the revelation of the Godhead as salvific elsewhere. ‘While by teaching (διδασκαλίαις) and miracles (θεραπείαις) He ( Jesus) revealed the powers of His Godhead (θεότητος) to all equally whether Greeks or Jews.’65 Thus, one must know God properly to be saved. But, even within the Trinitarian aspects of this debate, Eusebius’ understanding of this knowledge is remarkably simple—one need not articulate a complex understanding of God. In ET, Eusebius writes a section which could easily be used for baptismal catechisms. For this reason, then, the Church of God (ἐκκλησία τοῦ θεοῦ), rightly discerning (ὀρθοτομοῦσα) the straight (εὐθεῖαν) and imperial (βασιλικὴν) way, rejected (ἀπεδοκίμασεν) the other ways that diverge (παρεκτροπὰς) [from this one], and hands over to its children [this] knowledge (γνῶσιν) 63 CM 1,1,11–12; parenthesis added. See: Gal 1:6–8. 64 ET 1,7,2–3. 65 DE 8,2,109; see also: Theo 3,40.

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of inspired grace (ἐνθέου χάριτος), teaching (διδάσκουσα) them to confess (ὁμολογεῖν) in the very mystery of rebirth (παλιγγενεσίας μυστήριον), namely, to believe (πιστεύειν) in one God the Father who rules over all, giving them to know that in this way the theology is perfect and exact and complete in all its parts, which hands down: 1) one God (ἣ θεὸν μὲν ἕνα) in contradistinction to the polytheistic error of the Greeks, 2) but knows that he is Father (πατέρα δὲ αὐτὸν οἶδεν) in opposition to the teaching of the Jews, 3) and confesses that he is ruler over all (παντοκράτορα), turning away from the impiety of the godless heterodox.66 Eusebius, in this section, demonstrates an important aspect of his understanding of salvific knowledge: the knowledge of God cannot be discerned outside of the church. His vision is wholly ecclesiastical and liturgical. Worship is shown through the correct and formulaic proclamation of God’s triune nature. In this context, the perfect, exact, and complete theology of the Father appears to be markers for the boundaries of orthodox teaching and worship. To know the Father as Father is to exclude polytheism and Judaism—or frameworks which allow for similar understandings. While Eusebius posits constructive Trinitarian formulations throughout ET, he is more concerned with adhering to basic creedal and ecclesiastical formulas of faith when describing said knowledge. The stress of these respective approaches in his apologetic and polemical work is clear: The former on monotheism, the latter on Trinitarianism. Eusebius has the same understanding of Christian monotheism in these works, but the respective emphasis is unique due to audience and purpose. The unveiled knowledge is God himself, which provides the framework to worship properly. Without the proper framework, the object of worship is misunderstood and humanity consequently falls into polytheism or Judaism. As his apologetic work is defending the Christian religion against paganism, he emphasizes how the Christian God is superior to non-Christian deities. The polemical work stresses the Trinitarian nature of God to combat Christian heresy. Spoerl and Vinzent write on this aspect of Eusebius’ thought: ‘The revelation of God’s Son in Christ must be understood in the correct way; If one does not distinguish properly between the Father and the Son revealed in Jesus Christ … one will not advance beyond a strict Jewish monotheism.’67 The vital piece of knowledge is to know the Father (and therefore the Christian God)—polytheistic worshippers, Jews, and unorthodox Christian thinkers do not. In CM, Eusebius writes of orthodox Christianity: But who was this [man] who teaches (διδάσκων) [us] to know God as Father (ὁ θεὸν πατέρα) and hands over [to us] the knowledge of a Son

66 ET 1,8,1; numbers added. 67 Spoerl and Vinzent (2017), 40.

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of God (υἱὸν θεοῦ γιγνώσκειν) and the zeal to participate in a Holy Spirit (πνεύματος ἁγίου)? Indeed, these things would be the distinguishing features of Christians alone (ἅπερ μόνων ἂν γένοιτο Χριστιανῶν γνωρίσματα), this being the way in which, I think, the holy Church of God distinguishes itself (ἀφοριζομένης) from the Jewish way [of life]. For as that way [of life] rejects the polytheistic and Greek error by [the] confession of one God (ἑνὸς θεοῦ), so also the exceptional knowledge concerning the Son (περὶ υἱοῦ γνῶσις κρεῖττόν) that belongs to the Church introduced something greater and more complete, teaching [human beings] to know the same God as Father of an only-begotten Son (τὸν αὐτὸν θεὸν πατέρα εἰδέναι μονογενοῦς υἱοῦ διδάσκουσα), a Son who is truly existing and living and subsisting (ὄντος καὶ ζῶντος καὶ ὑφεστῶτος).68 Only the knowledge of the Christian God—as taught by and in the church— avoids these two pitfalls of ignorance and misplaced worship. Thus, the salvific knowledge of God is his own identity.

The Teacher: Christ The revealed knowledge of God, then, is the Christian God as the Lord of all—the ingenerate Father, the Word who creates the universe, and the Holy Spirit. But, as this God is largely unknowable by natural experience and understanding, this knowledge needs a revealer. Or rather, in Eusebian phraseology, humanity needs a teacher—‘the teacher of the religion (διδασκάλου τε εὐσεβείας) of the One Supreme God to all the nations under the sun.’69 As seen in the previous chapter, Eusebius’ cosmological framework places great importance on the mediatorial role of the Son, as his divine nature provides him the unique capacity to reveal the unapproachable father. Christ’s role as teacher is predicated on his role as image—only he is able to reveal the true Father and thus to show which religion is true. The Logos teaches throughout the various theophanies of the Old Testament, but the full extent of his soteriological work is completed in the incarnation. In this sense, Berkhof is right to emphasize Eusebius’ soteriology as part of his cosmological and providential agency: ‘Die Soteriologie ist eine Fortsetzung und sogar ein Teil der Kosmologie.’70 But, this is not to say the incarnation is without consequence, for Berkhof, as Christ’s economic life is a necessary completion of this providential

68 CM 1,1,13–14. 69 PE 8,1,6. 70 Berkhof (1939), 116.

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work.71 While the Word teaches the religion of the One God to Moses and the Hebrews before the incarnation, the other images that Eusebius uses—Christ as healer, sacrifice, victor—are found primarily in his human life. His cosmic soteriology is pedagogical, while his incarnate soteriology expands to include these other aspects as well. But the emphasis remains on Christ’s teaching, even in the incarnation, because of Eusebius’ conviction that the Son of God, the only begotten of the Father, truly became man. Thus, he would naturally retain his role as teacher. Importantly, while there is an expansion of language and images in Eusebius’ soteriology in the economy, there is no significant distinction between these dispensations. This is because his soteriology is not focused on the work of Christ, so much as on his identity as Son of God. What is clear in Eusebius’ work on salvation is the uniqueness of the Savior—only the Son is fit to reveal the Father. ‘For it was fitting for the Son of God alone (μόνῳ γὰρ ἔπρεπεν τῷ υἱῷ τοῦ θεοῦ) to proclaim (εὐαγγελίσασθαι) to all human beings the paternal (πατρικὴν) grace (χάριν), since indeed … only through “Jesus Christ,” as through an “only-begotten Son,” did “grace and truth come.”’72 This uniqueness is, as noted above, on account of his nature in relationship to the Father. ‘There is one who is honored also through the image (διὰ τῆς εἰκόνος τιμώμενον), in the same way (as we have often said) the Church of God, having undertaken the worship of one God, continues to worship (σέβειν) the same also through the Son (διὰ τοῦ υἱοῦ), as through an image (ὡς διὰ εἰκόνος).’73 In this statement, the worship of the true God is necessarily through the Son, as he reveals the Father. So, if salvation is to see and know the true God, then the identity of Christ as the image of the invisible God carries the content of salvation—the divine Son’s role as the image is, in itself, salvific. Eusebius aligns with these statements of Clement, here: ‘But our Educator (παιδαγωγὸς) is the holy God, Jesus, the Word guiding (καθηγεμὼν) all mankind. God Himself, in His love for men, is our Educator (αὐτὸς ὁ φιλάνθρωπος θεός ἐστι παιδαγωγός).’74 It is important to rearticulate, then, Eusebius’ whole soteriological system is predicated on Christ’s divinity—on his Trinitarian theology. For scholars who argue that Eusebius’ Logos is semi-Arian, and thus not truly and ontologically divine (as the Father), his system will fall flat. For instance, D. S. Wallace Hadrill argues ‘unless the true divinity of the mediator (Christ) is firmly established at the outset, the saving efficacy of the Cross is at least seriously impaired.’75

71 ‘Zugleich aber ist die Erscheinung Christi die (auch abgesehen von der Sünde) notwendige Vollendung der vorsehenden Fürsorge.’ Berkhof (1939), 118. 72 CM 1,1,10–11. 73 ET 2,23,3–4. 74 Clement, Paedagogus 1,7,55. 75 Wallace-Hadrill (1960), 120.

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Thus, ‘His soteriology founders on the quicksand of his Christology.’76 But, Wallace-Hadrill fails to see it is his very nature as the Son of God which allows for his salvific work to begin. While the Son is constituted God by the Father (derivative subordinationism), he is God nevertheless. Thus, he is able to save. Further, the willful obedience of the Son as God elevates the soteriological function of the Son over that of theologians such as Marcellus, who see the incarnation as merely a soteriological function of God. In other words, the Son’s divine agency in obedience to the Father allows for a strong Trinitarian articulation in the work of salvation—the Father and Son both have agency in the willing and undertaking of salvation. The scriptural mosaic Eusebius creates for the salvific Son emphasizes his unique capacity to reveal the Father. Eusebius’ starting point for the Son’s role as teacher is New Testament references to Jesus revealing the Father, especially Mt 11:27: ‘All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.’ Jesus’ words here tell us something about the divine Son’s nature, for Eusebius—he is uniquely able to reveal the Father. When writing of the eternal nature of the Son (alongside his incarnation) in EH, Eusebius notes, ‘No language is sufficient to express the origin (Γένους) and the worth (ἀξίας), the being (οὐσίας) and the nature (φύσεως) of Christ. Wherefore also the Holy Spirit says in the prophecies, “Who shall declare his generation?” “For none knows the Father except the Son, neither can any one know the Son adequately except the Father alone who has begotten him.”’77 This pairing of Mt 11:27 and Is 53:8,78 is then followed with a paragraph about the Son’s relationship to the Father, in which his divinity is expressed: ‘the true and only-begotten Son of God, the Lord and God and King of all created things, the one who has received dominion and power, with divinity itself (αὐτῇ θεότητι), and with might and honor from the Father.’79 The sources here demonstrate how Eusebius ties Mt 11:27, along with other passages which speak of the Son revealing the Father, directly to his divine nature. It is because the Son is God, the unique image of the Father, that he is able to reveal him. It is illuminating to look at Eusebius’ Canon Tables for some of his exegetical strategies here. Eusebius pairs Mt 11:27 and Lk 10:22 with a number of Johannine passage, placing them in Canon III.80

76 Wallace-Hadrill (1960), 120. 77 EH 1,2,2. 78 This exegetical pairing is also seen in DE 4,3,13. Just as in the passage from EH, Eusebius speaks of the Son’s divine nature (begotten before time, from the Father, only-begotten, etc.) before adding these verses. For further evidence with Mt 11:27, see: CM 1,1,21–22; ET 1,12,7. 79 EH 1,2,2. 80 Again, it is unclear why Eusebius split the Matthean passage into two and did not do so for the near identical Lucan passage.

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Matthew 111/11:27a: All things have been handed over to me by my Father.

Luke

John

119/10:22: ‘All things 30/3:35: The Father loves the Son and have been handed over has placed all things in his hands. to me by my Father; and no one knows who the Son is except the Father, or who the Father is except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.’ 111/11:27a: 119/10:22: 114/13:3a: Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands… 111/11:27a: 119/10:22: 148/16:15a: All that the Father has is mine. 112/11:27b: and no 119/10:22: 8/1:18: No one has ever seen God. It one knows the Son is God the only Son, who is close to except the Father, and the Father’s heart, who has made him no one knows the known. Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. 112/11:27b: 119/10:22: 44/5:37: And the Father who sent me has himself testified on my behalf. You have never heard his voice nor seen his form… 112/11:27b: 119/10:22: 61/6:46: Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 112/11:27b: 119/10:22: 76/7:28–9: Then Jesus cried out as he was teaching in the temple, ‘You know me, and you know where I am from. I have not come on my own. But the one who sent me is true, and you do not know him. I know him, because I am from him, and he sent me.’ 112/11:27b: 119/10:22: 87/8:19b: ‘You know neither me nor my Father. If you knew me, you would know my Father also.’ 112/11:27b: 119/10:22: 90/10:15: just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. 112/11:27b: 119/10:22: 142/15:21: because they do not know him who sent me. 112/11:27b: 119/10:22: 154/17:25: ‘Righteous Father, the world does not know you, but I know you …’

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Several themes are apparent in these paired passages. First, the initial three passages speak of the power of the Son in relationship to the Father—he has been given all things. This demonstrates Eusebius’ understanding of the Son as the divine ruler over the world. Second, the subsequent eight pairings point out the unknowability of the Father and the Son’s unique capacity to reveal him. In this, we have a biblical mosaic exhibiting the Father through the revelation of the Son—he alone is able to image the Father. While this does not necessarily show that the Son must be divine to ‘image’ the Father, the rest of his works do: ‘For this reason he [ John] says, “And the Word was God” so that we might see that he who is over all (ἐπὶ πάντων), with whom the Word was, is God (θεὸν), and hear that the Word himself is God (θεὸν αὐτὸν τὸν λόγον ἄκουε), as an image of the God (ὡς εἰκόνα τοῦ θεοῦ), and an image not as in inanimate material but as in a living son (υἱῷ ζῶντι).’81 Only the living Son, the exact imprint of his υποστάσις, according to Heb 1:3, can be the image of the transcendent God. Eusebius, then, contextualizes the Son’s role as teacher with the other aspects of his divine identity: ‘They said that Christ, (Whom they named) the Word of God, and Himself both God (θεὸν) and Lord (κύριον), and Angel of Great Counsel, would one day dwell among men, and would become for all the nations of the world, both Greek and Barbarian, a teacher of true knowledge (διδάσκαλον ἀληθοῦς θεογνωσίας) of God.’82 These titles for the Son mark out how he is unique—He is God (θεὸν) and Lord (κύριον), which is why he is the teacher. Likewise, he is the revealer of divine and perfect knowledge, because he himself is divine and perfect: The perfect and heavenly teacher (διδάσκαλος) of perfect and heavenly thoughts and teachings (δογμάτων), the leader to the true knowledge of God (ἀληθοῦς θεογνωσίας εἰσαγωγεύς), God the Word, revealed Himself (ἐπέφανεν ἑαυτὸν), at the time announced for His Incarnation, preaching the Gospel (εὐαγγελιζόμενος) of the Father’s love … moving all to a common salvation (σωτηρίαν) in God, promising the truth and light of true religion (ἀληθοῦς εὐσεβείας), the kingdom of Heaven, and eternal life to all.83 It seems, from this passage, only the perfect teacher is able to reveal the salvific knowledge of God. The title of ‘teacher,’ then, is born out of the Son’s unique place as the divine image of the invisible God, as discussed in the previous chapter. Turning to the role of the teacher in salvation history, his revelatory work is seen throughout time—a theme found in both Clement and Origen. For instance, Origen writes at the outset of De Principiis: ‘And by the words of

81 ET 2,17,3. 82 DE 1,1,2. 83 DE 8,proem,11; translation altered.

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Christ we mean not only those which he spoke when he became man (quae homo factus) and dwelt in the flesh; for even before this, Christ, the Word of God (prius namque Christus dei uerbum) was in Moses and the prophets. For without the Word of God how could they have been able to prophesy of Christ (Nam sine uerbo dei quomodo poterant prophetare de Christo)?’84 Thus, the revealed knowledge of God, given through the Son, is first seen in Moses and the Law. Eusebius likewise writes, ‘Therefore, the one who spoke to Moses was the mediator (μεσίτης ἦν), mediating (μεσιτεύων) by means of that [law] of salvation (σωτηρίᾳ) of human beings even before the assumption of the flesh (πρὶν ἢ τὴν σάρκα ἀναλαβεῖν).’85 The Logos provides the law to Moses, which in a limited capacity, reveals the knowledge of the Father (monotheism).86 Eusebius emphasizes the moral framework and ethical dimension of the law of Moses in these instances: Christ, throughout the Old Testament, shines ‘rays of His own light to shine through (διὰ) the prophet Moses and the godly men before (πρὸ) and after (μετ’) him, providing a cure (ἴασιν) for the evil in man.’87 Here, Eusebius utilizes therapeutic language—the Son provides salvific knowledge and healing from all time. Similarly, in the Theo, Eusebius uses the metaphor of sowing seeds of righteousness: ‘He (Word) has likewise, cast forth (as seed) among mortal men, the doctrines conducive to life; divine laws, and precepts of righteousness, as herbs (productive) of things that are good, and as medicines for the salvation of reasonable souls. Thus (did He) in ancient times with the Hebrews through Prophets, men who partook of the Divine Spirit.’88 In these passages, the Logos reveals the knowledge of the Father through Moses and the prophets, providing medicine or a cure for the evil in man in the form of the doctrines of the law which offer salvation to reasonable souls. In other words, Eusebius consistently describes salvation as rational. The knowledge given to the Hebrews is limited in scope in several ways though—first, the intended audience is narrow, when compared to the final revelation of Jesus in the incarnation.89 In DE, Eusebius juxtaposes Moses and Christ, specifically in their roles as prophet and teacher: He (Moses) was the first (πρῶτος) also to proclaim (κατήγγειλεν) the theology of the one God (μοναρχίας θεολογίαν), bidding them worship (σέβειν) only the Creator and Maker (δημιουργὸν καὶ ποιητὴν) of all things … But Jesus Christ too, like Moses, only on a grander stage (πολὺ κρειττόνως), was the first to originate (καθηγήσατο) the teaching according

84 Origen, De principiis 1,proem,1; see also: Clement, Paedagogus 1,9,75–87. 85 ET 2,21,3–4. 86 CM 1,1,11–12. 87 DE 4,10,4. 88 Theo 2,93. 89 Eusebius makes a distinction between the Hebrews and Jews. See: Johnson (2006), 35–40; Iricinschi (2011).

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to holiness (εὐσέβειαν διδασκαλίας) for the other nations … He was the first to introduce (προυβάλετο) to all men the knowledge and religion (γνῶσίν τε καὶ εὐσέβειαν) of the one almighty God.90 Christ removes the boundaries on which people salvific knowledge is given. While Moses gave knowledge through the Law, which was first given to him by the Word of the true God to the Israelites, Jesus extended this knowledge to all nations. As Ulrich writes, ‘Auf die im mosaischen Gesetz angelegte Errettung Israels folgt also die als Ausweitung des göttlichen Heilsbereiches verstandene Errettung aller in Christus.’91 Christ’s salvific work, for Eusebius, is extended to everyone. Second, the content of salvific knowledge is also expanded in the incarnation. This is seen in his view of the law—the law is but a shadow of the things to come, as noted in passages such as Col 2:17 or Heb 10:1. This does not mean the law is deficient for Eusebius, but rather is the revelation of ‘elementary truths (εἰσαγωγαῖς) at the entry of life of holiness (εὐσέβειαν βίου),’92 fully revealed in Christ. In other words, the law contains the true knowledge of God, but only in its elementary form (εἰσαγωγαῖς). This is likewise found in the thought of Origen, in his In Canticum canticorum 1:3, ‘The bride had the use and the knowledge (usum et notitiam) of spices—that is, of the words of the Law and the Prophets (verborum legis et prophetarium), by which, though only to a moderate (mediocriter) extent, she was instructed (instrui) and practiced (exerceri) in the service of God before the Bridegroom came.’93 In this sense, the law is true and good, but not the full revelation of God found in the incarnation: ‘the Church introduced something greater and more complete (κρεῖττόν τι καὶ πλέον).’94 But what is the full content of the teaching, for Eusebius? The ecclesiastical doctrine of the Trinity. You see that the Son of God was the mystery that was previously hidden (μυστήριον ἦν ἀποκεκρυμμένον πρότερον), but now (νυνὶ) has been manifest (φανερωθὲν). For this reason the prophets of God wrote their mystical theology about him in the prophetic spirit (προφητικῷ πνεύματι) while the majority of the Jewish nation remained in ignorance (ἀγνοίᾳ) of the hidden mystery (μυστηρίου)—as a result of which they were taught to know one (ἐδιδάσκετο ἕνα εἰδέναι) God because they were repeatedly being dragged down by polytheistic error, but were ignorant that God was Father of the only-begotten Son (πατέρα δὲ ὄντα τὸν θεὸν υἱοῦ τοῦ μονογενοῦς ἠγνόει).95

90 DE 3,2,6; translation altered. 91 Ulrich (1999), 168. 92 DE 4,10,8. 93 Origen, In Canticum canticorum 1,3,1. 94 CM 1,1,14. 95 ET 1,20,88–89.

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Eusebius is able to argue the prophets (or the true Hebrews) knew of the second person of the Trinity, but as a whole, the Jews were largely ignorant of God as Father. Thus, Christ’s declarations of the Son are largely salvific in themselves, as they reveal who God truly is—Father of the Son. The Son proclaims who God is, in his very nature. And indeed, the Son himself handed down in the Gospels, teaching [the people] to acknowledge only one God (ἕνα μόνον εἰδέναι διδάσκων θεόν), when he said, ‘And this is eternal life, that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.’ Therefore, he himself was the true God (αὐτὸς οὖν ὁ ἀληθινὸς ἦν θεός), who alone is one and besides whom there is no other, who enjoined these things upon the Jewish nation when they had fallen into idolatry, not only through the prophets but also through his own Son.96 This is important for two reasons: First, salvific knowledge through the Word is not completely hidden before the incarnation (the prophets knew it), but it is plainly revealed by Christ.97 ‘Christ, therefore, was the mystery (μυστήριον), and it is clear that he is the Son of God. For this reason the prophets of God previously glorified (ἐδόξαζον) him mystically (μυστικῶς) with various forms of address, concealing his ineffability (ἀπόρρητον) and dispensing by his grace his revelation (ἀποκάλυψιν) to all.’98 The Son’s salvific mediation is of the same type as before the incarnation—he has the same message of who God is, but the mystery is fully revealed in the flesh. Thus, the church has a special privilege, something that can only be found in the new covenant. ‘But the saving grace (χάρις) of recognizing (γνωρίζειν) that the same [God] is also Father of an only-begotten Son has been given (δεδώρηται) to the Church as a special privilege.’99 Second, if salvation is to know God properly, he must be known as Father. Consequently, for this title (Father) to be acknowledged, the Son must also be known as his Son. In this sense, the Word is not a simple deictic mediator, as Robertson argues, who points to the Father—His identity as Son is vitally important for salvific knowledge. Robertson is right to say: ‘The nature of the mediation provided by the Eusebian Christ, then, is necessarily a “deictic” one; that is, the act of “pointing” to another.’ The Son proclaims who God is. But Robertson is wrong to continue, ‘the mediator (Christ), while associated (with God), is not identified.’100 If the Son is not identified with the Father, the salvific knowledge of the church—which knows the Son as truly Son—is incomplete. Here, Eusebius’ approach allows Trinitarian theology to benefit 96 ET 2,22,1–2. 97 Although, Eusebius seems to be inconsistent on this point, concerning the knowledge of the Prophets in the Hebrew Bible. See: ET 1,20,88–89; ET 2,22,5. 98 ET 1,20,96. 99 ET 1,2,1. 100 Robertson (2007), 56.

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liturgical and ecclesiastical worship. Christians believe in a triune God, as handed down by Christ and the apostles, and it is thus central to Christian teaching. Alongside the knowledge of God itself being Trinitarian, salvation is enacted, in some way, by each member of the Trinity. The Father wills the salvation of humankind, the Son obeys the will of the Father, and the Spirit illuminates believers. ‘And he (Son) received from the Father authority (παρὰ τοῦ πατρὸς λαβὼν ἐξουσίαν) to deliver (ἐρρύετο) those who are worthy of salvation (σωτηρίας ἀξίους) and put to flight (ἐτροποῦτο) his adversaries and enemies.’101 Or likewise, in a passage from DE, where Eusebius utilizes figurative exegesis for Is 8:5–8, ‘Thus it means by the water of Siloam that goes softly, the Gospel teaching of the word of salvation (σωτηρίου λόγου διδασκαλίαν). For Siloam means “sent.” And this would be God the Word, sent by the Father (ἐκ τοῦ πατρὸς ἡμῖν ἀπεσταλμένος θεὸς λόγος).’102 In these passages, it is the Father who is the sender (source) and the Son who is the agent of salvation. Thus, the Son also has personal agency in his soteriological work, alongside the will and work of the Father and Spirit—he himself chooses to submit himself to human life and suffering. For it was truly a great work for our salvation (ἔργον τοῦ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν) that he took up (ἀναλαβεῖν) the ‘form of a servant’ and submitted to be born among people (ἐν ἀνθρώποις ὑπομεῖναι γέννησιν) … Therefore, to them first ‘he proclaimed (ἐκήρυττεν) liberty’ to those whose souls (ψυχὰς) are ‘captive (αἰχμαλώτοις)’ and ‘recovery of sight’ to those who are ‘blind (τυφλοῖς).’103 It is the Son who took up (ἀναλαβεῖν) his role and willfully obeyed the Father. Finally, the Spirit is occasionally referenced as a participant in the salvation of humankind, typically for the illumination and training of the church. ‘And this was the reason of the visitation of the Divine Spirit (τοῦ θείου πνεύματος ἐπιφορᾶς αἴτιον) to men, to teach (διδάξαι) men the knowledge of God (θεογνωσίαν), and the loftiest theology (θεολογίαν) of the Father and the Son, to train (παιδεῦσαί) them in every form of true religion (εὐσεβείας).’104 While salvation is not explicitly mentioned here, the knowledge of God and the theology of the Father and Son seem to be salvific knowledge. The divergence between the Trinitarian theologies of Eusebius and Marcellus has been discussed in previous chapters, but it is worth noting how Marcellus’ doctrine of God is wholly incompatible with Eusebius’ soteriological framework. The agency of the Son, alongside the Trinitarian knowledge of Christ, is one of the chief points of disagreement in the soteriological work of

101 102 103 104

CommIs 2,53; 63:4; parenthesis added. DE 7,1,115–16. CommIs 2,35; 49:6. DE 5,proem,24; translation altered. See also: CommIs 1,73; 18:4.

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Marcellus and Eusebius.105 As salvation is to recognize God as Father through his Son, Marcellus’ framework (which does not recognize these relations eternally) is, frankly, damning. Long ago Sabellius and now Marcellus … boasted [first] that they knew full well (εἰδέναι διισχυρίζοντο), just like the faithless Jews, the God over all (ἐπὶ πάντων θεὸν), and together confessed, second, the flesh (σάρκα) taken from the holy virgin; but third, the Son of God (υἱὸν τοῦ θεοῦ), who is light and truth, the very culmination of the salvation (σωτηρίας) of us all, they threw overboard and were shipwrecked together by their denial (ἀρνήσει) of the Son and of the light of truth.106 Marcellus’ framework is a huge threat to Christian orthodoxy, for Eusebius, as it denies the basic knowledge required for salvation—it does not know the Father as Father, nor the Son as Son. ‘And therefore faith is sufficient for us for salvation (ἀπαρκεῖ τοιγαροῦν ἡμῖν ἡ πίστις πρὸς σωτηρίαν), which allows [us] to know (γινώσκειν) God as [the] Father (ἡ θεὸν πατέρα) who rules over all, and to acknowledge his only-begotten Son as Savior (μονογενῆ αὐτοῦ υἱὸν ἐπιγράφεσθαι σωτῆρα).’107 But importantly, it also misidentifies those enacting salvation—the triune God. If the Son is merely a function of the Father, his role is reduced to a passive action rather than an active savior. The Word’s nature as the only-begotten Son of God must be properly known for salvation. Well now, let Marcellus learn (μανθανέτω), if having grown old in the episcopate of the Church of Christ, he even now has not yet learned (οὔπω καὶ νῦν μεμάθηκεν) that the knowledge (γνῶσις) of the hidden mystery (μυστηρίου) regarding the Son of God was in no way granted to the people of old, who had slipped into idolatry, and that the ‘mystery hidden for ages and generations’ was dispensed to his Church alone (μόνῃ τῇ αὐτοῦ ἐκκλησίᾳ) through his grace (χάριτος), in which mystery the teaching of the holy Trinity of Father and Son and Holy Spirit was included (ἐν ᾧ μυστηρίῳ ὁ περὶ τῆς ἁγίας τριάδος πατρὸς καὶ υἱοῦ καὶ ἁγίου πνεύματος περιείχετο λόγος).108 One may note, here, that according to his soteriological system, Eusebius dismisses Marcellus’ salvation. He has yet to learn the salvific knowledge of the Trinity, through the grace of Christ. In other words, he is not a Christian, but a Jew (as he only recognizes the single υποστάσις in God). Ulrich is correct to note that Eusebius is not simply mislabeling Marcellus as a Jew for his polemic here—Eusebius sees Marcellus’ system as genuinely Jewish in its denial of the

105 It is a challenge constructing Marcellus’ soteriology from the extant fragments, but several scholars have made attempts. See, Lienhard (1999), 63; Parvis (2010). 106 ET 1,7,2–3. 107 ET 1,12,7; emphasis added. 108 ET 2,22,4–5; emphasis added.

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Son.109 The mystery of the Trinity, both in action and knowledge, is pivotal for Eusebius soteriological framework. Thus far, it is apparent while Eusebius’ soteriological system is predicated on the true knowledge of God and his triune nature, it does not require the incarnation in the same way as other patristic authors. If Christ simply reveals the Father and has been doing this from all time, does he need to become incarnate?110 In one sense, no. The Son is simply continuing his work. But that does not mean the incarnation holds little or no importance for Eusebius’ soteriology. In fact, he notes the requirement or need of a human body for Christ’s salvific work in a number of places. For instance, in Theo, he writes: ‘On, this account therefore, He required a mortal vessel, a help which would comport with the conversation (had) among men.’111 When writing about ‘this account,’ Eusebius is referring to the inability of mortal nature to discover the unknowable Father—the Son manifested himself to reveal God. ‘He needed (ἔδει) a human instrument (ὀργάνου ἀνθρωπείου), so that He could show (φήνειεν) Himself to men, and give true teaching (λόγον διδάξειεν) of the knowledge (ἐπιγνώσεως) of the Father and of holiness (ἐπιγνώσεως).’112 Here, the Son’s greatest theophany expands the audience and the effectiveness of this knowledge. As humans are able to see the divine power of God, manifested in Jesus Christ, they are better able to understand and follow the true God. Thus, the Son requires a body so that all may know he is God. The other soteriological images in Eusebius’ system necessitate the Son of God to be a human being as well. For instance, Christ’s victory over demonic powers and death is instigated and completed in the incarnation. The Word of God undertook ‘the reprehension of Death, by means of a human nature (δι’ ἀνθρώπου φύσεως) … He, who was incorporeal (ἀσώματος),—availing Himself of human armoury, and of a mortal body (θνητῷ σώματι),—by means of mortality overcame mortality (τὸν θάνατον διὰ τοῦ θνητοῦ κατηγωνίσατο).’113 Here, Christ overcomes death by the instrument of mortal flesh. Since humanity is subject to death because of Adam’s sin, so it must be overcome by a human: Since the apostle said, ‘By man death (δι’ ἀνθρώπου θάνατος) entered into the world,’ it was surely essential that the victory over death (θανάτου) should be achieved (βραβευθῆναι) by (διὰ) man (ἀνθρώπου) as well, and the body of death (θανάτου) be shown to be the body of life (ζωῆς), and the reign of sin (ἁμαρτίας τὴν βασιλείαν) that before ruled in the mortal

109 Ulrich (1999), 171. 110 A question posed by several patristic scholars. Berkhof: ‘Im Gegenteil: wenn die indirekte Offenbarung des Logos schon solche herrlichen Folgen hatte, wozu was es denn nötig, daß er selbst in der Hülle eines menschlichen Körpers auf die Welt kam?’ Berkhof (1939), 116; or Grillmeier: ‘War sie in seiner Theologie überhaupt notwendig?’ Grillmeier (1979), 312. 111 Theo 3,39. 112 DE 4,10,18; translation altered. 113 Theo 3,61.

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body be destroyed (καταλυθῆναι), so that it should no longer serve sin but righteousness.114 Τhe human nature of Christ is vital for his understanding of Christus Victor—only in the defeat of death in mortal nature is humanity able to become immortal. Another facet of his soteriology which necessitates a human body is Christ’s sacrificial work on the cross. Eusebius frequently refers to the human title of Christ as Lamb of God when speaking of his sacrifice on the cross. For instance, ‘So that everything that follows, which may seem to lower his glory (ταπεινότερον δόξειεν), must be taken as conceived of the Lamb (ἀμνὸν) of God (τοῦ θεοῦ) that takes away the sin of the world, and of his human body (τὸ σκῆνος τὸ ἀνθρώπειον).’115 Using partitive exegesis, here, Eusebius argues that Christ’s title as the Lamb of God is only appropriate of his incarnation, specifically for the salvific work on the cross.116 ‘The Lamb of God (ὁ ἀμνὸς τοῦ θεοῦ) is made thus both sin and curse (ἁμαρτία καὶ κατάρα)—sin for the sinners in the world, and curse for those remaining in all the things written in Moses’ law.’117 If not for his assumption of human nature, the salvific work of Son as the Lamb of God would be incomplete. Eusebius’ view of Christ as teacher, or perhaps more accurately as ‘preacher,’ is thus predicated on several important theological convictions. First, only the Son of God is able to reveal the Father as his unique image. Thus, salvation is enacted by God. Second, the articulated knowledge and work of salvation is Trinitarian—God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, have roles to play in his soteriology. Third, while his primary soteriological image (communication) does not necessitate a human body in the incarnation, he still speaks of Christ’s incarnation as a requirement of universal salvation through Christ. Christ is the teacher, in all of salvation history, bringing the knowledge of the Christian God to an ignorant humanity.

The Outcome: The Ends of Salvific Knowledge Christ, then, who is uniquely able to see the Father and teach of the true religion, provides salvific knowledge: the true God is the Christian one. ‘For the ignorance of God (ἄγνοιαν τοῦ θεοῦ) which once abounded in our souls (ψυχαῖς) he changed into the light of knowledge (φῶς γνώσεως).’118 But what does this knowledge do? This is yet another place in which the soteriological

114 DE 7,1,18; translation altered. 115 DE 10,proem,4. 116 This is further demonstrated, albeit in the negative, from Eusebius’ lengthy list of titles for the pre-incarnate Christ in ET 1,20. Despite over two dozen titles being listed, he does not mention ‘Lamb of God’ as one of Christ’s pre-incarnate titles. 117 DE 1,10,19. 118 CommIs 2,23; 42:16–17.

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images of the New Testament come to the fore. As Christ is a payment for sin, humanity finds forgiveness; he is the victor over demonic spirits and death, and thus humanity is freed from corruption and mortality. While Eusebius certainly uses these images, his primary soteriological end emphasizes the movement of humanity from an irrational state towards a rational one. As in other gnostic soteriological systems, the proper end of divine teaching and learning is ethical and upright living. To live in light of this knowledge is akin to life as a member of a philosophical school—to make decisions based on philosophical, rational inquiry derived from first principles. As Grillmeier writes for Eusebius’ Christology, ‘Christus ist die inkarnierte Sophia un darum “Philosoph” und der “erste der Philosophen.”’119 If Christians are called to imitate Christ, they must also become philosophers. Solely through the teaching of our Saviour (τοῦ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν διδασκαλίας) in the Gospel, Greeks and Barbarians together, who sincerely and unfeignedly adhere to His word, have reached such a point of high philosophy (ἄκρας φιλοσοφίας), as to worship and praise and acknowledge (σέβειν καὶ ὑμνεῖν καὶ θεολογεῖν) as divine none but the Most High God … They have also learned to live a strict life (βιοῦν τε ἀκριβῶς), so as to be guided even in looking with their eyes, and to conceive no licentious thought (ἀκόλαστον) from a lustful (ἐπιθυμίας) look, but to cut away (ὑποτέμνεσθαι) the very roots of every base passion from the mind (διανοίας) itself.120 Here, Eusebius notes that every person who follows the teachings of the Savior has reached the pinnacle of philosophy. This philosophy is not predicated on intellect, but on the proper acknowledgment of the solely divine God and thereafter proper worship and praise of this God. Therefore, some individuals seek higher ways of life which ‘admits not marriage, child-bearing, property nor the possession of wealth, but wholly and permanently separate from the common customary life of mankind (ἁπάντων ἀνθρώπων ἀγωγῆς παρηλλαγμένον).’121 In other words, to follow the knowledge of God to its end means a kind of philosophical asceticism—to cast off sinful passions through ordered thought. But Eusebius leaves space for ethical living in different modes of life, so long as they are free from vice—a life void of sinful passion.122 One need not be a celibate hermit or join a philosophical school to truly follow Christ, one must simply turn from abhorrent pagan practices and live in Christian community.123

119 Grillmeier (1979), 314. 120 PE 1,4,9. 121 DE 1,8,1. 122 See: Theo 4,24. 123 In a passage in PE, Eusebius does note the changed practices of polytheistic ‘barbarians’ after applying the teaching of Christ. The list of sinful practices includes incest, cannibalism, animal excarnation, euthanasia, and human sacrifice. PE 1,4,6.

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Interestingly, despite a system which lends credence to philosophical asceticism, Eusebius discusses little of ordered living in light of the knowledge of God. At least in the extant writing, he only notes extreme cases of sin and common Christian ascetical ideals. Eusebius seems to depart from Origen and Clement, here, who emphasize a twofold step in Christ’s work in humans—Christ’s healing, then his teaching towards moral living. Clement, for example, spends much of his Paedagogus elaborating on this second step of salvation, explicitly laying out ethical guidelines for pastoral/ethical issues, such as living together, eating, feasts, etc.124 While there should not be a strict distinction between these ‘steps,’ in Clement or Origen’s thought, Eusebius does not seem to divide these aspects of salvation at all—or rather, to spend much time dwelling upon the second step. While he does mention relationships, bans repugnant pagan practices, and praise martyrs throughout his corpus, he does not narrow in on this matter as intentionally as his predecessors. This, perhaps, demonstrates the largest distinction in these writer’s soteriological systems. For Eusebius, the teaching of Christ is proclamation of God’s identity. For Clement and Origen, teaching is foremost tied to ethical living in light of Christ’s pedagogical healing. The therapeutic end of this salvific knowledge concerns the diseased nature of the world. As noted, humanity lived in a state of irrational madness, on account of their ignorance. Thus, salvific knowledge ends the madness and fosters freedom. The Word: came for the healing (θεραπείᾳ) of the whole (human) race, which had become subject to disease (νόσον) and a strange kind of madness (μανίαν), so that they knew neither God their Father (πατέρα γινώσκειν θεὸν), nor the proper essence of their own spiritual nature (νοερᾶς φύσεως οὐσίαν), nor yet God’s providence (πρόνοιαν) which preserves the universe, but had almost come into the degenerate state of an irrational (ἀλόγου) animal (ζῴου).125 Here, humanity is ignorant of the true God, their own spiritual nature, and God’s providence. But these maladies are corrected and healed by the Son—the Word teaches humans of the Father and thus brings Christians into rational thought and piety. ‘Nor should we forget how even now throughout the whole world multitudes bound by all forms of evil, full of ignorance (ἀγνωσίας) of Almighty God (θεοῦ) in their souls (ψυχὰς), are healed and cured (ἰᾶται καὶ θεραπεύει) miraculously and beyond all argument by the medicine of His teaching.’126 Eusebius understands the proper remedy of the sinful soul

124 See especially: Clement, Paedagogus 2. 125 PE 8,3,44. 126 DE 9,13,3.

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to be the medicinal teaching of the Son. Thus, the titles ‘physician’127 and ‘savior,’128 which Eusebius attributes to Christ, are to be understood in light of Christ as ‘teacher.’ He attracts (ὑπαγόμενος) to Himself great multitudes from all the world, and releases (ἀπαλλάσσων) them that come to Him from all kinds of sin (ἁμαρτίας) and diseases (νοσημάτων) and troubles of the soul (ψυχὴν); he summons to His holy school (εὐσεβῆ διδασκαλίαν) all races, Greek and Barbarian; He leads countless hosts to the knowledge of the one true God (τοῦ μόνου καὶ ἀληθοῦς θεοῦ γνῶσιν), and to a healthy and pure life (ὑγιῆ καὶ σώφρονα βίον), as befits those who promise to worship (θρησκείας) Almighty God.129 The taught knowledge of Christ is the cure for humanity’s ailments, their evils and diseases and troubles of the spirit, and provides the way towards a healthy and pure life. The salvific end of the payment image is of the forgiveness of sins. The teachings of Christ wholly reverse the conditions of a crippled humanity—the debt of humanity is paid, the curse lifted. Utilizing Mt 11:28, Eusebius writes: To those who were hampered by evil spirits (πνευμάτων πονηρῶν), and bound (κεκρατημένοις) for a long time like captives (αἰχμαλώτων) by demons, He proclaimed forgiveness (τὴν ἄφεσιν προεκήρυττε), calling back (ἀνακαλούμενος) all to be free (ἐλευθερίαν) and to escape (λύσιν) from the bonds of evil (λύσιν), when He said: ‘Come to me, all you that labour, and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.’130 Here, there is clearly a connection between demons and sin, who are leading mankind away. These themes are also expressed in his CommIs, ‘But they will be deemed worthy of the forgiveness of sins (ἁμαρτιῶν ἀφέσεως) through the grace of Christ (Χριστοῦ χάριτος), and they will be released from prison and set free and delivered (ἐλευθεροῦσθαί τε καὶ ἀπαλλάττεσθαι) from the dungeon of the devil (διαβόλου).’131 What is important to note is the freedom and escape from sin is on account of Christ’s sacrifice, which breaks the bonds of humanity’s oppressors. In this case, both demons and sin are subjecting humans to death. Humanity is therefore liberated from all its former oppressors. This sacrifice is met with a reciprocal response from Christians to God: ‘We sacrifice (Θύομεν), therefore, to Almighty God a sacrifice of praise (θυσίαν αἰνέσεως) … But the sacrifice to God is called “a contrite heart (καθαρὰν).”’132 127 For example, see: CommIs 2,40; 51:17; PE 7,12,9; PE 13,3,45; DE 4,10,9; ET 1,13,3–6; HE 10,4,12–13; Theo 2,86. 128 CommIs 1,22; 1:27; ET 2,21,8–9; Theo 2,52; VC 3,56; GQS adSt 10,1; PE 1,1,10; DE 5,proem,23. 129 DE 9,13,9; translation altered. 130 DE 3,1,2; translation altered. 131 CommIs 2,22; 42:6–7. 132 DE 1,10,36.

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This quote from Ps 50:17 LXX is then the place to begin with proper worship in Christian churches. Interestingly, this is where we see Eusebius break from an explicitly gnostic soteriology. Alastair H. B. Logan speak of the issues and limitations of gnostic soteriology, ‘But where in all this is the cross, or any concept of reconciliation? Where is any mention of a rite of remembrance, a eucharist? These Gnostics would probably claim that such things are irrelevant or unnecessary: salvation means illumination, release from ignorance.’133 While Eusebius certainly argues that salvation is illumination and the freedom from demonic powers, this sacrificial aspect of Eusebius’ soteriology demands the rite of remembrance. Eusebius continues the aforementioned pericope, So, then, we sacrifice and offer incense (θύομεν καὶ θυμιῶμεν): On the one hand when we celebrate the Memorial (μνήμην) of His great sacrifice (θύματος) according to the Mysteries He delivered (παραδοθέντα) to us, and bring to God the Eucharist (εὐχαριστίαν) for our salvation (ὑπὲρ σωτηρίας) with holy hymns (εὐσεβῶν) and prayers (εὐχῶν); while on the other we consecrate (καθιεροῦντες) ourselves to Him alone and to the word His High Priest (ἀρχιερεῖ), devoted to Him in body and soul (σώματι καὶ ψυχῇ). Therefore we are careful to keep our bodies pure and undefiled (σῶμα ἄχραντον καὶ ἀμίαντον) from all evil, and we bring our hearts purified (κεκαθαρμένην τὴν διάνοιαν) from every passion and stain of sin, and worship Him with sincere thoughts, real intention, and true beliefs (λογισμοῖς τε ἀδιαπτώτοις καὶ ἀπλάστῳ διαθέσει δόγμασί τε ἀληθείας εὐσεβοῦμεν αὐτόν).134 Here, Christians are called to remember the sacrifice of Christ through true worship of God—Eucharist, hymns, and prayers. In this way, the liturgical nature of Eusebius’ theology comes to the fore—recognizing Christ’s proclamation is worship. Therefore, these are markers of spiritual regeneration (ἀναγεννήσεως) in Christ, not simply external moralism or rites. When discussing Is 55:1, in light of the eucharist, he writes: ‘On the one hand, water “from the springs of salvation (πηγῆς τοῦ σωτηρίου)” clearly refers to the evangelical preaching (εὐαγγελικὸν κήρυγμα), and wine and milk, on the other hand, allude to the mystery (μυστήριον) of regeneration in Christ (Χριστῷ ἀναγεννήσεως).’135 This regeneration, which facilitates proper worship to God, should qualify how this knowledge saves humanity. Eusebius is not positing a simple moralism, but internal regeneration and purification through Christ, and it is out of this that humanity remains pure and undefiled from sins. Thus, the effect of this payment image is freedom from bondage, regeneration in Christ, and a reciprocated sacrifice of worship.

133 Logan (1997), 491. 134 DE 1,10,38–39. 135 CommIs 2,44; 55:1.

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The payment image is, naturally, centered on the sacrifice of Christ on the cross. But, despite this sacrifice providing a forgiveness of sins, Eusebius still emphasizes a knowledge-based understanding of the cross. His emphasis, in apologetic contexts, is on the public nature of the crucifixion—Christ’s death is openly seen by all. It proves the divine nature of Christ and encourages the disciples; they have seen the promises of the resurrection and eternal life fulfilled with their own eyes. Now, the triumph (κατόρθωμα) (over death) would have benefitted no one if it had been carried out in darkness and secret, unrecognized by anyone; publicly proclaimed and heard by all (βοηθὲν δὲ καὶ ἀκουσθὲν εἰς ἅπαντας), it provided the benefit (ὤνησεν) from its miraculous character to all … Abandoning His body (σῶμα) for a brief time and surrendering His mortal form to death is proof of its own nature (οἰκείας φύσεως), not long after He raised it back from the dead as proof of His divine power (ἐνθέου δυνάμεως). So doing, He proved that the eternal life (ζωὴν ἀΐδιον) promised by Him was stronger than any form of death.136 This passage, then, emphasizes the public and educational merits of the cross over any kind of substitutionary or sacrificial system. Beeley thus writes: ‘There is no sense in Eusebius’s work that Christ’s death had an automatically redeeming effect on anyone—except for the transformation of his own mortal humanity into immortality. Only because Christ died a public death is he able to persuade his followers that they need not fear death.’137 One should, perhaps, hesitate to say there is no immediate value to the cross, as this seems to posit a type of moralism. His death is exemplary for inspiring hope, but this is not all for Eusebius. Eusebius rounds out this public aspect of Christ’s crucifixion, several paragraphs later in LC, by discussing the sacrificial purpose of his death: ‘He was a sacrifice (ἱερεῖον) offered up to the All-Ruling God of the Universe on behalf of the entire human race, a victim (ἱερεῖον) consecrated (καθιερούμενον) on behalf of the flock of mankind, a sacrificial victim (ἱερεῖον) for averting demonic error (δαιμονικῆς πλάνης).’138 While knowledge is obviously central to his claims, his sacrifice is immediately efficacious—there is redemption in the cross. Thus, the crucifixion both teaches humanity something about Christ and has immediate sacrificial effect upon Christians: the forgiveness of sins. The final soteriological end that Christ initiates is the victory over demons and death. As has been seen, Eusebius discusses freedom as the liberation from ignorance and sins. Thus, this end is also freedom from one of the effects of ignorance—demonic oppression. As noted, humanity was led astray by

136 LC 15,5–6. 137 Beeley (2012), 75. 138 LC 15,11.

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Lucifer and his demons in their ignorance.139 But, the revealed knowledge of Christ removes the shackles of ignorance which left space for demonic oppression and worship in the first place. Eusebius writes in PE, ‘All men from all quarters have been sailed back by our Saviour’s voice from the delusion (πλάνης) handed down from their fathers about the tyranny of daemons (δαιμόνων) … released (λελυτρωμένον) from the deception (κατασχούσης) which from the earliest age oppressed their whole life.’140 The demonic are defeated because their identities are revealed in light of the true God and thus their deception no longer hinders Christians. Origen, likewise, comments in his Homiliae in librum Jesum Nave: Before the coming (ante adventum) of our Lord and Savior (Domini et Salvatoris), all those demons (daemones), undisturbed and secure, were occupying human spirits (humanas animas) and ruled in their minds and bodies (mentibus corporibusque regnabant). But when ‘grace appeared (apparuit gratia)’ in the world, the mercy ‘of God our Savior’ instructs us to live piously and purely (pie et sancte) in this world, separated from every contagion of sin (peccati), so that each soul may receive its liberty (libertatem) and the ‘image of God’ in which it was created from the beginning.141 In line with a knowledge-based soteriology, both Origen and Eusebius place the defeat of demons at the advent of the Word. This is because Christ reveals who the true God is in the incarnation itself (not just his death and resurrection), subverting the demons hold on humans through their ignorance. In other words, the proclamation of God’s identity is revealed in advent, and thus true followers of Christ are no longer deceived by demons—they are ignorant no longer. Demons are defeated insofar as they are exposed as deceptive usurpers. Humans are called back through the teaching of Christ about who the true God is—they are freed from unawareness of the true God. A subset of this category is Christ’s victory over death. Christ defeats death through his earthly death and resurrection. ‘For since they have been anointed (χρίσματι) with an anointing, they will no longer be subject (ὑποχείριοι) to death (θανάτῳ), but, as partakers of immortality and eternal life, they will bring death (θάνατον) to a state (καταστήσουσι) of inactivity (ἀνενέργητον), so that it is itself dead (νεκρὸν).’142 Here, the anointing is the salvific work of Christ, which then frees humanity from death—in fact, death itself, paradoxically, is dead (ceases to exist). As Beeley writes of Eusebius’ thought, ‘By dying on the cross, Christ frees the human race from its decaying nature and transforms our mortal condition into immortality by the divine power

139 Johannessen (2016), 64. 140 PE 4,4,1. 141 Origen, Homiliae in librum Jesum Nave 14,1. 142 CommIs 1,85; 25:6–8.

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of the Word.’143 This is where Eusebius comes nearest to affirming deification. Eusebius only references deification a few times in his corpus and these are found in contexts where the impassibility of the divine nature of Christ is emphasized. While this will be discussed in more depth in the next chapter,144 it is important to discuss the effect of deification on humanity in Eusebian thought. Eusebius ties deification primarily to immortality—humans share this attribute of God’s nature. Now it was actually the case that the whole humanity (ὁ πᾶς ἄνθρωπος) was absorbed by the Divinity (ὑπὸ τῆς θεότητος κατεπίνετο), and moreover the Word of God was God (θεὸς ἦν) as he had previously been man (πρὶν γενέσθαι ἄνθρωπος), and He deified (συναπεθέου) humanity with Himself, being the first fruits of our hope, since He thought actual manhood worthy of eternal life (ζωῆς ἀϊδίου) with him, and of fellowship in the blessed Godhead (ἐν τῇ θεότητι καὶ μακαριότητι κοινωνίας), and afforded to us all equally this mighty proof of an immortality (ἀθανασίας) and kingdom (βασιλείας) with him.145 Eusebius speaks of humanity’s newfound worthiness of eternal life and fellowship with him in this eternal kingdom. In other words, deification is the gift of eternal life and sharing in fellowship with God in the kingdom as his children. This is reflected and expanded upon in ET, where Eusebius refutes Marcellus’ problematic interpretation of 1 Cor 15:28, when God will be ‘all in all.’ The great appeal itself of our Savior on our behalf, that we might be with him where he himself is (ὦμεν σὺν αὐτῷ ὅπου ἂν ᾖ αὐτὸς) and that we might see (θεωρῶμεν) his glory and that his Father might love us just as he loves him (ἀγαπήσῃ ἡμᾶς καθὼς αὐτὸν ἠγάπησεν ὁ αὐτοῦ πατήρ) … so that we might no longer be many but all one (ἀλλ’ οἱ πάντες εἷς), having been united (ἑνωθέντες) in his divinity (θεότητι) and the glory of the kingdom (βασιλείας), not by the coalescence of one being (συναλοιφὴν μιᾶς οὐσίας), but by the perfection (τελείωσιν) of the highest virtue (ἄκρον ἀρετῆς). For he taught (ἐδίδαξεν) this, having said, ‘that they may be perfected (τετελειωμένοι).’ For in this way, having been made perfect by his wisdom and prudence and justice and piety and every virtue, we will be joined together (συναφθησόμεθα) to the ineffable light of the paternal divinity (τῷ πατρικῆς θεότητος ἀλέκτῳ φωτὶ) and become, yes, even us, lights because of our union to him (πρὸς αὐτὸν συναφείας), and sons of God (υἱοὶ θεοῦ) according to our participating in communion with his only-begotten (μετοχὴν τῆς τοῦ μονογενοῦς αὐτοῦ κοινωνίας), having been

143 Beeley (2012), 75. 144 See: pg. 161-2. 145 DE 4,14,1.

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made perfect (ἀποτελεσθέντες) through [our] participation (μετουσίᾳ) in the gleams of his divinity (θεότητος αὐτοῦ μαρμαρυγῶν).146 Eusebius distances himself from any interpretation of deification which posits an essential (οὐσίας) unification with God, but one that is predicated on virtue and immortality—through salvation, humans are able to be ‘with him where he himself is’ in the eternal heavenly kingdom, as sons of God. In this eschatological kingdom, humanity is restored to its proper relationship with God.147 Therefore, deification is first about eternal life and fellowship with God and then about attaining highest virtue through this proximity. This is the deficiency in Norman Russell’s tangential discussion of Eusebius, where he tries to demonstrate the difference between Athanasius’ and Eusebius’ exegesis of John 17. Utilizing this same passage from ET, he writes: ‘In the older man the perfection achieved is a moral one which enables men to participate in the divine splendour. In Athanasius the same perfection is the transcendence of mortality and corruption which the Lord achieved first in his own person.’148 But, he does not realize Eusebius offers—as per the passage quoted above and elsewhere—a similar interpretation to Athanasius: corruption and mortality are overcome by Christ, in whom humanity is deified. In this sense, Eusebius seems to be mirroring the soteriological thought of Irenaeus, who still maintains personal distinctions between God and humanity, emphasizing communion with God through incorruptibility. ‘Thus, in this way, is the Word of God preeminent (πρωτεύω) in all things, for He is true man and “Wonderful Counsellor and Mighty God,” calling man back again to communion with God, that by communion with Him we may receive participation in incorruptibility.’149 Donald Fairbairn notes for Irenaeus’ theology, here: ‘Thus, to participate in God is not merely to share in certain qualities (such as incorruption) that God possesses, but much more, to be adopted into his family, to share in communion with God.’150 Eusebius, similarly, maintains the creator-creature divide in his scant discussion on deification, while emphasizing fellowship with God as sons and daughters in his immortal kingdom, as Irenaeus. But Eusebius does not frequently use deification language or expound on its potential—it is not a central aspect

146 ET 3,18,3–4; translation altered. 147 This is discussed by Ilaria Ramelli, who focuses on apokatastasis in the patristic period. While this perspective is essentially an eschatological one—restoration is primarily found in the future kingdom of heaven—and Eusebius generally avoids the doctrine of last things, she still argues, ‘a close analysis reveals Eusebius’s adherence to the doctrine of apokatastasis.’ Ramelli is correct to note this restoration is a work of Christ, on both a physical and spiritual plane, but does not focused on the earthly salvation of humankind or even on Eusebius’ broader thought. Ramelli (2013b), 313; see also: Ramelli (2013a); Ramelli (2019), 73–79. 148 Russell (2006), 173. 149 Irenaeus, Epideixis 40. 150 Fairbairn (2007), 295. Thus, if Fairbairn’s ‘trajectories’ are correct, Eusebius would fit under the ‘personal’ approach, contra Origen, who would fit under the ‘mystical’ approach.

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of his soteriological scheme. He is never as explicit as other writers either, such as Clement, who writes: ‘Yes, I say, the Word of God speaks, having become man (ἄνθρωπος γενόμενος), in order that such as you may learn from man (παρὰ ἀνθρώπου μάθῃς) how it is even possible for man to become god (γένηται θεός).’151 Even in its peripheral nature, however, deification is another demonstration of Christ’s victory over demons and death.

Conclusion In sum, Eusebius’ theology of salvation is centered on the knowledge of God, revealed through the Son, which transforms and liberates humanity. But, in light of New Testament imagery of salvation, he provides a truly multifaceted picture: And he was given as a light to nations (εἰς φῶς ἐθνῶν δίδοται), and in him the eyes of those souls (ψυχὰς) that were once blind were opened and enlightened (διανοίγωνται καὶ ἀναβλέπωσι). They will receive sight, and once they see clearly the knowledge of God (θεοῦ γνῶσιν), they will no longer render the honor of God (τοῦ θεοῦ τιμὴν ἀπονέμειν) to stones and sticks and inanimate matter. And these very individuals ‘are bound (κατεσφιγμένοι) fast by the ropes of their own sin (ἰδίων ἁμαρτιῶν),’ and they have been shackled (πεπεδημένοι) in darkness by evil (κακίας). But they will be deemed worthy of the forgiveness of sins (ἁμαρτιῶν ἀφέσεως καταξιοῦσθαι) through the grace of Christ (Χριστοῦ χάριτος), and they will be released (ἀπολύεσθαι) from prison and set free (ἐλευθεροῦσθαί) and delivered from the dungeon of the devil (διαβόλου εἱρκτῆς).152 Rather than being in competition, these images inform and shape the other—Christ gives the knowledge of God (communicative), which opens the eyes of the blind (therapeutic), liberates humanity from the prison of the devil (conflict), and forgives them of their sins (payment). In this sense, Eusebius provides a rich picture of the saving work of Christ—a work wholly predicated on the identity of Christ as the teacher. It is his nature as the Son of God and the image of the Father that roots Eusebius’ whole system. If this is an accurate depiction of Eusebius’ soteriological scheme there are several implications for how Eusebius’ theology should be viewed. First, his soteriological system cannot simply be seen as a moralistic one. Lyman rightfully notes for Eusebius, ‘Moral behaviour is not external, but a sign of inner transformation and the metaphysical link to reception of continued divine power and to communion with God.’153 The deification of humanity,

151 Clement of Alexandria, Protrepticus 1,8; translation altered. 152 CommIs 2,22; 42:6–7. 153 Lyman (1993), 106.

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in which humans are now able to have true fellowship with God, means that salvation cannot be solely tied to moral living. In other words, the knowledge of God transforms and restores humanity from corruption and death. This transformation is towards a virtuous life, even if Eusebius does not detail the implications. One could deduce that if Eusebius sees this as a liturgical salvation, a virtuous life will imply partaking in the ecclesiastical community and following the ethical conduct therein. To live as a regenerated Christian is to worship in Christian community. Second, the current sketch answers the important question: is the incarnation necessary? While Eusebius does not emphasize the soteriological importance of the human body in the same way as Athanasius or Gregory of Nazianzus—in which ‘The unassumed is the unhealed (Τὸ γὰρ ἀπρόσληπτον, ἀθεράπευτον),’—the economy of the embodied incarnation is essential for the completion of Eusebius’ soteriological work.154 Thus, his soteriology supports his christological system. Third, contra Wallace-Hadrill, his soteriology flourishes, rather than flounders, on his Christology. It is Eusebius’ high Christology—the Son is truly divine Son, and therefore knows the Father—that allows for the knowledge of the Trinity underpinning his soteriology. As the Father can only be known and revealed by his image, the one who is the exact imprint of his being, salvation can only come through God himself. Thus, Eusebius’ soteriology is predicated on the Son’s eternal place in the Godhead, initiated in his work throughout salvation history, and completed in his earthy life, death, and resurrection. In line with his Trinitarian thought, the Father is the source and will for salvation, the Son is the obedient agent, and the Spirit works in the life of the church. Fourth, and finally, Eusebius’ soteriological system is explicitly liturgical and ecclesiastical. He continually focuses on the unique nature of the Christian God and the church—against Judaism and Roman religion—to express the saving knowledge of God. In other words, salvation is found in Christ, but one cannot be separate from the Christian church (in theology or otherwise) to find it. Further, the proper response to the gift of salvation is to remember and respond in Eucharist and true worship. For Eusebius, the true knowledge of God is the foundation upon which the church is built. Scholars such as Wallace-Hadrill have ultimately been left frustrated by the plurality of soteriological images that Eusebius uses. But it seems Eusebius is able to postulate some sort of system for the ordering of these images—ignorance of God leads to irrational madness, demonic deception, therefore sin. The only way Eusebius is able to hold these images together is because they are foremost predicated on the divine nature of the Son, over Christ’s work. For Eusebius, it matters more about who the Son is rather than what he does. In this sense, Eusebius supports the claim of Daley, ‘The soteriology of the early church … most commonly understands redemption or salvation as being achieved in Jesus’ identity rather than accomplished as 154 Gregory of Nazianzus, Epistulae 101, 5; translation from Williams and Wickham (2002), 158.

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his work.’155 This is the great strength of Eusebius’ soteriological system: it is predicated on Christ’s identity as the image of the invisible God, which begins in his cosmological work and is completed in the incarnation. Thus, the identity of the savior is revealed not only in the earthly Jesus but also in the cosmic Son. While this may de-center the cross, one must not overlook how the cross is the victory mark which calls for obedience and proper worship. ‘Hence his primary mystery (μυστήριον), that of His Body (σώματος), was instituted (κατεσκευάζετο) (Incarnation); and hence, the signal mark of the victory of the Cross (σταυροῦ τρόπαιον); hence too, the commemoration (μνήμη) of the life which is eternal and immortal, He named His Remembrance (ἀνάμνησις αὐτοῦ) (Resurrection).’156 The divine identity of Christ becomes the fountain from which his salvific work flows. It is to this divine (and unified identity) of Christ in the economy that we now turn.

155 Daley (2004), 151. 156 Theo 3,61; parenthesis added.

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No Mere Man: The Unitive Theology of the Incarnate Christ

‘Therefore, he then addresses the interwoven existence of the unique Son of God, who assumed the existence of a Son of Man, demonstrated here in this text, and who experienced the realities of human existence and lived his life as a member of the human race.’1

Thus far, it seems biblical personalism—the Son’s nature as truly Son—permeates the theological framework of Eusebius of Caesarea. This personalism shapes the Son’s relationship in the Godhead, his mediatorial role as agent in creation, and his soteriological scheme—his Christology is no exception. Eusebius’ insistence on the υποστάσεις in the Godhead drives his theology of the incarnation, in which the identity of Christ must be strongly asserted as the Son of God. Christ is a single subject—the Son of God in both the Godhead and in the economy. Thus, his Trinitarian theology allows for a robust understanding of the incarnation. Further, Eusebius’ Christology seems to prefigure divergent convictions found in the controversy leading to and around the council at Chalcedon. While Eusebius’ emphasis and motivations are unique to his time and system, he develops a vibrant theology of the incarnate Christ. Unfortunately, across the wide breadth of Eusebian scholarship, little serious space has been spent on the bishop’s theology of Christ incarnate.2 In the brief passages where it is discussed, there is one element that comes to the fore, from (nearly all) scholars. There is radical continuity between the pre-incarnate and incarnate Christ in Eusebius—he is a unified subject. As Beeley concisely writes, ‘Fundamental to Eusebius’ christological vision is a deep sense of the continuity between the fleshly Son of Man and the preexistent Son of God.’3 Likewise, Struwolf comments on this aspect of Eusebius’ theology, ‘die Einheit des Subjekts in Christus, des göttlichen Logos, der trotz der Unterscheidung von göttlicher und menschlicher Seite

1 CommIs 1,62; 11:3b–4. 2 With the exception of Strutwolf (1999), 276–375. 3 Beeley (2008a), 445.

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derselbe in zwei Lebensweisen ist…’.4 This mode of continuity has been interpreted quite differently among scholars though. For Berkhof, Johnson, Lienhard, Grillmeier, and Lyman, this continuity comes at the expense of the humanity of Christ—‘The body inhabited during the incarnation was too much on the one side of the divine/human split.’5 In other words, the human nature of Christ is overshadowed by the divine in Eusebius’ insistence on the unique person of Jesus recorded in the Gospels—he is not merely a man, but the Logos manifested amongst humankind. Berkhof writes, for example, ‘Gott erscheint im Menschlichen, er wird aber nie selbst Mensch.’6 And this reading is not without solid support as Eusebius speaks of the body of Christ in rather instrumental terms, particularly in his apologetic literature. This convinces Lienhard and Grillmeier that ‘the incarnate Christ is the divine Logos indwelling a human body.’7 This Logos-Sarx Christology means ‘Man kann dennoch nicht von “zwei Naturen” bei Eusebius reden,’8 and that Eusebius denies the human soul in Christ, making him a proto-Apollinarian.9 For these scholars, Eusebius’ Christ is not man in the fullest sense, but is the Word directing the body of Christ as a sort of puppet. But, in the same way Eusebius’ conception of the Son has been suspect on account of accusations and comparison with Arians, so his incarnational theology has been found wanting according to the presuppositions and convictions of Chalcedonian Christology and comparisons with Apollinarius. Indeed, Eusebius shares similar convictions to both Arius and Apollinarius—but that, in itself, does not make him Arian or Apollinarian.10 The agenda of this chapter is to reassess Eusebius’ incarnational theology according to his understanding of the twofold existence of Christ, his insistence on Christ as a unified subject, and his exegesis therein. While it will draw on other earlier and later patristic writers, such as Cyril of Alexandria and

4 Strutwolf (1999), 372. 5 Johnson (2014), 126. 6 Berkhof (1939), 124. Eusebius’ motivations, for Berkhof, surround the philosophical notion of the Allgemeine becoming the Einzelne—the inability for the universal to become the individual. This leads Berkhof to view Eusebius as restricting the body to be merely an ‘instrument’ for the Logos, to protect the ontology of the Son of God. 7 Lienhard (1999), 123. 8 Grillmeier (1979), 320. 9 A view which is still propagated, as seen in a footnote in the recent translation of Eusebius’ polemic against Marcellus. ‘Given Eusebius’s Christology, which is proto-Apolinarian and based on a Word-Flesh model, the incarnate Son is like a god taking up residence in a statue, while being the statue’s (= body’s) mouth or voice.’ Spoerl and Vinzent (2017), 181, fn. 114. Lyman also identifies his Christology in line with a ‘Logos-Sarx’ model: Lyman (1993), 106–07. 10 Therefore, to speak of Eusebius’ system as ‘modified arianism’ (as Hanson) or as ‘ProtoApollinarian’ (as Spoerl and Vinzent) is ultimately unhelpful—it categorizes Eusebius pejoratively, according to those deemed heretical, when Eusebius did not share the aspects of their theology which condemned them in the first place. Hanson (1988), 59; Spoerl and Vinzent (2017), 181, fn. 114.

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Apollinarius, it will not be an ‘anti Logos-Sarx’ piece—to do so reads Eusebius through the lens of Chalcedon, as Grillmeier does, to reconstruct his thought. Strutwolf ’s work, while a helpful and necessary correction of the common assessment of Eusebius’ Christology as primitive, falls short in this regard. It tries to prove Eusebius’ orthodoxy on the basis of his use of the soul, the communicatio idiomatum, and other categories that were important for later writers. Strutwolf therefore tries to correct Grillmeier on his own terms—terms which are not necessarily appropriate or helpful for reconstructing Eusebius’ Christology. Thus, this chapter seeks first to identify Eusebius’ theological motivations and convictions in regard to the economic Christ. As will become apparent, Eusebius held two convictions in tension that later developed into the competing christological systems of Cyril and Nestorius—the former in maintaining the single subjectivity in Christ, the latter in protecting the transcendent nature of the eternal Son. To use slightly dated categories, Eusebius was one ‘der zwischen der theologischen Intention der Logos-SarxChristologie und der Logos-Anthropos-Christologie vermittelt.’11 Thus, while this work seeks to avoid reading Chalcedonian categories onto Eusebius, it will read Eusebius in light of the theological impulses of Chalcedon. Further, these motivations explain much of Eusebius’ confusing language which has allowed for Logos-Sarx interpretations and make space for a sympathetic reading of his theology of the incarnate Christ. The discussion will first begin with a focus on Eusebius’ description of the twofold existence of Christ. Second, it will narrow in on Eusebius’ conception of Christ’s humanity, especially marking out his positive affirmation of a truly human existence and experience in the incarnation. Third, the divinity of Christ in the economy will be surveyed—taking time to parse out his emphasis on the impassibility of the Word. Fourth, the unified person of Christ will be discussed. This final conviction will be demonstrated exegetically, in working through two Eusebian passages in which the Logos speaks prosopologically as the bearer of both divine and human experiences.

Twofold Existence Despite Grillmeier’s negative assessment of Eusebius’ two nature Christology (or lack thereof), Eusebius does speak about these natures—although often without using technical language—in tandem. Or more precisely, he talks about two distinct aspects of the Son’s existence in the incarnation; the divine and human. In PE he writes: And on this account, they say, the Saviour (σωτῆρα) and Physician (ἰατρὸν) at His advent (ἐπιστῆναι) departed not from His own proper

11 Strutwolf (1999), 375.

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nature (οἰκείας ἐκστάντα φύσεως), nor yet deceived (ψευσάμενον) those who saw Him, but preserved the truth of both (ἄμφω δὲ ἀληθῆ φυλάξαντα), the invisible and the visible (ἀφανὲς καὶ τὸ ὁρώμενον). For in one way He was seen (ἑωρᾶτο) as true man (ἀληθὴς ἄνθρωπος), and in another way He was the true Word of God (θεοῦ λόγος ἦν ἀληθής).12 Here, Eusebius is clear the Son retained his divine nature, while becoming (or being seen as a) true man—two natures in the advent. His unitive Christology is emphasized in light of these natures in a passage in his CommIs, ‘Therefore, he then addresses the interwoven existence (συμπλοκῆς) of the unique Son of God, who assumed the existence of a son of man (ἀνείληφεν υἱὸν ἀνθρώπου), demonstrated here in this text, and who experienced the realities of human existence (κατὰ τὸν βίον) and lived his life as a member of the human race (ὃν ἐπολιτεύσατο συνδιατρίψας ἀνθρώποις).’13 This ‘interwoven existence’ (συμπλοκῆς) is predicated on the single subjectivity of Christ, in which the Son experiences both human and divine existence. These natures, or twofold manner of being, are further seen at the beginning of HE as a central part of his theological history. ‘Now since in Him there are two modes of being (διττοῦ δὲ ὄντος τοῦ κατ’ αὐτὸν τρόπου), and the one may be likened to the head of the body, in that He is conceived of as God (ᾗ θεὸς ἐπινοεῖται), and the other may be compared to the feet, in that for our salvation (σωτηρίας) he assumed (ὑπέδυ) human nature of like passions to us (ἄνθρωπον ὁμοιοπαθῆ).’14 Beeley writes on this passage, ‘Eusebius has succinctly stated that Christ exists in two different ways, that the guiding and determining factor of Christ’s existence is his divinity, and that he has become human to save us through his suffering.’15 As noted, Eusebius is not using technical language here—in fact, he does not use ‘φύσεως’ in this pericope. But he seems to have an implicit two nature (or manner of being) system at work, in positing a truly human and truly divine Christ. Ulrich postulates this understanding of Eusebius’ theology as well: ‘In beiden τρóποι, und das ist von entscheidender Bedeutung, ist Christus der Logos Gottes. Er ist einerseits ganz Mensch, andererseits ganz Gott.’16 Thus, it is not surprising when Eusebius writes, ‘he was both God and man (αὐτὸν καὶ θεὸν εἶναι καὶ ἄνθρωπον). He is God (θεὸν) according to the verse which states that he is “the only-begotten God, who is in the bosom of the Father,” and he is considered to be man (ἄνθρωπον) according to the verse, “who was descended from David, according to the flesh.”’17 While Eusebius rarely uses formulas or technical

12 13 14 15 16 17

PE 13,3,45; translation altered. CommIs 1,62; 11:3b–4. HE 1,2,1. Beeley (2012), 66. Ulrich (1999), 163. CommIs 2,57; 61:1–3.

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language for the natures of Christ, he confirms both—he is both God and man in the incarnation. The twofold manner of Christ’s existence can also be seen in the Gospel narratives, particularly in the miracles and teachings of Jesus. ‘And He lived His whole life through in like manner, now revealing (ὑποφαίνων) His nature as like our own (ὁμοιοπάθειαν), and now that of God the Word, doing great works and miracles as God (ὡς θεός).’18 Here, the diverse actions of Christ reveal or demonstrate the natures therein. He functions as a human because he took on human existence, and because he is God he does divine works and miracles. This demonstration of his divine nature is emphasized in DE as an apologetic strategy: the healing of the paralytic, cleansing lepers, casting out demons, healing the bleeding woman, raising individuals from the dead, rebuking the wind and the waves, feeding the five thousand, all demonstrate the divinity of Christ.19 In this, ‘Eusebius categorically states that the miracles performed by Jesus are proof of his divinity,’ according to Kofsky.20 To give a specific example, Eusebius discusses the miracle of Jesus walking on water, in Mt 14:22–27: ‘These words also can only apply to our Lord and Saviour, as the Creator (δημιουργῷ) of the Universe, God’s Word (θεοῦ λόγῳ). For He is the only One ever said to have walked on the sea, which He did when Incarnate (ἐνανθρωπήσεως), having taken the body and form of man (σῶμα καὶ σχῆμα ἀνθρώπινον ἀναλαβών).’21 This miracle is meant to demonstrate the divine nature and power of Christ, in his human state (according to Phil 2:7). Thus, Jesus is revealing something to his disciples: he is God’s Word in human form. While Eusebius does not often detail how these natures interact, he does refer to the natures of Christ as mingled (ἀναμίξ) in several places—the root word (μίξις) being used for a single mingled nature by Apollinarius, later.22 First, in DE, Eusebius writes, ‘he underwent the dispensation (οἰκονομίαν) in His mingled Natures (ἀναμὶξ): as Man (ἄνθρωπος) he left (παραχωρῶν) His Body (σῶμα) to the usual burial, while as God (θεός) He departed (ἀναχωρῶν) from it.’23 Second, in ET: And when the time of these [human beings] passed, he brought to fulfillment in deeds (ἔργοις ἐπλήρου) the ancient oracles and then became present, having further been mingled with mortal life (λοιπὸν ἀναμὶξ τῷ θνητῷ βίῳ), the shepherd becoming one of the sheep (συναγελαζόμενος), although he himself was the only-begotten Son of God, in, as it were, a divine statue (ἀγάλματι θείῳ), the instrument of the body (σώματος ὀργάνῳ), conversing

18 DE 4,11,1; emphasis added; translation altered. 19 See especially: DE 3,4. 20 Kofsky (2002), 170. 21 DE 9,12,2. 22 Apollinarius, Fragmenta 10. 23 DE 4,12,2.

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from above with the human race through [his] teachings (διδασκαλίαις), healings (θεραπείαις), and ineffable lessons of inspired wisdom (ἐνθέου σοφίας ἀπορρήτοις παιδεύμασιν).24 These are difficult passage to interpret—what sort of union or mixture is Eusebius seeking to postulate? First, it must be noted Eusebius only uses this term in a christological sense in the quoted passages.25 Second, it does not seem the term is meant to describe a joining of the natures here—quite the opposite, actually. In LC, Eusebius uses this term while explaining the unique ability of the Son to interact with created matter, despite being God. He summarizes: ‘Thus the Divine Logos (λόγος θεῖος) undertook contact (ἀναμὶξ) with this universe (τόδε), and now directs and turns (ἄγει καὶ φέρει) it by an incorporeal and divine power, expertly handling (ἡνιοχῶν) the reins in the way He deems right.’26 H. A. Drake captures the force of this term in his translation—‘contact’. Eusebius is not trying to explain the content of the union of the natures, but to explain how the mediation of the Son continues in the incarnation. The Logos maintains contact with creation from all time in his creation and providence, but this ‘contact’ is further experienced in the human economy. This is why the passage from ET refers to the further (λοιπὸν) mingling—he was already in contact with creation from all time. This ‘mingling’ is thus not the creation of one mingled nature in Christ, as Apollinarius would understand, but a display of the Logos’ descent into further fellowship with humanity—contact through the assumption of human existence. True Assumption of Humanity

The reality of the human nature of Christ in Eusebius’ thought has been questioned by the aforenoted scholars, principally on the grounds of his discussion (or lack thereof) of his soul. This is a fair question, as Eusebius does speak of the humanity of Christ rather impersonally, as an instrument for the Word. The Logos-Sarx approach is, in this regard, a natural one in Eusebian studies. Thus, ‘Er ist das bewegende Element in der Sarx überhaupt.’27 But, placing these issues to the side for a moment, it becomes apparent Eusebius consistently speaks of Christ’s taking on human nature. For instance, Eusebius notes how Christ ‘did not even refuse the way of the Incarnation; but assuming 24 ET 1,13,5–6. 25 ἀναμίξ is certainly an odd word choice in these places. Eusebius uses it 8 times: three times in reference to the (wrongful) mixing of ideologies, whether Christian or pagan: PE 2,1,52; PE 10,4,32; CH 44,1; two uses are contained within block quotes from Dionysius of Alexandria and Philo respectively: PE 14,25,7; PE 1,10,39; once while explaining why the psalms do not succeed in chronological order: CommPs (PG 23,73); once while speaking of the Logos directly interacting with created nature: LC 11,12; and here, in these two christological passages. 26 LC 11,12. 27 Grillmeier (1979), 319.

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(ἐπιβὰς) our nature (ἡμετέρᾳ φύσει) in a moment He came among men, showing (ἐπιδεικνύμενος) the great Miracle to all of God through Man (θεὸν δι’ ἀνθρώπου).’28 First, Eusebius affirms the assumption of human nature here, and while he does not detail what this nature consists of, nor does he qualify it by denying it a soul. Christ has ‘our’ human nature (ἡμετέρᾳ φύσει), whatever that may be. Second, a reworking of the Ferrar’s translation of, ‘God in Man (θεὸν δι’ ἀνθρώπου) approaches the ‘instrumentality’ issue. This phrase would be better translated as ‘by’ or ‘through,’ as reflected in the alteration above. Showing ‘God through man’ reveals these are descriptions of instrumentality, which are consistent with Eusebius’ broader understanding of the humanity of Christ. The human nature is an instrument for the Logos to accomplish his mission in the incarnation. This need not deny the reality of a human nature but serves to demonstrate how the incarnation is a soteriological means to an end. As Eusebius’ instrumental language may be indicative of a Logos-Sarx framework, it is worth a brief survey of his preferred terminology for the humanity of Christ. One common term when speaking of the human Christ, for Eusebius, is σκήνωμα—tent or tabernacle. This may lead one to view the Logos as simply dwelling therein, in place of a human soul. ‘And the human tabernacle (τὸ ἀνθρώπειον σκῆνος) was the lantern (λύχνου) as it were of his spiritual light (νοεροῦ φωτός), through which, like an earthen vessel (ὀστρακίνου σκεύους), as if through a lantern, He poured forth the rays of His own light on all who were oppressed by ignorance of God (ἀγνοίᾳ θεοῦ) and thick darkness.’29 Or, in GQS, when discussing on the inclusion of Bathsheba in the Matthean genealogy, and expounding on Psalm 131 LXX, he writes: ‘Now “dwelling-place (σκήνωμα)” means, in fact, the tabernacle (σκῆνος), the body (τὸ σῶμα), which the Word of God took on (ἀνείληφεν).’30 In both of these passages, the Logos is clearly indwelling this bodily tabernacle. But, does this deny or jeopardize the full humanity of Christ? Perhaps, but most likely not. It is more importantly an appropriation of Jn 1:14: καὶ ὁ λόγος σάρξ ἐγένετο καὶ ἐσκήνωσεν ἐν ἡμῖν.31 Here, Eusebius uses the nounal form of σκηνόω (σκῆνος) to describe the body of Christ. A sentence in Ferrar’s translation of DE best encapsulates Eusebius’ use of the term: ‘For such words would not apply to God (θεὸν), but only to the tabernacle (σκήνωμα), which He assumed (ἀνείληφεν) for our sake, when the Word became flesh and tabernacled (σὰρξ ἐγένετο καὶ ἐσκήνωσεν) amongst us.’32 In other words, Eusebius is not necessarily making a point about the way in which the Logos became man, but utilizing

28 29 30 31 32

DE 4,10,18; translation altered. DE 7,2,42. GQS adSt 9,4; see also: DE 6,18,23. NT. DE 9,7,20.

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the language expressed in John 1, a passage which is foundational for his understanding of the economy. He (the Son) no longer teaches that he came as one to another (αὐτὸν ἕτερόν), as he came to the ancients (παλαιοῖς), but that he assumed flesh and became man (ἀλλ’ αὐτὸν σάρκα ἀνειληφέναι καὶ ἄνθρωπον γεγονέναι). And since he was going to announce (κηρύττειν) to all his saving advent to human beings, when he says next, ‘and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us,’ he necessarily goes back to the beginning (ἀρχὴν).33 The language of John 1, then, best explains his use of σκήνωμα. Another foundational and biblical phrase that Eusebius utilizes when speaking of the humanity of Christ is that of Phil 2:7—‘but emptied himself, taking (λαβών) the form of a slave (μορφὴν δούλου), being born in human likeness (ἀνθρώπων γενόμενος).’ Eusebius’ use of this passage is seen in CommIs: He rightly calls him a slave ‘because of the form of a slave (μορφὴν τοῦ δούλου),’ which he assumed (ἀνείληφεν). For God the Word, ‘though he was in the form of God (μορφῇ θεοῦ), emptied himself,’ the one who, according to the holy apostle ‘took the form of a servant and was found in appearance as a man (σχήματι εὑρεθεὶς ὡς ἄνθρωπος)’ … And all these things were fulfilled in the man who is our Savior (ἄνθρωπον τοῦ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν) because of his union with God the Word (θεὸν λόγον ἕνωσιν).34 The form or appearance (μορφὴν) language, which Eusebius often uses, is likely derived from this verse as well. As noted above, this is found throughout his exegesis of Jesus’ miracles and Christ’s incarnational work—his assumption of human nature also means he is in the ‘form of a slave.’ There are several other terms Eusebius uses for the humanity/body of Christ which may be more problematic: vessel (σκεῦος) and instrument (ὄργανον). For vessel, he writes ‘He passed His life where His human vessel (ἀνθρώπειον σκεῦος) was.’35 This term is further used in Theo, although much of the Greek remains unclear, on account of the only full extant manuscript being in Syriac. ‘Instrument’ is likewise used, but this term has a longer (and more common) tradition of usage for the body of Christ.36 Eusebius most frequently uses this term in LC: ‘Let us now explain the reason why the incorporeal (ἀσώματος)

33 ET 2,18,1–3; parenthesis added. ἀνειληφέναι is not the term used in Jn 1:14 for assuming flesh (σὰρξ ἐγένετο). This term is found in Clement, Stromata 7,11,61; Origen, Commentarii in evangelium Joannis 1,31,225; Methodius, Symposium sive Convivium decem virginum 3,6,23; Athanasius, Sermo Major Fide Frag 48; and others. This usage is perhaps developed from the term in Phil 2:7, λαβών, which is likewise derived from λαμβάνω. The connection remains unclear, though. Eusebius uses it in conjunction with σὰρξ and ἀνθρώπου. See: DE 9,7,7; ET 3,12,1. 34 CommIs 2,42; 52:13; see also: DE 9,12,4. 35 DE 4,13,6; translation altered; Barnabas 7:3, 11:9. 36 Eustathius, Oratio in illud 23; Athanasius, Apologia contra Arianos 8.

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Logos of God came to converse with men (χρησάμενος εἰς ἀνθρώπων) using a corporeal instrument (ὀργάνῳ σώματι).’37 It is important to note these instrumental titles for the humanity of Christ are primarily found in apologetic literature, when specifically arguing about the divinity of the Word. Eusebius is showing the divine activity of the Word in flesh and emphasizes the divine nature over the human (hence the neutral language). Thus, Hanson writes on this language, ‘The Saviour’s human body was a mere instrument used by the Word for his own purposes.’38 But, we must ask in what way is the body of Christ a vessel? Importantly, there is often a soteriological sense attached to these passages, in which the humanity of Christ is the means by which salvation is given to the world. Is Jesus a soulless body (or puppet) for the Logos to steer and drive? Or the vessel of salvation, in which the sacrifice of the Son and knowledge of the Father is achieved? It seems to be the latter, particularly because of the frequency in which Eusebius speaks about the Word taking on ‘human life’ rather than ‘flesh’. According to Strutwolf, Eusebius ‘spricht dabei kaum von der Einwohnung des Logos im Fleisch, sondern meistens von der Annahme eines Menschen durch den Logos.’39 Eusebius does view the body of Christ as a soteriological vessel, but this need not deny the reality of a true human nature. When speaking specifically about the earthly nature of Christ, Eusebius establishes that Christ is truly human. In his CommPs, he writes for Psalm 108 LXX: ‘Ὁ τοίνυν Σωτὴρ διὰ τῶν προκειμένων ἀρχόμενος ἀνθρωπίνως, ὡς γενόμενος ἄνθρωπος, μείνας δὲ Θεὸς, ὅπερ ἦν, ἱκετεύει τὸν ἑαυτοῦ Πατέρα …’.40 Here, Eusebius identifies the speaker in the psalm as the human Christ: the Savior (Σωτὴρ) beseeches (ἱκετεύει) the Father in a human way (ἀνθρωπίνως) because he is a human (ὡς γενόμενος ἄνθρωπος). While he clarifies the Son also remained as God (μείνας δὲ Θεὸς), the Savior is able to speak as a human because he became human. From another perspective, Eusebius addresses a question from Stephanus in GQS as to why Christ was a carpenter’s son and not a famous individual. ‘The condition of his (the Son’s) journey towards his arrival in heaven was that he should entirely cleanse (περικαθάροιτο) the life of mankind (ἀνθρώπων βίον) by giving himself (ἑαυτὸν ἐπιδούς), God’s Lamb from the human flock (τὸν ἐκ τῆς τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀγέλης ἀμνὸν τοῦ Θεοῦ), in person for us all, as a purificatory offering (ἀντίψυχον καὶ καθάρσιον) of his life for ours.’41 The sacrificial lamb, here, comes from the human flock. The Lamb must be truly human if he is from humanity. Further, there are unique aspects to this nature which demonstrate its importance, namely the incarnational titles: Son of Man and Lamb of God.

37 38 39 40 41

LC 14,1–4. See also: LC 14,5–12; LC 15,2; ET 1,13,5–6. Hanson (1988), 53. Strutwolf (1999), 365. CommPs 109 (108) (PG 23,1333). GQS adSt 14.

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‘It confesses that the same became Savior and Son of Man (σωτῆρα τὸν αὐτὸν καὶ υἱὸν ἀνθρώπου γινόμενον), being Son of God (υἱὸν θεοῦ) before he also became (γενέσθαι) Son of Man (ἀνθρώπου), and that he became this, which he was not (οὐκ ἦν), because of the ineffable abundance of the Father’s love (φιλανθρωπίας) for humankind.’42 Here, there is a new title or role attributed to the Son, in his acquisition of the title ‘Son of Man.’ That is to say, he became something he was not—human, and thus the Son of man. Likewise, ‘And as Incarnate man (ἐνανθρώπησιν) we know Him as the Lamb of God (ἀμνὸς τοῦ θεοῦ) that take away the sin of the world, and as a sheep led to the slaughter.’43 These titles of Christ reveal the importance for the human nature for those associated doctrines, primarily eschatology (for Son of Man) and soteriology (Lamb of God). This is seen in the quote above, about the Lamb coming from the human flock: This soteriological statement is predicated on the human nature of Christ. Additionally, using partitive exegesis, Eusebius argues there are certain aspects of the incarnation which can only be attributed to the humanity, such as suffering. ‘So that everything that follows (the passion), which may seem to lower His glory (ταπεινότερον δόξειεν), must be taken as conceived of the Lamb of God (τὸν ἀμνὸν ὁρᾶν τοῦ θεοῦ) that takes away the sin of the world, and of His human body (σκῆνος τὸ ἀνθρώπειον).’44 In this sense, the humanity of Christ is foremost seen throughout his suffering, human passions, etc. Eusebius shares this approach with Theodoret of Cyrus, who writes a century later, ‘In the same way, then, when we hear about suffering (πάθος) and the cross (σταυρὸν), we must recognize the nature (ἐπιγινώσκειν τὴν φύσιν) that experienced the suffering (δεξαμένην τὸ πάθος), and we must not attribute it to the impassible nature (ἀπαθεῖ), but to that nature (ἐκείνῃ) that was assumed (προσελήφθη) for this purpose.’45 Thus, while not often a focus in his work, Eusebius does distinguish Christ’s human existence from the divine. Eusebius on the Soul of Christ

Despite Eusebius’ expressed conviction that Christ assumes a human nature, scholars have focused attention on Eusebius’ discussion of the soul, a more pressing theological issue in the late fourth century. For instance, Henri de Riedmatten comments, ‘Dans une série de passages enfin, Eusèbe parle de l’ “âme du Christ.” On remarquera que c’est toujours en référence explicite

42 ET 1,3,1. 43 DE 10,proem,2; translation altered. 44 DE 10,proem,4. 45 Theodoret, Eranistes 3,228. Paul B. Clayton Jr. points out that ‘Theodoret’s main concern is to distinguish carefully between two natures, or physeis, in Christ in order to preserve perfectly the impassibility of the Word.’ While Eusebius is not as careful in distinguishing the natures, he likewise wishes to preserve the impassiblity of the Word in his exegesis. Clayton (2007), 102.

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ou implicite à quelque texte scripturaire. Jamais Eusèbe n’attribue à “l’âme” quelque fonction qui indiquerait un souci de faire plus complète l’humanité du Christ.’46 For Riedmatten, Eusebius’ restricted discussion is paramount to a denial of a human soul in Christ—and Grillmeier follows him on this. ‘Er braucht sie nicht und kann sie nicht brauchen, weil er darin eine häretische Christologie wittert.’47 While Hanson agrees with Riedmatten that Eusebius limits discussion of a soul to relevant passages, particularly in the Garden of Gethsemane, he does not see this as a denial of a soul. Rather, Eusebius ‘never took serious theological account of Christ’s human psyche nor realized its significance.’48 Christopher Stead, out of these discussed authors, provides the most in-depth survey into Eusebius’ (and Athanasius’) understanding of Christ’s soul, particularly in their exegetical works. Stead notes how Eusebius ‘refers quite freely to a ψυχή in Christ’49 in his CommPs, Eclogae Propheticae, and DE and largely agrees with Riedmatten therein. But he does correct Riedmatten on the importance of these references: ‘this surely should not mean that such references are to be discounted as merely inadvertent or irrelevant.’50 Rather, Stead views the scant use of soul language in his late writings as evidence for a shift in his theology, especially because of a challenging passage in ET 1,20. Finally, Strutwolf disagrees with all of the above, arguing the soul is an important theological conviction across Eusebius’ corpus. Eusebius’ qualified use of soul language is on account of his fear of Psilanthropism, in which a human soul can be misinterpreted as Christ being a mere man. Further, his theological emphasis is different than his teacher, Origen. For Origen, the soul of Christ acted as mediator between the cosmic Logos and the body, something Eusebius did not share.51 Rather, Eusebius is concerned with the single subjectivity of Christ, particularly with the active and unified role of the Logos in human flesh. Wird also die Seele Jesu in den Passagen, in denen Euseb die gottmenschliche Einheit der Person Christi beschreiben will, in den Hintergrund gedrängt, so tritt die Seele Jesu als eigenes Aktzentrum der menschlichen Natur des 46 Riedmatten (1952), 78. 47 Grillmeier (1979), 319. Williams holds the same view: ‘he makes it quite clear that he believes the Word to have animated a “soulless body.”’ R. Williams (1987), 173. Likewise, Sophie Cartwright claims Eusebius denied that Christ has a human soul. She uses this claim, along with his subordinationist theology and doctrine of the impassibility of the Word, to claim he is the unnamed opponent of Eustathius of Antioch’s Ariomanitas. Cartwright (2015), 62–65. 48 Hanson (1988), 55. 49 Stead (1982), 247. 50 Stead (1982), 249. 51 Strutwolf (1999), 304. Origen writes in De principiis, ‘With this substance of the soul (substantia animae) mediating (mediante) between God and the flesh (for it is not possible for the nature of God (dei naturam) to be mingled (misceri) with a body (corpori) without a mediator (mediatore) there is born, as said, the God-man (deus-homo), the medium being that substance (substantia media existente) for which it was certainly not contrary to nature to assume a body (corpus assumere).’ Origen, De principiis 2,6,3.

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Erlösers im Rahmen der Passion Jesu umso deutlicher hervor. Denn erst hier sieht Euseb die Nötigung, strikt zwischen zwei unterschiedlichen Handlungsweisen von Gott und Mensch in Christus zu unterscheiden, während vorher mehr ihr enges Zussammenwirken betont wurde.52 Here, Strutwolf points out that Eusebius allows soul language to fade to the background when describing the unified divine-human subject. But, in the garden of Gethsemane, the soul is central for the experience of human life, especially since Eusebius seeks to locate Christ’s suffering in the human, rather than the divine—his high Christology is what makes space for the human soul. Only in places where the human must be distinguished or clarified is this unity parsed out into the human and divine existence. Thus, Eusebius’ concern with Psilanthropism and emphasis on the Logos explains his qualified, yet important, use of the soul of Christ. Strutwolf ’s assessment of the human soul in Christ has much to commend: it is important as the bearer of human experience, particularly for demonstrating the human nature of Christ. But Eusebius seems to be more interested in Trinitarian implications here, over christological ones. In other words, Strutwolf slightly overreads the importance of the soul in Eusebius. Yes, it is the center of human experience, but Eusebius is seen to be making a negative christological claim here. That is, the soul of Christ foremost protects the impassibility of the divine Son rather than proves the humanity of Christ. By positing a human soul in these passages, Eusebius is assigning events which lower the glory of the Son to the human Jesus. Thus, the soul is not the center of his Christology when dwelling on the human nature, but it is nevertheless important for divine impassibility in the economy. That is not to say Eusebius avoids the soul—he does reference it regularly. For instance, while explicating Isaiah 1, he writes: ‘In another context, the prophet says that the Son is the Lord. It may be appropriate to identify the Son (υἱῷ) in the citation as the Son of God, the Word, who was of human nature (ἀνθρώπου φύσεως) and a rational soul (λογικῶν ψυχῶν) as other humans, since the text says, I begat sons and exalted them.’53 Here, Eusebius discusses Christ’s assumption of human nature, which includes a rational soul. He also frequently references the soul in prosopological passages where Christ is seen to be speaking (as noted by the scholars referenced), as a scriptural lenses into the experiences of the incarnate Christ.54 For instance, when discussing Psalm 87 LXX, he writes: ‘Σαφῶς διὰ τούτων τὴν εἰς τὸν ᾅδην κάθοδον αὐτοῦ

52 Strutwolf (1999), 312. Several other writers reference the soul, in Eusebius’ writings, but only in passing with little to add to the discussion. For example, Beeley argues for a human soul in Eusebius’ Christ: Beeley (2008a), 445; Beeley (2012), 95; Lienhard and Behr deny a soul: Lienhard (1999), 124; John Behr (2001), 213–14; (2004), 142; Basil Studer says it was ‘neglected’: Studer (1993), 111. 53 CommIs 1,10; 1:2–3. 54 For instance: CommPs 88 (87) (PG 23,1053); CommPs 89 (88) (PG 23,1069); DE 3,2,71.

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παρίστησι, καὶ τὰ κακὰ ὧν πεπληρῶσθαι ἑαυτοῦ ἔφασκε τὴν ψυχήν.’55 Eusebius uses prosopological exegesis here, to demonstrate Christ’s descent into humanity and assign the distress of the speaker directly to the human soul of Christ. The soul is the locus of Christ’s human grief. But, despite his willingness to ascribe a soul to Christ in scriptural passages, there are several places in Eusebius’ corpus which seem to deny a human soul in Christ—these are rare and cryptic though. Strutwolf has, in my opinion, successfully demonstrated Eusebius’ understanding in these passages, but it is worth working through some of these problematic statements.56 The primary example is in ET, where Eusebius is arguing against Marcellus’ doctrine of a single ὑπόστασις in God. Eusebius gives four options for the identity of the divine person of Christ, if Marcellus’ understanding of God is true. For if the Word who dwelt in the body existed outside of God (ἐκτὸς ὑπῆρχεν τοῦ θεοῦ), but was united (ἥνωτο) and joined (συνῆπτο) to God so as to be one and the same (ἕν τε καὶ ταὐτὸν εἶναι) with him, he [Marcellus] must of necessity admit that either it is the Father himself in the flesh (πατέρα ἐν τῇ σαρκί), or the Son who subsists (υἱὸν ὑφεστῶτα) in himself and acts in the body (ἐνεργοῦντα ἐν τῷ σώματι), or the soul of a man (ψυχὴν ἀνθρώπου), or if none of these, that the flesh moves itself spontaneously, being without soul and without rationality (ἄψυχον οὖσαν καὶ ἄλογον).57 Thus, Eusebius seems to be proposing four possibilities for the incarnation, for Marcellus’s theology. He must admit either 1) Patripassianism (and therefore, Sabellianism); 2) two υποστάσεις in the Godhead; 3) a human soul in Christ; 4) or an irrational and unsouled being. Here, Eusebius is trying to push Marcellus on who the divine agent in the incarnate Christ is—the Father, the Son of God, a mere-man, or simply the flesh. Even a cursory reading of these texts would show Eusebius argues for the second option, the Father and Son having two υποστάσεις. But is Eusebius, then, denying a human soul in Christ if he presents it as a separate option? It seems not. Rather, he is speaking of a human Christ without the Son, as a mere man. This is logically carried into the fourth option—the body void of a soul, the Son, and the Father. Therefore, Eusebius is not arguing against the possibility of a human soul in Christ—he affirms this elsewhere. He is pushing back against the heresy of Paul of Samosata. There is a human soul of Christ, but not only a human soul. There is also the Logos.58 There are several other places in Eusebius’ corpus where the soul of Christ seems to be cast into question. For instance, Eusebius speaks of the demons coming to attack Christ’s soul. ‘For most likely they thought

55 56 57 58

CommPs 88 (87) (PG 23,1053). Strutwolf (1999), 312–33, 339–44. ET 1,20,41–42; emphasis added. For detailed analysis, see: Strutwolf (1999), 328–32.

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that the soul (ψυχὴν) which dwelt in the body of Jesus (τὸ σῶμα Ἰησοῦ κατασκηνοῦσαν) was a human (ἀνθρωπείαν) and like other human souls (εἰκός); and opened their mouths as if to devour it like the other human souls (ἄλλαις τῶν ἀνθρώπων ψυχαῖς).’59 When the demonic forces sought to devour Christ, they expected a mere man. But, as Christ was also the Son of God, they met someone more powerful than assumed. Eusebius is not calling the human soul of Christ into question but is clarifying the distinctions in Christ’s divine and human experience. This is what Eusebius seems to say in DE earlier: And this He did, not being like ourselves bound down (οὐδαμῶς καταδεσμούμενος) by the limitations of the body (σώματος), nor experiencing anything below or above His Divinity (θεότητος), nor hampered as a human soul is by the body so as to be unable to act as God (οὐδ’ οὕτως οἷα ἀνθρώπου ψυχὴ τῷ σώματι πεδούμενος), or to be omnipresent as the Word of God, and to fill all things and to extend through all.60 Eusebius expounds on the transcendent nature of the Son, here. Even in the incarnate state, Christ’s divinity is not restricted by human nature—the nature of a soul. In sum, the most problematic statements are primarily found in his apologetic works, where he is emphasizing the divine nature in Christ and in his polemic against Marcellus, when discussing Paulinian heresy—‘But if he [Marcellus] should say neither of these, of necessity he will suppose that it is the soul of a man (ψυχὴν ἀνθρώπου), and for him Christ will be a mere man (ψιλὸς ἄνθρωπος).’61 To view these passages as excluding a human soul is overlooking his purpose and argumentation therein. In light of this evidence, several interpretive issues can be clarified. First, Eusebius’ ‘body’ language should not be seen as excluding a soul or a human nature, but should be interpreted by his statements which affirm these things. As Marie-Josèphe Rondeau writes against those who deny a truly human Christ in Eusebius’ thought: ‘qu’ailleurs Eusèbe dit sans ambages que le Verbe est “devenu homme.”’62 Further, these terms should be read according to their biblical foundations. Eusebius’ language can seem impersonal because the ‘Logos becoming flesh’ can be interpreted impersonally. Strutwolf provides a helpful terminological guide for Eusebius’ language here: ‘Der menschliche Leib Christi repräsentiert für ihn offensichtlich deshalb den ganzen Menschen, weil in der Verbindung von Logos und menschlicher Leiblichkeit der Leib Christi Träger und Subjeckt der psychischen Akte des Erlösers ist.’63 When Eusebius uses the term ‘body,’ he is referring to

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DE 10,8,74. DE 7,1,24; translation altered. ET 1,20,45. Rondeau (1985), 186. Strutwolf (1999), 366.

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the whole human nature of Christ, soul and body—the bearer of human experience. Second, his apparent denial of the human soul, or discussion of the superhuman nature of Christ, is primarily used apologetically. Here, Eusebius is rebutting heretical understandings of Christ and is demonstrating the divine nature of Christ. Otherwise, Eusebius is insistent that Christ assumed our nature and thus speaks humanly (ἀνθρωπίνως). This is a significant theological difference from the later heresy associated with the absence of a human soul in Christ—that of Apollinarius. Apollinarius’ Christology is divergent from Eusebius’ in several ways. First, Eusebius does not dwell on Christ’s human intellect or the glorification of his body, as does the Laodicean. For instance, Apollinarius writes, ‘Just as we attribute glory to the body (ἔνδοξα τῷ σώματι) (of Christ) by reason of the divine conjunction (θείας συλλήψεως) and its unity (ἑνότητος) with God, so we ought not to deny the inglorious attributes (ἄδοξα) that stem from the body (σώματος).’64 This seems to be predicated on an assumption of a single unified nature in the incarnation: ‘O new creation and divine mixture (μίξις θεσπεσία)! God and flesh completed one and the same nature (Θεὸς καὶ σὰρξ μίαν [καὶ τὴν αὐτὴν] ἀπετέλεσαν φύσιν).’65 As noted, Eusebius postulates a twofold existence in one person and rather than exalting the body, seems to give it secondary importance to the work of the Logos therein. Second, while both emphasize the impassibility of the Word, Apollinarius’ emphasis on the unique nature of Christ which requires a divine intellect to save, is unshared with Eusebius. For example, Apollinarius writes: ‘If together with God, who is intellect (νοῦ), there was also a human intellect in Christ (καὶ ἀνθρώπινος ἦν ἐν Χριστῷ νοῦς), then the work of the incarnation is not accomplished (ἐπιτελεῖται) in him.’66 Thus, it seems unfit to view Eusebius as a proto-Apollinarian, as this title is clearly referring to the heresy associated with him: the denial of a human soul.67 Eusebius does allow for a human soul and mind in Christ, as seen especially through the work of Strutwolf. He simply does not refer to the body and soul of Christ as later writers—it is not a concern for him in the same way. The more pressing concern, for Eusebius, is the heresy of Paul of Samosata and hence of Marcellus: that Christ was a mere man. Accordingly, especially in his apologetic literature, he emphasizes the divine nature of the Word in human form.

64 Apollinarius, De unione 3; parenthesis added. Translation of this text and Apollinarius’ Fragmenta from Norris (1980). 65 Apollinarius, Fragmenta 10. 66 Apollinarius, Fragmenta 74. For further examples, see Fragmenta 87, 150. 67 While Spoerl has an illuminating article on Apollinarius’ use of the anti-marcellan tradition in his Christology, she (wrongfully) notes that Eusebius is a source for this denial of a soul in Apollinarius. Spoerl (1994), 566–67. Beeley rightly notes, ‘On the question of whether or not Jesus possessed a human mind and soul, Eusebius is no Apollinarian.’ Beeley (2012), 95; see also: Beeley (2008), 445.

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The Divine Nature: The Impassibility of the Word

After treating the humanity of Christ in Eusebius’ thought, we proceed to consider his treatment of Christ’s divine nature. At the outset, it is important to note Eusebius does occasionally speak of the divine nature at the expense of the human nature. In order to understand these passages, and to parse out Eusebius’ understanding of the divine nature of the incarnate Son of God, one must use the impassibility of the Logos as a hermeneutical key. This conviction, which is ubiquitous throughout his corpus, is meant to protect the nature of God as God in human flesh. If Christ’s divine nature suffered or changed in the assumption of human life, he was not truly God—he would be a mere man. This, for Frances Young and Andrew Teal, leads Eusebius to a problematic understanding of the Incarnation: ‘Eusebius was convinced of the Son’s perfection and changelessness, even in the context of the incarnation. And this belief had the same quasi-docetic results in some of Eusebius’ statements.’68 But this christological emphasis—on Christ’s impassibility—is better represented by later Antiochene and Cappadocian responses to Apollinarius, rather than true docetism. Further, in the sections where he seems to pit the natures of Christ against each other, he is simply pointing out his true (divine) nature. As noted, this is not meant to deny the human nature of Christ, but to speak exclusively of the divine therein. First, Eusebius maintains an emphasis on the impassibility and perfection of the Son of God throughout his incarnate state. For instance: In it the indwelling Logos (ὁ ἔνοικος λόγος) coexisted with (συνῆν), and through its kinship (συγγενοῦς) became know to, mortals (θνητοῖς). He did not, however, becomes subject to similar passions (ὁμοιοπαθείαις), nor was He bound (κατεδεσμεῖτο) to His body after the fashion of a human soul (ἀνθρώπου ψυχῆς). And surely he did not become less (χείρων) than Himself nor change from his natural deity (οἰκείας θεότητος μετεβάλλετο).69 Eusebius is clear the Logos dwelt in flesh as man and was known to humanity as such. But importantly, the Logos was not subject or bound as humans are—he did not change in the economy. To argue so would be heresy. Similarly, in LC, he writes, ‘All the time He Himself remained immaterial (ἄυλος), just as He was prior to this time when with the Father (παρὰ τῷ πατρὶ ἦν), in no way altering his essence (μεταβαλὼν τὴν οὐσίαν) nor suppressing His own nature (φύσεως), nor is any way being fettered (πεδηθείς) by bonds of flesh (σαρκὸς).’70 As noted, this rings of later Antiochene writers—for example, Theodore of Mopsuestia, who writes, ‘How, then, did God the Word become flesh (σὰρξ) by indwelling? Obviously not because he was charged or altered

68 Young and Teal (2010), 17. 69 LC 14,4. 70 LC 14,7; translation altered.

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(μετεποιήθη); otherwise there would have been no mention of indwelling.’71 In both Eusebius and Theodore, the nature of the divine Logos is the same as before his incarnation—he remains immaterial and cannot be contained by human bounds. Eusebius provides several metaphors for understanding how the Son must remain impassible—these are explicated in DE 4,13, LC 14, and Theo 3,39. The first is derived from the Greek myth of Orpheus, which Eusebius discusses in Theo. In the story, Orpheus was able to ‘pacify their (the animal’s) angry feelings by means of a hollow instrument.’72 Further his, ‘inanimate lyre soothed both the animals and trees, and so changed even the oaks that they became imitators of music.’73 Similarly, the Word of God used the humanity of Christ as a lyre, working to heal humanity through his music—in response, rational souls became imitators of him. But musicians remain unaffected if their instrument suffers: ‘For, neither does he who strikes the lyre become a thing subject to suffering, although the instrument should be broken, or strings be cut.’74 ‘Der Spieler selbst leidet nicht,’ writes Berkhof, ‘wenn die Leier zerbricht.’75 No matter what happens to the instrument, the instrumentalist remains unaffected. The second Logos-body metaphor is of rays and the sun: For as the rays of the sun may suffer (πάθοιεν) nothing when they fill the universe and come in contact (ἐφαπτόμεναι) with dead and impure bodies (σωμάτων), so, but much more so, could the incorporeal power of the Logos of God suffer nothing (οὔτ’ ἂν πάθοι) or be marred (βλαβείη) in essence (οὐσίαν), or could it in any way become inferior (χείρων) to itself when it spiritually touched a human body (σώματος ἀσωμάτως ἐπαφωμένη).76 The substance and nature of the Logos is above and beyond the nature of creation and thus it remains unchanged in contact with it. ‘It is impossible to say that the sun is defiled (μολύνεσθαι) and rendered muddy by contact (ἐπιμιξίας) with these materials (σωμάτων).’77 The activity of the Word, even in the incarnation, does not change the Logos—as a ray touching mud does not dirty the light, so the Logos is impassible in the economy. Interestingly, in both of these contexts from DE and Theo, Eusebius posits a sort of deification for the human body of Christ immediately after speaking of his impassibility—the body receives attributes of the Word. ‘Thus therefore, also, whatever body (σωμάτων) he (the Logos) touches (ἐφάψοιτο), disease (νόσος) and weakness (ἀρρωστία) and all such things depart (πεφώτισται). And its (the body’s) emptiness (στέρησις) is exchanged for the fullness 71 Theodore, De incarnatione filii dei 9,9; translation from Norris (1980), 121. 72 Theo 3,39; parenthesis added. 73 Theo 3,39. 74 Theo 3,39. 75 Berkhof (1939), 122. 76 LC 14,4; translation altered. 77 DE 4,13,8.

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(πληρώσεως) of the Word.’78 This is a rather cryptic section—it is unclear, here, whether this is referring to the Logos being in contact with Jesus’ body or the sick from the Gospel miracles. But, perhaps, this is the point—the humanity of Jesus is deified which then heals the sick. In both of these cases though, Eusebius is careful to protect the nature of the Son, in noting the transferring of properties is one sided: ‘On the contrary, the things that were of Himself (Logos) He gave to man; but those which were of man, He took not. Of His divine power too, He provided for mortals; while from His participation with the mortal, He received nothing.’79 This, then, provides the groundwork for his conception of humanity’s deification, as discussed in the previous chapter:80 ‘the Word of God was God (θεὸς ἦν) … and He deified (συναπεθέου) humanity with Himself.’81 Thus, the deification of humanity is predicated on the transferal of divine attributes to the human Jesus, namely incorruption, without Jesus’ human attributes marring the divine Logos. Eusebius is concerned with the impassible life-giving power of the Word of God, exemplified in the resurrected and ascended body of Christ. Eusebius’ understanding of the impassibility of the Word contains some interesting implications. For one, the Son continues to shape and guide the world in his incarnate state. ‘For it is the fact that during the time in which He lived as a man (ἀνθρώποις ἐπολιτεύετο), He continued to fill all things (τὰ πάντα ἐπλήρου), and was with the Father (πατρὶ συνῆν), and was in Him (ἐν αὐτῷ) too, and had care (ἐπεμέλετο) of all things collectively even then, of things in heaven and on earth, not being like (ὁμοίως) ourselves debarred (ἀποκεκλεισμένος) from ubiquity, nor hindered (παραποδιζόμενος) from divine action by His humanity (τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ).’82 Likewise, in Theo, ‘Even then, when He conversed among men, did He fill all things: was with His Father and was in Him; and then also, He fully and providentially took care of all things, whether in heaven, or on the earth.’83 If the Logos is unrestricted and unfettered, he simultaneously dwells in the historical Jesus while continuing his cosmic work—sustaining creation with and in the Father.84 Eusebius clarifies, the Word is not ascending and descending between these locations (the human body and the heavens) in a physical sense: ‘the Descent (κάθοδον) and Ascension (ἄνοδον) of God the Word not as of one moving locally (τοπικῶς), but in the metaphorical sense

78 79 80 81 82 83 84

DE 4,13,9–10; parenthesis added. Theo 3,39. See: pg. 139-41. DE 4,14,1. DE 4,13,6; translation altered. Theo 3,39. Eusebius, it seems, holds to an inchoate form of the later theological doctrine, the extra calvinisticum.

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(τροπικῶς) which Scripture intends in the use of such conventional terms.’85 Thus, we are to understand the activity of the Logos as multifaceted in the economy: he is active as the incarnate Christ and with the Father. Perhaps the most striking example of the Word’s impassibility is found in the moment of Jesus’ death on the cross. ‘The Word of God left (ἠφίει) the Body for a short time (βραχὺ τὸ σῶμα); and it was suspended for a short space on the Cross and became a corpse (νεκρὸν). But the Word, which gives life to all, became not (οὐχ) a corpse (νεκρούμενον ἦν). He therefore attested his own mortal nature (τὸ δὲ θνητὸν τὴν οἰκείαν ὡμολόγει φύσιν).’86 For Eusebius, it would be blasphemous to say the divine Logos died on the cross. Rather, the Word willingly left the body of Jesus at his death and descended into Hades. ‘He gave a cry upon the tree, and commended (παρατιθεὶς) His Spirit to His Father … “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit”; thus uncompelled (ἄφετος) and of His own free will (ἐλεύθερος) He departed from the body (σώματος ἀναχώρησιν).’87 Then, after three days, he willingly assumed the humanity of Christ once again in the resurrection. ‘Again on the third day (τριταῖος), He resumed (ἀπελάμβανε) that (being) from which He had before, by the exertion of His own will, departed (ἀναχωρήσας ἑκών).’88 Thus, the death of Christ is not an event which changes the impassible Word—the Son wills according to his impassible nature, here. But this is also an event which demonstrates the two natures working in tandem in rich ways. Strutwolf comments on this, ‘Auch in seinem den Tod besiegenden Tod unterzog sich der Erlöser der Ökonomie auf eine Weise, daß er dabei als ein einziges Subjekt in beiden Naturen wirkte: Als Mensch überließ er seinen Leib dem überlichen Begräbnis, als Gott zog er sich aus dem Leib zurück.’89 The human acts where the Logos is unable to—in suffering. Thus, the cross mark out both the impassibility of the Word as well as his humanity. In sum, Eusebius’ theology of the impassibility of the divine nature of Christ should then be used as a hermeneutic, of sorts, for some of his confusing statements about Christ. For instance, Eusebius writes, ‘For he is this man (οὗτος ἔσται ἀνήρ), who is not a man by nature (οὐκ ὢν τῇ φύσει ἀνήρ) but by nature (φύσιν) superior (κρείττων) to all man.’90 Or again, ‘He was human; and that, in his nature, He was no other than the Word of God.’91 In these instances, Eusebius is not trying to posit a single nature for the person Christ, in which he is superior according to his humanity, such as Apollinarius. He is directly referencing the divine impassible nature. This is not a denial of a

85 86 87 88 89 90 91

DE 6,9,3. Theo 3,6; translation altered. DE 3,4,27. Theo 3,44; parenthesis added. See also: Theo 3,57. Strutwolf (1999), 292. CommIs 2,2; 32:1–4. Theo 5,48.

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human Christ and the positing of a demi-god, but a recognition of his divine nature. The epitome of this may be seen after quoting Gal 1:11–12: Man did not produce Jesus Christ (μὴ ἄνθρωπος ἦν Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς παρίστη). And he again clarifies further on what did give him substance (εἰ μὴ ἄνθρωπος), saying, ‘when God took pleasure in choosing me from my mother’s womb to reveal his Son in me.’ You see that he addressed the Savior (σωτῆρα) clearly as Son of God (υἱὸν θεοῦ) and because of this God (καὶ διὰ τοῦτο θεόν).92 Eusebius’ point, here, is to say that Christ is not simply a man; he is the impassible God and his origin should be viewed as such. Therefore, Christ’s earthly existence—as a continuation of his eternal existence—qualifies how he is human. He is no mere man.

One Christ If this assessment is correct, Eusebius’ convictions about the impassibility of Christ hold great similarity to some later writers, namely Theodore of Mopsuestia and Theodoret of Cyrus. But, interestingly, Eusebius also emphasizes the unified subjectivity of the Son in the incarnation—there is no distinction in the personhood or sonship of Christ, in his divine and human existence. This christological emphasis can be found in the work of Cyril of Alexandria—the theological opponent of the aforementioned figures. Thus, two (divergent) emphases that would conflict in the early fifth century, are married in the Christology of Eusebius of Caesarea. This unitive Christology is, perhaps, best seen in Eusebius’ prosopological exegesis: the Son of God undergoes birth, human existence, etc. But this seems to lead Eusebius to posit a single will for Christ, if only implicitly, which causes some confusing statements about Christ.93 To be clear, he never explicitly articulates this view himself, as Apollinarius does. Apollinarius writes, ‘Christ is one (εἷς), moved only by a divine will (θεϊκῷ θελήματι μόνῳ κινούμενος), just as we know that his activity (ἐνέργειαν) is one (μίαν), manifested in different marvels and sufferings of his one nature (μιᾶς αὐτοῦ φύσεως), for he believed to be God enfleshed (ἔνσαρκος).’94 Eusebius would most likely agree Christ has a single will, but does not articulate this on the basis of one nature. Conversely, it is possible (although, less likely) when Eusebius is discussing the activity of the one Son, he is simply discussing the will of the

92 CM 1,1,26–27. 93 While this is problematic, of course, it should not be read according to the terms and emphasis of later christological controversies, namely over monophysitism, as Kofsky does. Kofsky (2002), 193–94. 94 Apollinarius, Fragmenta 108.

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Logos while not discussing the will of Jesus. In either case, Eusebius does not articulate how the will(s) of Christ functions, but rather focuses on the overwhelming obedience of the Son to the Father in all incarnate and cosmic roles. Thus, his emphasis understandably leads many scholars to view the divine nature as overwhelming the human nature. This is solidified in his writing about the life of Christ as revealed in the Gospels—his virgin birth, miracles, death. These passages demonstrate how the divine nature and will of Christ is manifest in the economy. As noted, Christ is the bearer of both human and divine experience. For instance, Eusebius writes on the virgin birth: If you marvel when you hear that God was born (θεὸν γεννώμενον), you should believe also that he will yearn after food fit for an infant. For it will not be an apparition (φαντασίαν) that he will appear among people, nor will it be that he merely seems (δοκεῖν) to be present, but truly (ἀληθῶς) he will endure (ὑπομενεῖ) such a birth as also to partake in baby food. I mean, butter and honey as other babies. This indeed is perhaps indicative of his humanity (ἀνθρώπινον) and divinity (θεότητος): Because before he knows or prefers evil things, he shall choose what is good. For before the child knows good or bad, he defies evil to choose what is good. And the Word (λόγος) indicates that even at birth (γένεσιν), Emmanuel would have a certain penetrating and ingenious sense of the good, acquiring from that time an ability to discern good from evil, indeed shaking off the evil and accepting only the good. For he says that Emmanuel will have such a nature (φύσεως) and ability from his birth.95 Eusebius’ ease in accepting that God was born (θεὸν γεννώμενον) denotes a certain understanding of the Son—he, himself, experiences a human birth. In this sense, Eusebius would have likely accepted the Theotokos, in line with Cyril of Alexandria, which is indicative of his theological concerns. In these discussions, we have a consistent designation for the bearer of divine and human experience, the single person of Christ. For both Cyril and Eusebius, the Son of God must also be born of a woman and partake in human experience, such as eating. Even while referencing the twofold existence of Christ, in the quote above, Eusebius maintains single subjectivity—Immanuel (not just the divine Logos alone) has a sense of the good. Therefore, the knowledge and activity of Christ is experienced by and as the Son of God. ‘Then, I (the Word) came (ἦλθον) and lived among you, and resided (ἐπολιτευσάμην) with you as a man (ἀνθρώπου), and I called (ἐκάλεσα) you all to myself, and I did (ἔπραξα) all these things because of my surpassing benevolence.’96 In other words, the Son as Son became human.

95 CommIs 1,44; 7:15–17. 96 CommIs 2,37; 50:2–3.

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Eusebius also reflects this understanding of Christ in his anti-Marcellan writings. In CM, he writes: ‘Therefore not now, but before he was born of a woman (πρὶν ἢ γενέσθαι ἐκ γυναικός), the Father sent (ἀπέστειλεν) a Son who exists and preexists (ὄντα καὶ προόντα), so that he who was of old Son of God might also become Son of man (υἱὸς ἀνθρώπου γένοιτο), having been born of a woman (γενόμενος “ἐκ γυναικός”).’97 Cyril of Alexandria, in a letter to Nestorius, writes similarly: While the natures (φύσεις) that were brought together into this true unity (ἐνότητα) were different (διάφοροι), nonetheless there is One Christ and Son from out of both (εἷς δὲ ὲξ ἀμφοτέρων Χριστὸς καὶ Υιός) … For this reason, even though he existed (ὕπαρξιν) and was begotten (γεννηθεὶς) of the Father from before all ages, he is also said to have been begotten (γεννηθῆναι) from a woman (γυναικὸς) according to the flesh.98 For both Cyril and Eusebius, the Son of God preexists and is born of a woman. While Eusebius does not reference the intersection of the natures, in the same way, he does share the commitment to God becoming flesh. For instance, in ET, he marks out the lines of orthodox Christology in this way: Thus certain godless men belonging to the heterodox, having rejected the flesh of the Savior (σάρκα τοῦ σωτῆρος) … But those who have accepted the fleshly economy (ἔνσαρκον οἰκονομίαν) but have denied the pre-existence of the Son of God (προόντα τοῦ θεοῦ υἱὸν) have contrived for themselves, as I said, various ‘dead-ends.’ … These men, granting the two, God and man (θεὸν καὶ ἄνθρωπον), deprived themselves of the third, having denied that the Savior is himself the only-begotten Son of God (αὐτὸν τὸν σωτῆρα τὸν μονογενῆ τοῦ θεοῦ υἱὸν ἀρνησάμενοι).99 In this pericope, Eusebius is seeking to demonstrate the continuity between the eternal pre-existence of the Son and his fleshly economy. But the impassibility of the Word does not jeopardize the unified personhood of Christ. The Savior is not a new being (despite becoming the Son of Man) but is the Son of God. To remain within the bounds of orthodoxy, one must accept that Christ is truly the only begotten Son of God in the flesh. Another interesting place in which this comes to the fore is in Eusebius’ Canon Tables. Eusebius pairs the Matthean and Lukan genealogies with three sections from John 1 in Canon III. The Johannine passages are noted below.100

97 CM 1,1,27–28. 98 Cyril, Dialogus cum Nestorio (PG 77,48); translation from McGuckin (1994), 263–64. 99 ET 1,7,1. 100 This unique pairing has been noted by several scholars: McArthur (1965), 253; Crawford (2014), 27–28; O’Loughlin (2017), 53–57.

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Matthew

Luke

John

1/1:1–16: An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah the son of David, the son of Abraham … and Jacob the father of Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah.

14/3:23–38: Jesus was about thirty years old when he began his work. He was the son (as was thought) of Joseph son of Heli … son of Enos, son of Seth, son of Adam, son of God.

1/1:1–16:

14/3:23–38:

1/1:1–16:

14/3:23–38:

1/1:1–5: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. 3/1:9–10: The true light, enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. 5/1:14: And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only Son, full of grace and truth.

These paired references from John are obviously distinct in narrative context and generic content from the Matthean and Lukan genealogies. But they do share a theological theme: the origin(s) of Christ. The Johannine passages discuss the divine begetting of the Word, while Matthew 1 and Luke 3 express the human birth and lineage of Jesus. These origins are distinct, yet inextricably linked as they both reveal an important aspect of Christ’s identity as divine and human—he is both the Word and the human Jesus. While this is not explicit in the tables, it seems Eusebius is positing a specific christological approach for these passages in the pairing themselves. Christ has a divine and earthly existence, in one person. These different origins do not create textual tension for Eusebius though, but exhibits a theological unity. O’Loughlin comes to a similar conclusion, albeit with different pairings in mind: ‘We do not end up with a mosaic of details—as we might expect from a textual diatessaron—but a theological mosaic such that the Jesus who heals in Mt.,

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Mk., and Lk. is to be understood in the manner that he is portrayed in Jn. We do not end up with a single story of Jesus but with four differing stories, but with a single Christology.’101 Therefore, this pairing, which is an odd corresponding cross-reference to modern ears, fits naturally within Eusebius’ theological convictions. The single person of Christ has both divine and human origins. As Eusebius’ Christology is predicated on the single subjectivity of Christ, so his emphasis on the Son’s relationship to the Father continues in the incarnation—a relationship of obedience, predicated on his derivative subordinationism. As he is from the Father, he obeys the Father’s will. Again, this may point to a single obedient will in Christ, or two wills acting in unified obedience. Eusebius is not concerned with this distinction though, but in the role of obedient Son in all aspects of his existence. Strutwolf writes: um anderen ist Euseb aber auch bestrebt, die Inkarnation in einer Weise ernst zu nehmen, daß er in Erniedrigung, Inkarnation, Leiden und Sterben Jesu nicht allein die ‘Seele’ Jesu als das vom Logos geführte und sich dem Logoswillen entsprechend opfernde Subjekt ansieht, sondern bestrebt ist, den Logos selbst als das Subjekt des Gehorsams und Leidens erscheinen zu lassen.102 Eusebius does not simply delineate the obedient and suffering aspects of Christ’s earthly existence, but seeks to demonstrate how the Word is, in some way, the subject of them as well. If the Son of God is obedient to the Father, and Jesus is not (or vice versa) there would be a major inconsistency in the personhood of the Son for Eusebius. Thus, the Logos and Jesus are the Subjekt of obedience and suffering (Gehorsams und Leidens). This is clear from his debate with Marcellus, particularly in their divergent understandings between nature of the Son in the Godhead and in the economy. As noted in past chapters, the Word can have no distinct attributes or nature from the Father, according to Marcellus. ‘We know to refer the economy according to the flesh to the man (κατὰ σάρκα οἰκονομίαν τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ), but we believe that the eternity to the Spirit is united to the Father (ἡνῶσθαι τῷ πατρὶ).’103 There is a necessary difference in the Incarnation, or at least a new dynamic between the second person of the Trinity and the Father. It seems, from the scriptural passage concerning the apparent disagreement between Christ and the Father in the Garden of Gethsemane, that Christ has two wills for Marcellus: one for the fleshly Christ and one from the Godhead. ‘For if there should seem to be a certain disagreement (ἀσυμφωνία), this ought to be referred to the weakness of the flesh (σαρκὸς ἀσθένειαν), which the Word assumed (ἀνείληφεν), not having it before (ἣν μὴ πρότερον ἔχων). But if the

101 O’Loughlin (2017), 62. 102 Strutwolf (1999), 286. 103 Marcellus, Fragmenta 72. See: CM 2,2,14.

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unity (ἑνότης) were to be spoken of, this appears to apply to the Word.’104 Therefore, the disagreement is on account of the flesh of Christ, or his human weakness, as the Word could not possibly disagree with the Father—he has the same ύπόστασις as the Father, and thus the same divine will. As Maurice Dowling writes, ‘Marcellus insists on making a distinction between the Father-Word relationship and the Father-man ( Jesus) relationship. In the relationship between the Father and the man Christ Jesus there could arise instances of disagreement, and these must be “attributed to the weakness of the flesh” … which the Word assumed and which he did not possess beforehand.’105 In this way, Marcellus’ conviction is seen in later writers such as Nestorius and Theodore, in emphasizing the distinction between the Son of man and the Son of God, according to their disagreement, in this passage. Conversely, Apollinarius uses Matthew 26 to say it, ‘signifies not that there are the wills (θελήματος) of two different (ἄλλου) subjects who do not agree (συμβαιωόντων) with each other but rather that there is the will of one and the same subject (ἀλλ ἑνὸς καὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ), divinely (θεϊκῶς) activated (ἐνεργουμένου), but for the sake of the incarnation asking to be spared death.’106 Just as the passion event is the place for speaking about the divergent wills of Christ in Marcellus, so it is for speaking about Christ’s single obedient will in Apollinarius. While Eusebius’ exegetical strategy mirrors that of Apollinarius, he does not discuss the will of the Son explicitly, but that of the Father. Utilizing prosopological exegesis when expounding on Is 60:5–6, Eusebius writes: ‘For the Father’s command (νεῦμα τὸ πατρικόν) was enough for me (Christ). And when “I became obedient” to him, I was sustained (ἠνειχόμην) through everything, knowing that the one who rules over the universe, the Lord, has become a helper for me.’107 Here, Eusebius maintains an insistence on the obedience of Christ, but this is fulfilled through the will of the Father. This passage is not about christological natures, therefore, so much as the Trinitarian relationship between the Father and the Son: The Son, because he is Son, obeys the Father. Daley’s astute comments on the christological consequences of differing Trinitarian emphases are relevant here: A theology that is to some degree ‘subordinationist’ (such as Eusebius’) in conceiving how those three (persons of the Trinity) can still be one—tends to stress the oneness of person in Christ the Savior, occasionally even to the point of seeming to compromise the fullness of his humanity in order to preserve that oneness. On the other hand, a theology with a weak conception of the distinction of persons in God (such as Marcellus’)—a theology with a more ‘modalist’ way of conceiving God’s being—tends 104 Marcellus, Fragmenta 75; translation altered. See: CM 2,2,24–25. 105 Dowling (1987), 82. 106 Apollinarius, Fragmenta 109. 107 CommIs 2,37; 50:6–7; parenthesis added; translation altered.

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to stress the twoness of natures or substances in Christ, even to the point of tending to see him as a human person in whom the Word or Wisdom or Spirit of God has come to dwell, as a divine gift extrinsic to himself.108 Thus, Marcellus’ emphasis on the radical unity of the Godhead means there is little continuity between the divine and human Son. Conversely, Eusebius’ unity of the Son (and therefore, distinctions in the Trinity) means the willed activity and nature of the Son continues in the economy. With all this said, it is understandable why many scholars have interpreted Eusebius’ Christ as divine at the expense of the human. Eusebius does keep the divine at the helm in Christ—something which Apollinarius is also noted for. But, Apollinarius’ emphasis is on the glorified body of Christ in accordance with a single divine will. Significantly, Eusebius’ work rarely discusses the nature of the will in Christ and his body. Rather, the divine is most frequently on the fore in the assumption of humanity and in his soteriological aims. For instance, in De Solemnitate Paschali, he writes using Mal 4:2: ‘For he is the one who was the sheep (πρόβατον αὐτὸς ἦν), in that he clothed himself with a body (περιέκειτο σῶμα). He is also the one who was the sun of righteousness.’109 Likewise, in LC, So for this reason, He himself prepared for Himself an all-holy temple, a physical instrument (σωματικὸν ὄργανον), a perceptible (αἰσθητικὸν οἰκητήριον) dwelling for intellectual power … But the divine image, wrought by the power of divine wisdom, partook of life and intellectual existence (ζωῆς μετεῖχεν καὶ νοερᾶς οὐσίας). An image filled with every virtue, it was the dwelling of the divine Logos (θείου λόγου οἰκητήριον), the holy temple of a holy God.110 In these pericopes, the Logos is clearly putting on and steering the body of Christ for its own purposes and ends. But, if the Logos is simply using and steering the body, did he truly become a man? Thus, Robertson comments, ‘In fact, at times it is difficult to see how Eusebius even conceived of a true Incarnation, i.e. of the Word actually becoming flesh. It would seem that the divine Word used the human being to demonstrate his power and to make a sacrifice for sin, but did not in any significant way become the man Jesus Christ.’111 But, we must also ask what we mean by the Word taking on flesh, in our understanding of Jn 1:14. Surely it is the will of the Word and the Father that drives the assumption of humanity, not the human Christ. Further, the causative connector at the outset of the LC passage (διὸ) is referring to humanity’s inability to see God, and thus their inability to be saved without the revelation of the Son. Through the incarnation of the Son, God is more 108 109 110 111

Daley (2009), 327; parenthesis added. DePasc 6. LC 14,3–4. Robertson (2007), 67.

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fully revealed to humanity and they are saved. This aligns with the passage in DePasch, where Eusebius is referencing Christ as the fulfilment of Passover. In both of these passages, Eusebius is directly discussing the salvation of humanity. The human Jesus is most certainly a ‘vessel’ and ‘instrument’ in accomplishing God’s will and soteriological ends. The Word assumes humanity for the sake of humanity. These instrumental passages, then, must be viewed according to the ends of the instrument. That is to say, the assumption of human nature is the instrument by which God completes his salvific work: the vessel of salvation. The Unified Christ in the Crucifixion

In light of these assessments of Eusebius’ Christology, it seems relevant to focus on two Eusebian pericopes where these themes come to the fore. These passages are literary monologues of Christ, in which Christ speaks in the first person from the cross. The first and briefer monologue is from CommIs, the second from the final extant book of DE. In both of these cases, the humanity and divinity of Christ are not the focal point—rather, the unified actions of the incarnate and cosmic Christ in obedience to the Father are on display. Here, Eusebius utilizes prosopological exegesis to identify the Son of God as the speaker in an Old Testament passage, namely Psalm 23 LXX. Further, Eusebius psychologizes Christ in interweaving Scripture and his own words, to explain his purpose in dying on the cross. In Eusebius’ CommIs 50, the Son is assigned the role of suffering servant. In this role, the Word speaks prosopologically, first as the divine Word, then as the human Son, demonstrating the continuity of his existence. Rondeau comments on this passage: Dans Is. 50 comme dans Ps. 77, 1–4, Eusèbe décèle le même glissement: le locuteur est le Verbe de Dieu, qui parle d’abord du haut de sa divinité, puis qui s’exprime de façon plus humaine, parlant ek prosōpou de l’homme qu’il a assumé, que cet homme soit envisagé comme l’individu qui a souffert sous Ponce Pilate ou comme celui qui est solidaire des apôtres et des disciples, issus comme lui du peuple juif.112 Christ first begins speaking from the height of his divinity, but then speaks from the man he assumed. The divine Son begins his monologue chastising those who blame God for their plight: ‘The truth is: you sold yourself (ἑαυτοὺς) for your sins (ἁμαρτίαις).’113 But, despite this, ‘I (the Son) did not hesitate to descend (ὑποκαταβῆναι) from the grandeur of heaven in order to make my presence (παρουσίαν) even among you. Then, I came (ἦλθον) and lived among you, and resided with you as a man (ἀνθρώπου), and I called (ἐκάλεσα) you all

112 Rondeau (1985), 175. 113 CommIs 2,37; 50:1.

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to myself, and did all these things because of my surpassing benevolence.’114 Thus, the cosmic Logos is describing his assumption of humanity from the first person: there is a single subject who descended from heaven and dwelt on earth as a human—‘I endured these things patiently (ἀνεξικάκως ἤνεγκα δυνάμενος).’115 Further, Eusebius does not qualify the existence of the Son here, but rather plainly states he resided as a man. Then he calls those who did not meet or answer him (Is 50:2) to remember his deeds as the eternal Son: in drying the Red Sea and Jordan River to allow the Israelites to pass through and the plagues of Egypt.116 Eusebius, through the mouth of Christ, then poses two important questions: First, ‘why is it that the one who revealed (ἐνδειξάμενος) such things to our ancestors was not one such as I was and now am (οὐχ οἷός τε ἤμην καὶ νῦν ἐμαυτὸν)?’117 In other words, how can a being who acted throughout the history of Israel be a mortal man? Second, ‘And why did I deliver (ἐξελέσθαι) the bodily instrument (ὄργανον σωματικὸν) that was taken out of your hands because of its humanity (ἀνθρώπους)?’118 The proposed questions note the paradox in the incarnation: how could an unfettered God become human, and how could such a being be stripped of his humanity? Therein is the tension of the unique natures of Christ in the unified person for Eusebius. Oddly, he avoids the answer to these questions and simply dwells on the reason for the incarnation being the obedience of the Son. It seems, at least here, that Eusebius does not feel compelled to solve this paradox. Nevertheless, he drops out of the monologue for a moment, quoting Phil 2:8, ‘He acted in this way at the command of the Father (παραγγελίᾳ τοῦ πατρός), because it was necessary (ἐχρῆν) “for him to become obedient unto death.”’119 The obedience of the Son is what is to be gleaned from this passage, in his entry into humanity and his death. In this, there is an emphasis on his singularity: ‘It was because of this that I (Christ) kept silence (σιωπὴν ἦγον) and suffered insolence on your behalf.’120 In this sense, the obedience of the Son is born out of his derivative subordinationism: he is obedient to the will of the Father because he is Son. But the willful agency of the Son is also important—the voluntary submission of the Son drives the assumption of human life. Finally, in this passage, we see the suffering of the incarnate Christ still revealed in the first person, despite the impassability of the Logos. Therefore, I offered (παρεῖχον) at once my back to those who wanted to strike me. I offered (παρεῖχον) my cheeks to those who struck my face

114 115 116 117 118 119 120

CommIs 2,37; 50:1; parenthesis added. CommIs 2,37; 50:2–3; emphasis added. CommIs 2,37; 50:2–3. CommIs 2,37; 50:4–5. CommIs 2,37; 50:4–5. CommIs 2,37; 50:4–5. CommIs 2,37; 50:4–5; parenthesis added.

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and shamefully mistreated me, and I did not turn away (ἀπέστρεφον) from my face from being covered with your spit. But I remained (ἔμενον) resolute and offered my given human body (σωματικὸν ἄνθρωπον ἔκδοτον) to all sorts of abuse and insolence, defending myself from nothing that anyone threw at me. For the Father’s will (νεῦμα τὸ πατρικόν) was enough for me. And when ‘I became obedient’ to him, I was sustained through everything, knowing that the one who rules over the universe, the Lord, has become a helper for me.121 It is the person of Christ who offered himself to be tortured and shamed in willful obedience to the Father. While the speaker clarifies what was offered, being the human body (σωματικὸν ἄνθρωπον), the suffering is applied to the person of Christ, rather than a particular nature here. Thus, Eusebius is consistent in affirming the impassible suffering of the Son, a conviction seen in Cyril of Alexandria in his letter to John of Antioch. ‘Moreover, all of us confess that the divine Word is impassible (Ἀπαθῆ), even if in his all-wise economy of the mystery he is seen to attribute (προσνέμων) to himself the sufferings (πάθη) that befall his own flesh (σαρκὶ).’122 For both Eusebius and Cyril, Christ must suffer—although Eusebius does not detail how the divine can suffer. Further, he does not comment on the communicatio idiomatum or on impassible suffering, as later writers do. Regardless, the subject in this passage should be interpreted as the ‘the servant of God (παῖδα θεοῦ) when he says he became a man (ἄνθρωπος γεγονὼς) and is the true Son of God and of the Father (υἱός ἐστιν ἀληθινὸς τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ πατρός).’123 The suffering servant is the Word as the incarnate Christ. Looking to DE, we have a similar monologue in which the words of Christ reveal a unified subject in his human and divine experiences.124 Here, Eusebius constructs a number of layers to create this prayer of Christ. First, he uses the words of Christ from the Gospel of Matthew, ‘My God, My God, why have you forsaken me,’ to explain his present action and suffering on the cross.125 Second, he applies all of Psalm 23 LXX—from which Jesus quotes in the Gospel—to Christ in full. Finally, Eusebius adds additional thoughts of Christ which expound on this psalm. Overall, Eusebius uses this passage to demonstrate how the Word voluntarily lowers himself in obedience to the Father and appropriates the human suffering on the cross. Rondeau makes this clear, expounding on Eusebius’ CommPs, ‘Pourtant, ses cris de détresse, ses appels au secours, sont justement là pour imposer à notre foi qu’il est “devenu homme sans changement et en toute vérité” et pour prouver que le

121 CommIs 2,37; 50:4–5. 122 Cyril, Epistola 39 (PG 77,180); translation from McGuckin (1994), 347. 123 CommIs 2,37; 50:10. 124 Strutwolf uses this passage to discuss the soul of Christ: Strutwolf (1999), 317–23. 125 Mt 27:46.

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Verbe de Dieu s’approprie les souffrances de l’homme qu’il a assumé.’126 The Son of God takes on human existence and the sins of humanity on the cross. Eusebius begins this passage by speaking of the birth of Christ in connection to his death. ‘And since He knew that His original union with our flesh (σάρκα ἔνδεσιν), and His birth of a woman that was a Virgin was no worse (μὴ χείρονα) experience than the suffering of death, while He speaks of His death He also mentions (μνημονεύει) His birth, saying to the Father: Thou art he that took me out of my mother’s womb.’127 It is unclear, here, how the Logos’ experience could be no worse in his death than his birth—it seems it must be an impassible suffering. Whatever the case, this passage explains why Christ expressed the words from Ps 23:9–10 LXX on the cross: ‘On you was I cast (ἐπερρίφην) from my mother: from my mother’s womb you are my God.’128 In utilizing this whole psalm, Eusebius is able to express the help of the Father and the obedience of the Son throughout his entire cosmic and historical existence. At this point, Eusebius begins his first-person prayer of Christ, when he cries out to the Father on the cross. ‘For just as you were My Help,’ He says, when I took (ἀναλαβόντος) the body of man (σῶμα ἀνθρώπειον), when you, my God and Father, like a midwife did draw the body (σάρκα ἐξέσπασας) that had been prepared for Me (κατεσκευασμένην) by the Holy Spirit (ἐξ ἁγίου πνεύματος) from My travailing mother, putting forth your power, to prevent any attempt or plan of hostile powers, envious of My entry into humanity (εἰς ἀνθρώπους).129 Here, we have a Trinitarian formulation in the assumption of humanity by the Son—the Holy Spirit prepared, the Father is the sender and helper, and the Word entered humanity. The assumption of human existence is a unified act of the triune God. Despite his emphasis on the transcendence of the Godhead, this entrance carries the weight of human existence with it. For I trusted (πέποιθα) you even when I drew My infant food from ‘My mother’s breasts,’ and was thought to be like human babes powerless and without reason (ὁμοίως τοῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων βρέφεσιν ἀτελὴς εἶναι καὶ ἄλογος). Such I was not (μὴ ὤν), though I had a body like humans (σῶμά μοι ὅμοιον ἀνθρώποις ἦν): it was not like in power (δύναμιν) or essence (οὐσίαν) to other bodies, I was free (ἄνετος) and unfettered (ἀπόλυτος), as Thy Lamb, O God, though at that age nourished with milk, I mean from ‘My mother’s breasts.’130

126 Rondeau (1985), 187. 127 DE 10,8,56. ἔνδεσιν, or union, is a unique term. It is primarily found in obscure (nonChristian) medical texts, histories, dictionaries, and several condemnations of Origen. 128 DE 10,8,60; translation altered. 129 DE 10,8,57; translation altered. 130 DE 10,8,59; translation altered; emphasis added.

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We see the tension of the transcendent nature of the Son, in being free and unfettered, in Eusebius’ unitive Christology—there is no distinction between the human Jesus and the divine Logos drawing from Mary’s breast. The Son himself is undergoing infancy while simultaneously being unrestricted by a human body. His following statement qualifies how the existence of the Word in flesh was different in power or substance to other bodies. Eusebius is not denying a human nature here but is explaining how Christ is unique according to his divinity—he is unfettered. This power (δύναμιν) and essence (οὐσίαν) refers directly to the restriction of humans to time and space, which is not a restriction for the Son of God. For Eusebius, the Son is human, but he is also something more. Eusebius continues the speech of Christ through the words of Ps 23:6–8 LXX to speak of the memories and the suffering of Christ. Bearing (ἀναφέρων) such memories in My mind, and ever setting My God and Father (θεόν μου καὶ πατέρα) before My eyes, it is not strange that in this present hour of supreme suffering (πάθους) I should do the same, when in My obedience (ὑπήκοος) to you, My Father, of My own will and consent (αὐθαίρετος καὶ ἑκὼν) I became (γέγονα) ‘a worm and no man, a reproach of men and the outcast of the people.’ And now when ‘all who gaze’ on my body nailed to the Cross (μου τὸ σῶμα τῷ σταυρῷ προσηλούμενον) think they see a sight of ill omen and mock Me (ἐξεμυκτήρισάν με), pouring such a flood of reviling and satire upon Me, shewing that they not only think evil of Me and harbour it in their minds, but speak it without fear and ‘say it’ openly: for ‘They spoke with their lips, and shook their heads,’ saying, ‘He trusted in the Lord, let Him deliver him.’131 As in the Isaiah passage, the incarnate Christ is the subject of mockery and suffering here, the possessor of human thoughts, body, and will. While the Logos seems to be the motivating force here, Eusebius makes no attempt to distance the suffering and human nature of Christ (my body (μου τὸ σῶμα) from the divine. It is both the Son of God and the Son of Man who become ‘a worm and no man’ in willful obedience to the Father. Eusebius ends this prayer in a strong declaration of Christ’s experience as the human and divine Christ. The incarnate savior clarifies the nature of his surpassing trouble, from Ps 23:11 LXX: I (ἐγὼ) do not mean this trouble which now enfolds me (περιέχουσάν με), nor the Cross, nor the jeers of men, nor the mockery, nor anything at all that I underwent before the Cross (πρὸ τοῦ σταυροῦ συμβεβηκότα μοι), scourging, insults, nor all my vile treatment from the sons of men; but I look (ὁρῶ) to the dissolution (ἀνάλυσιν of the body (σώματος) in death

131 DE 10,8,61; translation altered.

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(θάνατον) itself, and the descent into Hades next thereto, and the onset of the hostile powers opposed to God.132 Eusebius interweaves the human and divine experiences of the speaker, in facing trouble before the cross and descending into Hades to defeat death. Where, in other places, Eusebius uses this passage to demonstrate how the Logos willingly leaves the human body in his death, he emphasizes Christ’s death and descent here. In this sense, Eusebius details how the impassible nature of the Son willingly departs from the cross, but also how he willingly experiences it in his human existence. In sum, these passages are representative for his broad exegetical moves when discussing the human and divine natures of Christ in his single subjectivity. When speaking of the cross of Christ, Eusebius distinguishes the divine and human existence in some places and the unified suffering and experience of Christ in others. But the tension is clear: Christ is one, human and divine.

Conclusion In the last fifty years of Eusebian scholarship, there has been a tendency to read Eusebius according to later christological figures—in a way, this chapter did the same, in utilizing Apollinarius, Nestorius, Theodore, Theodoret, and Cyril. But this was done for two specific reasons not found in other studies: First, to demonstrate that Eusebius’ held supposedly mutually exclusive theological emphases (divine impassibility, and single subjectivity) in tension, if not always coherently. This tension is taken up later, in these writers, but their distinctive theological visions are not necessarily shared by Eusebius. In other words, for reconstructing Eusebius’ thought, he should not be read on other figures’ terms, but their thought should not be siloed either—comparing convictions, theological trajectories, and motivations can better trace their thought in the early church. This leads to the second reason: to allow the differences of these writers to come to the fore. Eusebius is not interested in the single will, glorified body, or soulless Christ, as is Apollinarius. He is also not concerned with postulating two Sons, despite a firm reliance on divine impassibility (as are the Antiochenes) nor on the debate over the Theotokos (as is Cyril). Rather, living in the early fourth century, he is concerned with the heresy of Paul of Samosata, in the obedience of the Son in his cosmic and economic states, and with Marcellan Sabellianism. In this sense, much of the secondary critiques and readings of Eusebius should be qualified: Does he postulate a Logos-Sarx Christology? Not in the sense argued for by Grillmeier. Is Eusebius a proto-Apollinarian? In his soteriological emphasis and on the unitive Christ, yes. But according to the distinctives of Apollinarian theology,

132 DE 10,8,63.

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such as the denial of a human soul in Jesus, no. While much of scholarship has identified strands of his thought correctly, they have done so on the foundation of other writers—and thus Eusebius’ voice speaks to elucidate other theologians (or theological trajectories) rather than his own thought. Perhaps a more appropriate question for the reconstruction of Eusebius’ theology would be, where does his christological emphasis lie? First, he emphasizes a twofold existence in one Christ by demonstrating the continuity between the Son of God and the Son of Man, particularly in the Marcellan debate. One must accept God became man, while remaining the only-begotten Son, in order to remain within the bounds of orthodoxy. Second, he emphasizes the divine impassibility of the Son, even if he does not distinguish between the natures of the Son on the cross (in suffering). Finally, he emphasizes the unified relationship of the Son to the Father in the pre-incarnate state and economy—the Son always serves and obeys the Father. This obedience is what governs his interpretation of the incarnational activity of the Son, particularly on the cross.

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Conclusions

‘For this reason, then, one God is proclaimed by the Church of God, “and there is no other besides him,” but also one only-begotten Son of God, the image of the paternal divinity, who, because of this, is God.’1

The aim of this monograph has been to reconsider Eusebius of Caesarea’s theology of the Son in explicit connection to his utilization of the Christian Scriptures and broader church writers. By doing so, it acknowledges that Eusebius stood at the forefront of the ‘theological renaissance’ in the wake of the council of Nicaea,2 as the most influential theologian of his generation. While some of his theological framework was eclipsed in the century after his death, much survived in vibrant ways. In this, the pro-Nicene theological tradition is certainly indebted to the Caesarean bishop. Thus, this study is not only about Eusebius’ own thought, but about the ways in which his work shaped eastern theology. This study began with an investigation into Eusebius’ Trinitarian theology, in which the biblical titles for the persons of the Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—are paramount for human understanding of God. By discussing Eusebius’ framework in light of biblical personalism, the subordinate nature of the Son is identified as ‘derivative’ rather than ‘ontological,’ as a son is relationally preceded by his father. The Son is no less divine than the Father, but he is ranked second after the Father in being begotten. Thus, the Son is God because he is derived from the ‘paternal divinity.’3 This progression can also be applied to the Holy Spirit, in being subordinate to the Son. Further, both the unity and distinction of persons in the Godhead is found in the relations in God, rather than a common nature. The Father’s role as the Father—the cause—is the foundation for the unity of the Trinity, as well as its distinction in persons. In the second chapter, Eusebius’ cosmology was discussed in light of biblical descriptions of the Father as unknowable and the mediatorial roles of the Son, such as the great high priest. In previous assessments, Eusebius’ cosmology has

1 ET 1,2,1. 2 DelCogliano (2010), 4. 3 ET 1,2,1.

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been viewed as wholly platonic, in which the Son is an ontological intermediary between the Father and the world, as the middle-platonic ‘World-Soul.’ While these studies rightly demonstrate Eusebius’ similarity with this philosophical framework (as Eusebius himself does), they do not do enough in showing how Eusebius distances himself from this interpretation. In this project, it has been argued the mediation of the Son is foremost predicated on obeying the will of the Father, rather than crossing an ontological divide between the divine and created. Furthermore, the Son is the middle insofar as he is the image of the Father, making him visible to an imperfect world. This nuanced approach shows how the Father is able to partake in the creation and provision of the world through his will rather than being a distant and unknowable God. In this sense, both the Father and Son are present in creation, the former as the source and sovereign will, the latter as the active agent. Attention was then given to Eusebius’ soteriological scheme, on the work of Christ from the Godhead and in the economy, in chapter three. His primary salvific image for the Son is that of teacher—the Son proclaims the identity of the true God, which liberates and transforms humanity. It is their imperfect knowledge of God which leads humanity to sin, irrational disease, and willful enslavement to demons. Thus, through proclaiming a fuller knowledge of God to the world, Christ liberates humanity from these maladies. This knowledge is essentially the identity of the Christian God which is fully revealed in the persons of the Trinity—the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Therefore, salvation comes by knowing the Christian God and being a part of the ecclesiastical community. Eusebius’ employment of various New Testament soteriological images allows for a rich and multi-faceted soteriology, in which Christ’s redemptive work is seen in the Godhead and completed in the incarnation. This salvation cannot be reduced to simple moralism—it is a liturgical salvation focused on redemptive transformation through Christ’s sacrificial work and his revelation of the Father to the world. Finally, in the fourth chapter, the humanity and divinity of Christ was discussed, decentering the conversation from the soul of Christ to Eusebius’ own theological emphases: Christ’s unitive personhood and divine impassibility. Therein, it was argued Eusebius truly views Christ’s human nature as human, even if he does not utilize technical language or discuss his humanity in the same way as later thinkers. Further, while Eusebius does not often discuss the soul of Christ, his exegetical work shows he has no qualms with this idea. More importantly though, Eusebius is insistent the Son of Man is also the Son of God—the divine and human are united in one person. In this sense, Eusebius shares a theological emphasis with latter ‘Alexandrian’ theologians, such as Cyril, in identifying the human experiences of Jesus with the Son of God. Eusebius also prioritizes the impassibility of the Son though, and thus shares an emphasis with the ‘Antiochene’ writers, such as Theodore of Mopsuestia. In this sense, Eusebius’ christological framework is able to maintain two important axioms for the

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Son of God in the economy: There is one Christ, in two forms (one human, and one impassibly divine). This project’s conclusions indicate that Eusebius must be known as a—if not the—most important transmitter of Origenian theology in the early fourth century. His debt to Origen is both obvious and important, but Eusebius was not afraid to nuance and jettison some of Origen’s more controversial doctrines. For instance, he rejects Origen’s theology of the pre-existent human soul of Christ: for Eusebius, the soul is not the mediator between the Word and flesh (as in Origen), but is the bearer of human experience in Christ as a single subject. Eusebius is also more interested in demonstrating the unitive qualities of the Father and Son than his predecessor, shown in how he frames the Son as image of the Father. Thus, this study reveals several important ways that Eusebius developed and emphasized Origenian theology which shaped eastern theology. First, Eusebius’ discussion and theological expansion of ύπόστασις in the Marcellan debate solidified the term’s importance for later Trinitarian formulations. These texts (CM and ET) hold his fullest Trinitarian development of the term and emphasized an important facet of Trinitarian theology. God is known—in himself and to the world—in personal relations. That is seen in the particular formulation of Basil of Caesarea: ‘Oὐσία is related to ὑπόστασις as the common (τὸ κοινόν) to the proper (τὸ διον).’4 In other words, ὑπόστασις reveals the proper or individual nature of the persons in the Trinity. In this sense, Eusebius’ insistence that ‘he (the Son) and the Father existed as two hypostases (καὶ δύο πάλιν ὑποστάσεις αὐτός τε καὶ ὁ πατὴρ ὑπῆρχον),’5 surely aided in the transmission of this theological conviction to the Cappadocians and impacted the framing of Trinitarian theology, principally through the public nature of the Marcellan debate.6 While Eusebius’ conception of oὐσíα was modified later, this contribution of Eusebius should not be overshadowed. Further, without these works, the nature of theology in the late fourth century may have been far more Marcellan in denying the individual persons in the Godhead. Eusebius’ theology is one of the richest accounts of the eternal personhood of the triune God from the early fourth century, which did much to challenge an overemphasis on the unity in the Godhead. Second, his theological work created space for a Trinitarian theology which countered the Son’s creatureliness, but also avoided Marcellan Sabellianism. Succinctly, Eusebius’ theology allows for the continuation of important Origenian categories without succumbing to either Trinitarian extreme. By critiquing both Arianism and Sabellianism in Trinitarian debate, Eusebius is

4 Basil, Epistula 214,4; translation from Leinhard (2004), 106. 5 ET 1,20,40–42. 6 Spoerl and Vinzent (2017), 68.

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the first to draw the theological poles of orthodoxy: God is known in three persons, each person being fully divine.7 So also the Church hands down (the) only-begotten Son of God, Jesus Christ, who has been begotten (γεγεννημένον) before all ages (πάντων αἰώνων) from the Father, but who is not the same (οὐ τὸν αὐτὸν) as the Father, but who exists in himself and lives and truly coexists (συνόντα) as Son, God from God and light from light and life from life … he subsists not in the same way that the remaining begotten beings do (οὐχ ὁμοίως μὲν τοῖς λοιποῖς γενητοῖς ὑποστάντα), nor does he live a life that resembles that of the creatures that have been begotten through him, but he alone was born from the Father himself and is life itself (αὐτοζωὴν ὄντα).8 Thus, Eusebius’ theology is truly an ecclesiastical one. He creates a system which is rigorously scriptural, steeped in Christian tradition, yet modified to maintain contemporary developments in theology. But, this appeal to tradition and scriptural terminology is also why he supported several theological judgments which are problematic, such as derivative subordinationism (in line with Origen), or his unwillingness to ascribe the title of God (θεός) to the Holy Spirit. Despite this, Eusebius is a model of ecclesiastical theology in his humility, rigor, and emphasis on theological boundaries. Third, this study demonstrates the primary way to understand the role and nature of the second person of the Trinity in the work of Eusebius: Son. This qualification shifts how Eusebius’ broad framework should be understood, as well as the debate with Marcellus. While the unity and distinctions in the Godhead is primary in this debate, the way in which the divine persons relate is pivotal for understanding their respective theological systems. For Marcellus, the metaphor of a voice to the speaker defines the nature of the Godhead, whereas Eusebius focuses on the familial metaphor in his theology—father to son. ‘The Father is truly Father (ὁ πατὴρ ἀληθῶς πατὴρ) … and also the Son is truly Son (ὁ υἱὸς ἀληθῶς υἱός).’9 Thus, one of the contributions of this work to scholarship on Eusebius, and to broader Trinitarian discussions from this period, is an attention to the primary title utilized for understanding the relations in the Godhead. DelCogliano, in developing Basil’s theory of names argues Eusebius is likely a core influence of aspects of Basil thought, particularly his discussion of Prov 8:22.10 In light of this discussion of Eusebius’ theology, DelCogliano can push his study farther—Eusebius’ conception of the Son as truly Son likely impacted Basil’s theory of names and christological conceptions past this exegetical argument. In fact, Eusebius provides a model for the far-reaching implications of the theory of names—the Son as Son is

7 Spoerl (1997), 38. 8 ET 1,8,2–3. 9 CM 1,1,13–15; emphasis added. 10 DelCogliano (2008); (2011a).

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foundational for his Trinitarianism, cosmology, soteriology, and Christology. In sum, the Cappadocians read Origen through a Eusebian lens, and were thus, in a sense, Eusebian themselves. As Beeley concludes for Gregory of Nazianzus: ‘In this respect Gregory is far more a reformed Eusebian—or to be even more accurate, a vindicated Origenist—than he is representative of Athanasius and the West.’11 Thus, Eusebius’ insistence that the Son is truly Son shapes later thought, seen chiefly in the Cappadocians. Eusebius’ discussion of Christ as the unified subject is also an important precursor for the Θεοτόκος controversy, particularly in the Marcellan debate. This discussion focuses on the nature of Christ, the ‘Alexandrian’ emphasis being the single subjectivity, while the ‘Antiochene’ focuses on the impassibility of the Son (which means a sort of dual subjectivity). As seen, Marcellus seemingly holds to two divergent wills in the incarnate Christ,12 while Eusebius emphasizes the unified obedience of the Son. Thus, the former presents a model which pre-figures the dual-subjectivity view, while the latter a single subject. Interestingly, scriptural passages traditionally about the Christological will(s) of Christ are Trinitarian in Eusebius’ corpus. In other words, Eusebius emphasizes how the Son of God is obedient in the Godhead and in the economy. In this way, Eusebius provides a valuable contribution to Christology—the impassible Son is obedient to the Father, even when unified to the human Christ. He is a unified subject. While Eusebius is farther removed from this debate, his work may have impacted these discussions, particularly when filtered through Apollinarius who picked up his anti-Marcellan framework while modifying it significantly, particularly on the human soul.13 Finally, this study has demonstrated that Eusebius is not simply a lens to view Origen or fourth century trinitarian developments—he develops a robust theology which is worth studying in itself.14 For example, his soteriological framework is both rich and creative, even though later writers did not adopt it. The ordered web of New Testament images Eusebius uses for the salvation of humanity is both impressive and an important reminder about the nature of soteriology: the Scriptures do not provide a monochromatic picture of salvation, but a tapestry of images and colors. And he was given as a light to nations (εἰς φῶς ἐθνῶν δίδοται), and in him the eyes of those souls (ψυχὰς) that were once blind were opened and enlightened (διανοίγωνται καὶ ἀναβλέπωσι). They will receive sight, and once they see clearly the knowledge of God (θεοῦ γνῶσιν), they will no longer render the honor of God (τοῦ θεοῦ τιμὴν ἀπονέμειν) to stones and sticks and inanimate matter. And these very individuals ‘are bound (κατεσφιγμένοι) fast by the ropes of their own sin (ἰδίων ἁμαρτιῶν),’ and 11 Beeley (2008b), 316. 12 Marcellus, Fragmenta 75. See: CM 2,2,24–25. 13 Spoerl (1994). 14 Contra: Berkhof (1939), 38.

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they have been shackled (πεπεδημένοι) in darkness by evil (κακίας). But they will be deemed worthy of the forgiveness of sins (ἁμαρτιῶν ἀφέσεως καταξιοῦσθαι) through the grace of Christ (Χριστοῦ χάριτος), and they will be released (ἀπολύεσθαι) from prison and set free (ἐλευθεροῦσθαί) and delivered from the dungeon of the devil (διαβόλου εἱρκτῆς).15 Eusebius is thus a model of ordering salvific images into a coherent, but multi-faceted whole—a theologian whose framework is valuable for contemplation of God and the scriptures. While this project sought to nuance and illuminate aspects of Eusebius’ theology, it is merely a checkpoint in the endeavor to reconsider the Caesarean bishop—there is much further work to be done. For instance, this study opened new opportunities to further explore the theological implications of Eusebius’ biblical tools, specifically the Canon Tables. While Watson, Crawford, and O’Loughlin are completing interesting work on this paratextual apparatus, further reflection and research into the pairings themselves needs to be explored.16 As this study has shown, these tables can be used in creative ways to think about Eusebius’ exegesis and theology. Further reflection may also illuminate the theological application of the Gospels in this period in ways previously unexplored. Research may be undertaken both on Eusebius’ theological underpinnings for the tables and on the device’s impact on broader theological convictions in connection to the Gospels. Another opportunity for research is one of Eusebian reception—while this study charted similar theological emphases throughout church history, little attempt was made to find direct influence. That is to say, this study lays the foundation for Eusebius’ theological framework, but further work is needed to connect Eusebius to later writers. A reception-history may illuminate how Eusebius’ theological work had an impact on the later fourth century, in writers such as the Cappadocians and beyond.17 In this a direct comparison of the Trinitarian categories in Eusebius and the Cappadocians would helpfully demonstrate the reliance on and derivation of Eusebius from Origen, and the Cappadocians from Eusebius’ Origenism. Further development on how Eusebius shaped Origenism for later writers would prove beneficial for the fourth century scholarship. This study has also shown Eusebius may have been an influence on both ‘Antiochene’ and ‘Alexandrian’ writers for Christology.18 By discussing the utilization of the anti-Marcellan writings in this period

15 CommIs 2,22; 42:6–7. 16 O’Loughlin (2010); Watson (2016); Crawford (2019b). 17 Stead has some important work on Eusebius’ influence on Athanasius. For example: Stead (1988). 18 Spoerl provides a good example of this, when tracing the ‘Anti-Marcellan’ tradition from Eusebius to the Christology of Apollinarius. While they are not identical, Apollinarius seems to be influenced by Eusebius’ work. Spoerl (1994).

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(and in these specific writers), scholarship may further illuminate Eusebian influence on the later church. For the broader patristic period, more research is needed to discuss the relationship between the titles of the Son and Trinitarian theology. In this study, much of the assessment of Eusebius framework shifted by identifying Eusebius not with a Logos-theology, but with a Son-theology. This title clearly permeates Eusebius’ theological thoughts and better explains his Trinitarian, cosmological, and soteriological conceptions. Conversely, this focus illuminated Marcellus’ doctrine of God, in discussing his metaphor for the second person of the Trinity as a voice, or word. Throughout the patristic period, there is a utilization of a host of titles for Christ—the prioritization of a specific title in a thinker’s work may better reveal their understanding of the Trinity, as DelCogliano has shown.19 For instance, Origen prioritizes the title σοφία in his Commentary on John, which orders the other titles of the Son.20 By doing so, he is explicating a specific Trinitarian claim which impacts his broader framework. Thus, discussion of the eternal and economic titles of the second person of the Trinity in the patristic period would prove to be beneficial for understanding the development of Christian theology on the Son. As a final comment, this study and any future attempt to explicate Eusebius’ christological theology is an exercise in scrutinizing the greatness of the Son. For Eusebius—and all of Christian theology—the Son must be known as Son. In using this title, one must distinguish themselves from both Marcellus and Arius though. The Son is not merely Word, nor is he a unique creature—he is the one who dwells in the Godhead and reveals the Father as his unique image. Further, the denial of this eternal title is a step outside the revelation of grace of the church, as Eusebius firmly defends. The Son’s nature as Son is pivotal for knowing the Father and Holy Spirit. Thus, if Eusebius can be taken seriously, this acknowledgement of the Son is Trinitarian in shape: For as also the one who has seen the king’s image (βασιλικὴν εἰκόνα) that has been made like him (ἀφωμοιωμένην) to the most accurate degree, receiving an impression (τεθεαμένος) of the contours of the form through the drawing, imagines the king, in the same way, or rather in a way beyond all reason and beyond any image, the one who with a mind made clear and the eyes of the soul made pure (κεκαθαρμένοις) and illuminated (πεφωτισμένοις) by the Holy Spirit, having scrutinized carefully the greatness of the power (δυνάμεως) of the only-begotten Son and Lord, and having reflected that ‘in him the whole fullness of the Father’s deity’ dwells and that ‘all things were made through him,’ and, ‘in him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible,’ and having reckoned that the Father begot him alone as only-begotten Son, since he is like him in all things,

19 DelCogliano (2010). 20 Origen, Commentarii in evangelium Joannis 1,118.

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by that power he will also see the Father himself through the Son, as he is seen by those who have been cleansed in their mind, about which it was said, ‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.’21 It is through this power and these persons that God is revealed to the world. The Holy Spirit illuminates, the Son proclaims, the Father wills in their nature as the triune God. For Eusebius and the Christian tradition, an ecclesiastical theology must acknowledge, mediate on, and confesses: the Son is truly Son.

21 ET 3,21,1.

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Parvis, S., (2010) ‘Like Some Crown of Victory: The Soteriology of Marcellus of Ancyra’, Salvation According to the Fathers of the Church: The Proceedings of the Sixth International Patristic Conference, Maynooth/Belfast, 2005 [D. V. Twomey and D. Krausmuller eds], Dublin: 61–69. Penland, E. C.‚ (2011) ‘Eusebius Philosophus? School Activity at Caesarea Through the Lens of the Martyrs’, Reconsidering Eusebius: Collected Papers on Literary, Historical, and Theological Issues [S. Inowlocki and C. Zamagni eds], Leiden: 87–97. Peterson, E., (1935) Der Monotheismus Als Politisches Problem: Ein Beitrag Zur Geschichte Der Politischen Theologie Im Imperium Romanum, Leipzig. Pollard, T. E., (1970) Johannine Christology and the Early Church, London. Prestige, G. L., (1956) God in Patristic Thought, London. Quasten, J., (1990) Patrology: The Golden Age of Greek Patristic Literature from the Council of Nicaea to the Council from Chalcedon, Westminster [5th edn]. Ramelli, I., (2011) ‘Origen’s Anti-Subordinationism and Its Heritage in the Nicene and Cappadocian Line’, VC 65: 21–49. ———. (2013a) ‘Origen, Eusebius, the Doctrine of Apokatastasis, and Its Relation to Christology’, Eusebius of Caesarea: Tradition and Innovations [A. P. Johnson and J. M. Schott eds], Washington, DC: 207–37. ———. (2013b) The Christian Doctrine of Apokatastasis: A Critical Assessment from the New Testament to Eriugena, Leiden. ———. (2019) A Larger Hope? Universal Salvation from Christian Beginnings to Julian of Norwich, Eugene. Rashdall, H., (1919) The Idea of Atonement in Christian Theology, London. Ricken, F., (1967) ‘Die Logoslehre Des Eusebios von Caesarea Und Der Mittelplatonismus’, TP 42: 341–58. ———. (1969) ‘Nikaia Als Krisis Des Altchristlichen Platonismus’, TP 44: 321–41. ———. (1970) ‘Das Homoousios von Nikaia Als Krisis Des Altkirchlichen Platonismus’, Zur Frühgeschichte Der Christologie [B. Welte ed.], Freiburg: 74–99. ———. (1973) ‘Zur Rezeption Der Platonischen Ontologie Bei Eusebios von Kaisareia, Areios Und Athanasios’, TP 53: 321–52. Riedmatten, H., (1952) Les Actes Du Procès de Paul de Samosate: Étude Sur La Christologie Du IIIe Au IVe Siècle, Fribourg en Suisse. Robbins, G. A., (1989) ‘“Fifty Copies of the Sacred Writings” (Eusebius, Vita Constantini 4, 36); Entire Bibles or Gospel Books?’ SP 19: 91–98. Robertson, J. M., (2007) Christ as Mediator a Study of the Theologies of Eusebius of Caesarea, Marcellus of Ancrya, and Athanasius of Alexandria, Oxford. ———. (2013) ‘“The Beloved of God:” The Christological Backdrop for the Political Theory of Eusebius of Caesarea in Laus Constantini’, SP 64: 135–42. Rondeau, M. J., (1982) Les Commentaires Patristiques Du Psautier : IIIe-Ve Siècles Vol. I-Les Travaux Des Pères Grecs et Latins Sur Le Plautier. Recherches et Bilan, Rome. ———. (1985) Les Commentaires Patristiques Du Psautier : IIIe-Ve Siècles Vol. IIExégèse Prosopologique et Théologie, Rome.

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Ruhbach, G., (1976) ‘Die Politische Theologie Eusebs von Caesarea’, Die Kirche Angesichts Der Konstantinischen Wende [G. Ruhbach ed.], Darmstadt: 236–58. Runia, D. T., (1989) ‘Festugiére Revisited: Aristotle in the Greek Patres’, VC 43: 1–34. Russell, N., (2006) The Doctrine of Deification in the Greek Patristic Tradition, Oxford. Sansterre, M., (1972) ‘Eusèbe de Cesaree et La Naissance de La Théorie “césaropapiste”’, Byzantion 42: 131–95. Simmons, M. B., (2006) ‘Via Universalis Salutis Animae Liberandae: The PaganChristian Debate on Universalism in the Later Roman Empire (a.d. 260–325)’, SP 40: 245–61. ———. (2009) ‘Porphyrian Universalism: A Tripartite Soteriology and Eusebius’s Response’, HTR 102, 2: 169–92. ———. (2010) ‘Universalism in the Demonstratio Evangelica of Eusebius of Caesarea’, SP 46: 319–24. ———. (2013) ‘Universalism in Eusebius of Caesarea: The Soteriological Use of the Divine Power of the Saviour of Us All in Book III of the Theophany’, SP 66: 125–33. ———. (2015) Universal Salvation in Late Antiquity: Porphyry of Tyre and the PaganChristian Debate, Oxford. Simonetti, M., (1975) La Crisi Ariana Nel IV Secolo, Rome. Singh, D., (2013) ‘Disciplining Eusebius: Discursive Power and Representation of the Court Theologian’, SP 62: 89–102. Sirinelli, J., (1961) Les Vues Historiques d’Eusèbe de Césarée Durant La Période Prénicéenne, Dakur. Skeat, T. C., (1999) ‘The Codex Sinaiticus, The Codex Vaticanus and Constantine’, JTS 50: 583–625. Slusser M., (1983) ‘Primitive Christian Soteriological Themes’, TS 44: 555–69. ———. (1988) ‘The Exegetical Roots of Trinitarian Theology’, TS 49: 461–76. Spoerl, K., (1994) ‘Apollinarian Christology and the Anti-Marcellan Tradition’, JTS 45, 2: 545–68. ———. (1997) ‘Anti-Arian Polemic in Eusebius of Caesarea’s Ecclesiastical Theology’, SP 32: 33–38. Stead, C., (1973) ‘“Eusebius” and the Council of Nicaea’, JTS 24, 1: 85–100. ———. (1977) Divine Substance, Oxford. ———. (1982) ‘The Scriptures and the Soul of Christ in Athansaius’, VC 36: 233–50. Steenberg, M. C., (2008) Irenaeus on Creation: The Cosmic Christ and the Saga of Redemption, Leiden. Strutwolf, H., (1999) Die Trinitätstheologie Und Christologie Des Euseb von Caesarea: Eine Dogmengeschichtliche Untersuchung Seiner Platonismusrezeption Und Wirkungsgeschichte, Göttingen. Studer, B., (1993) Trinity and Incarnation: The Faith of the Early Church, [Andrew Louth ed., Matthias Westerhoff trans], Collegeville. Turner, H. E. W., (1952) The Patristic Doctrine of Redemption: A Study of the Development of Doctrine During the First Five Centuries, London.

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Twomey, V., ‘The Political Implications of Faith in a Triune God: Erik Peterson Revisited’, The Mystery of the Holy Trinity in the Fathers of the Church: The Proceedings of the Fourth Patristic Conference, Maynooth, 1999 [V. Twomey and L. Ayres eds], Dublin: 118–30. Ulrich, J., (1999) Euseb von Caesarea und die Juden: Studien zur Rolle der Juden in der Theologie des Eusebius von Caesarea, Berlin. Vaggione, R. P., (2000) Eunomius of Cyzicus and the Nicene Revolution, Oxford. Voegelin, E., (1952) The New Science of Politics: An Introduction, Chicago. Wallace, D. B., (2008) Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics: An Exegetical Syntax of the New Testament, Grand Rapids. Wallace-Hadrill, D. S., (1960) Eusebius of Caesarea, London. ———. (1974) ‘Eusebius of Caesarea’s Commentary on Luke: Its Origins and Early History’, HTR 67: 55–63. Wallraff, M., (2013) ‘The Canon Tables of the Psalms: An Unknown Work of Eusebius of Caesarea’, DOP 67: 1–14. Watson, F., (2016) The Fourfold Gospel: A Theological Reading of the New Testament Portraits of Jesus, Grand Rapids. Weber, A., (1965) ARXN. Ein Beitrag Zur Christologie Des Eusebius von Caesarea, Munich. Webster, J., (2007) ‘Theologies of Retrieval’, The Oxford Handbook of Systematic Theology [K. Tanner, J. Webster, and I. Torrance eds], Oxford: 583–99. Widdicombe, P., (2004) The Fatherhood of God from Origen to Athanasius, Oxford. Wiles, M., (1987) ‘Person or Personification? A Patristic Debate about Logos’, The Glory of Christ in the New Testament: Studies in Christology in Memory of George Bradford Caird [L. D. Hurst, N. T. Wright, and G. B. Caird eds], Oxford: 281–90. Williams, G. H., (1951a) ‘Christology and Church-State Relations in the Fourth Century’, CH 20, 3: 3–33. ———. (1951b) ‘Christology and Church-State Relations in the Fourth Century (Concluded)’, CH 20, 4: 3–26. Williams, R., (1983) ‘The Logic of Arianism’, JTS 34: 56–81. ———. (1987) Arius: Heresy and Tradition, London. Young, F. M. and A. Teal, (2010) From Nicaea to Chalcedon: A Guide to the Literature and Its Background, Grand Rapids [2nd edn]. Zachhuber, J., (2000) Human Nature in Gregory of Nyssa: Philosophical Background and Theological Significance, Leiden. ———. (2001) ‘Basil and the Three-Hypostases Tradition: Reconsidering the Origins of Cappadocian Theology’, ZAC 5, 1: 65–85. ———. (2005) ‘Once Again: Gregory of Nyssa on Universals’, JTS 56, 1: 75–98. Zamagni, C., (2011) ‘Eusebius’ Exegesis Between Alexandria and Antioch: Being a Scholar in Caesarea (A Test Case from Questions to Stephanos 1)’, Reconsidering Eusebius: Collected Papers on Literary, Historical, and Theological Issues [S. Inowlocki and C. Zamagni eds], Leiden: 151–76.

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Unpublished Works Dowling, M. J., ‘Marcellus of Ancyra: Problems of Christology and the Doctrine of the Trinity’ [unpublished doctoral dissertation, Queen’s University, Belfast, 1987]. Hauschild, W.-D., ‘Die Pneumatomachen. Eine Untersuchung Zur Dogmengeschichte Des Vierten Jahrhunderts’ [unpublished doctoral dissertation, Universität Hamburg, 1967]. Mackett, J. K., ‘Eusebius of Caesarea’s Theology of the Holy Spirit’ [unpublished doctoral dissertation, Marquette University, 1990]. Robbins, G. A., ‘Peri Tôn Endiathékôn Graphôn; Eusebius and the Formation of the Christian Bible (Canon)’ [unpublished doctoral dissertation, Duke University, 1986].

Indexes

Scripture Gen 1 101 Gen 1-3 114 Gen 3:16 114 Gen 5:3 87 Gen 18 102 Ex 3 103 Ex 3:14 44, 72 Ex 33:20 80 fn.33 Ps 23 (LXX) 171, 173 Ps 23 :6-8 175 Ps 23 :9-10 (LXX) 174 Ps 23 :11 (LXX) 175 Ps 29 (LXX) 53 Ps 45:6-7 (LXX) 93 Ps 50:17 (LXX) 136 Ps 82:6 (LXX) 48, 59 Ps 87 (LXX) 156 Ps 108 (LXX) 153 Ps 109 :1-4 (LXX) 93 Ps 131 (LXX) 151 Prov 8 59 Prov 8:22 21, 59, 60, 100, 182 Is 1 156 Is 6 80 Is 6 :2 80 fn. 22 Is 8:5-8 129 Is 40:12-4 83 Is 50:2 172 Is 53 111, 112 Is 53:8 123 Is 55:1 136 Is 60:5-6 169 Is 61:1 90

Is 61:1-3 Dan 7:10 Mal 4:2 Mt 1:1-16 Mt 3:16-17 Mt 5:1-2 Mt 9:12 Mt 11:27 Mt 11:28 Mt 13:39 Mt 14:22-27 Mt 26 Mt 26:6-13 Mt 26:39 Mt 27:46 Mt 28:19-20 Mk 1:10-11 Mk 14:3-9 Mk 14:36 Lk 3:28-38 Lk 3:22 Lk 4 Lk 7:36-50 Lk 9:1 Lk 10:22 Lk 22:42 Jn 1 Jn 1:1-5 Jn 1:1 Jn 1:1-3 Jn 1:3 Jn 1:9-10 Jn 1:14

91 64 170 167 91 fn.69 110 116 79, 123-4 135 114 149 169 91 fn.70 56 173 fn.125 62 91 fn.69 91 fn.70 56 167 91 fn.69 91 91 fn.70 110 123-4 56 47, 51, 97, 152, 166 167 21 94, 99 63-4, 75, 94, 96-8 167 151, 152 fn. 33, 167, 170

200

in d e xe s

Jn 1:17 Jn 1:18 Jn 1:32-24 Jn 3:35 Jn 5:26 Jn 5:37 Jn 5:30 Jn 6:38 Jn 6:46 Jn 6:57 Jn 7:28-9 Jn 8:19 Jn 10:15 Jn 12:1-8 Jn 13:3 Jn 15:21 Jn 16:14-15 Jn 16:15 Jn 17 Jn 17:3 Jn 17:25 Jn 20:17 Act 17:28 Rom 1:20 Rom 9:5 1 Cor 8:6

97 124 91 124 69, 77 124 56 56 124 69 124 124 124 91 124 124 65 124 140 55 fn. 113 124 69 40 82-3 79 fn. 19 37, 94, 99

1 Cor 15:21-22 1 Cor 15:28 Gal 1:6-8 Gal 1:9 Gal 1:11-12 Gal 1:20 Gal 3:13 Eph 4:5-6 Phil 2:7 Phil 2:8 Col 1:15 Col 1:16 Col 1:26 Col 2:17 1 Tim 2:5 1 Tim 6:15-16 1 Tim 6:16 Heb 1 Heb 1:3 Heb 1:8-9 Heb 4:14 Heb 7:1-28 Heb 7:25 Heb 10:1 Wis 13:5

114 fn. 32 40, 139 119 fn. 63 118 164 39 109 fn. 7, 111 66 149, 142 172 21, 54, 79 fn.19, 85-6, 99 63, 85 84 127 95 fn. 85 78 79 fn. 19 41 125 93 88 89 fn.60 93 127 83

Ancient Authors Alexander of Alexandria  53 Apollinarius  21, 146-7, 149-50, 159-60, 163-4, 169-70, 176, 183-4 Arius  17, 21, 25, 47, 51, 55, 60 fn.131, 79, 86, 146, 185 Athanasius  15-16, 21, 25, 35-6, 47, 54 fn.106, 59 fn.123, 70-1, 75, 108, 114, 140, 142, 152 fn.33,155, 183-4 Aristocles  43 fn.51 Atticus  43 fn.51 Aristotle  43 fn.51 Asterius  40-1, 60 fn. 131, 86, 94, 95 Basil of Caesarea  26, 34, 38 fn.29, 47, 64, 67-8, 70-1, 181-2

Clement of Alexandria  25, 31 fn.3, 108, 111, 115, 122, 125-6, 134, 141, 152 fn.33 Cyril of Alexandria  146-7, 164-6, 173, 176, 180 Cyril of Jerusalem  83 fn.34 Didymus  83 fn.34 Eusebius of Nicomedia  47, 59 fn.124, 94 fn.82 Eunomius of Cyzicus  26, 32, 47 Eustathius of Antioch  152 fn.36, 155 fn.47 Gregory of Nazianzus  17, 38 fn.29, 51, 67, 142, 183 Gregory of Nyssa  38 fn.29, 44, 70-1 Irenaeus  25, 100-1, 103, 108, 114, 140

i nd e xe s

John Chrysostom  80 Marcellus of Ancyra  23-5, 29, 31 fn.3, 37, 39-41, 47, 49-50, 53, 59, 61-2, 66, 72, 86, 94-9, 104, 118, 119, 123, 129-30, 139, 146 fn.9, 157-9, 168-70, 182-3, 185 Methodius  152 fn.33 Nestorius  147, 166, 169, 176 Numenius 20 Origen  21, 25, 42, 52, 58-60, 64, 70, 75, 82-3, 87, 92, 108, 125-7, 134, 138, 140 fn. 150, 152 fn.33, 155, 174 fn.127, 181-5

Paul of Samosata  157, 159, 176 Photius  15 fn.2 Plotinus  20, 43 fn.51, 104 Porphyry  43 fn.51, 116-7 Theodoret of Cyrus  25, 38 fn.29, 83 fn.34, 154, 164, 176 Theodore of Mopsuestia  160-1, 164, 169, 176, 180

Modern Authors Anatolios, K.  32, 53, 96 fn.89 Armstrong, J. J.  22 fn.49 Aulén, G  109 fn.5 Ayres, L.  15 fn.3, 21 fn.40, 21 fn.42, 24 fn.60, 32 fn.6, 35 fn.15, 42 Bandt, C.  22 Barnes, T. D.  18, 22-3, 112 fn.24 Baum, A. D.  22 fn.49 Beeley, C.A.  15-17, 24-6, 51 fn.89, 53, 61, 66-7, 70, 72, 91 fn.68, 138-9, 145, 148, 156 fn.52, 159 fn.67, 183 Behr, J.  21 fn.42, 44, 47 fn.67, 50 fn.84, 58 fn.120, 62 fn.138, 156 fn.52 Berkhof, H.  16 fn.9, 19, 26, 121-2, 131 fn.110, 146, 161, 183 fn.14 Beskow, P.  18 fn.20 Bucur, B.G.  22, 23, 103 fn.120 Burckhardt, J.  18 Carriker, A.  43 fn.51, 52 fn.92 Cartwright, S.  155 fn.47 Clayton, P.B.  154 fn.45 Cochrane, C.N.  18 fn.20 Colijn, B. B.  108 fn.3 Corrigan, K.  70 Crawford, M.R.  22, 56 fn.115, 166 fn.100, 184 Cross, R.  71 fn.186 Curti, C.  22 Daley, B.  25 fn.61, 51 fn.88, 78, 108-9, 142-3, 169-70

Damgaard, F.  17 fn.15 Delcogliano, M.  19 fn.25, 26, 45, 55, 60 fn.131, 70, 86, 112 fn.22-3, 179 fn.2, 182, 185 Demp, A.  19 Des Places, E.  20 Drecoll, V.  61 fn.133, 65-6, 68 fn.169 Dowling, M. J.  59 fn.123, 169 Edwards, M.  20, 52 Eger, H.  18 fn.20 Elliott, M.  83 fn.34 Ernest, J.D.  68 Fairbairn, D.  140 Farina, R.  18 fn.20 Fédou, M.  19 Festugière, A. J.  43 fn.51 Foakes-Jackson, F. J.  16 fn.8 Gallagher, E. L  22 fn.49 Giulea, D.A  33 fn.7 Grafton, A.  22 fn.49, 52 Grant, R. M.  18 fn.22, 22 fn.49 Greer, R. A.  92 fn.75 Grégoire, H.  18 fn.20 Grillmeier, A.  20, 21, 131 fn.110, 133, 146-7, 150 fn.27, 155, 176 Gunton, C. E.  109 fn.5 Gwynn, D. M  21 fn.42 Hahneman, G.  22 fn.49 Hammerstaedt, J.  51 fn.91 Hanson, R. P. C.  21, 36 fn.20, 61, 146 fn.10, 153, 155

201

202

in d e xe s

Haykin, M.  67 fn.165 Hauschild, W. -D.  61 Hollerich, M. J.  18, 22 Holmes, S. R.  27 fn.69 Inowlocki, S.  16 Iricinschi, E.,  126 Jacobsen, A. C.  52 Jensen, R. M.  103 fn.120 Johannessen, H.  18-9, 112-3, 116 fn.50, 138 Johnson, A. P.  17-8, 22 fn.47, 24, 61 fn.133, 63 fn.144, 110 fn.13, 112 fn.24, 117, 126 fn.89, 146 Junod, É.  22 fn.49 Kalin, E. R.  22 fn.49 Kelly, J. N. D.  26 fn.66, 107 Knipp, D.  110 fn.116 Kofsky, A.  36 fn.20, 149, 164 fn.93 Kopecek, T. A.  21 fn.40, 53 Kretschmar, G.  61, 66 fn.161 Lampe, G. W. H.  80 fn.21 Lienhard, J. T.  26, 32, 34 fn.12, 67 fn.164, 130 fn.105, 146, 156 fn.52 Logan, A. H. B.  136 Lombino, V.  110 fn.16 Luibhéid, C.  21 Lyman, J. R.  20-1, 36 fn.20, 47, 75, 100, 141, 146 Mackett, J. K.  61 fn.137, 63, 65 fn.158, 68 fn.169 Markus, R. A.  18 fn.20 McKenzie, J.  22 fn.50 Meade, J. D.  22 fn.49 Meijering, E. P  71 fn.186 Moltmann, J.  18, 27 fn.69 Momigliano, A.  18 fn.20 Morlet, S.  23 Nordenfalk, C.  22 fn.50 Norris, R. A.  159 fn.64, 161 fn.71 O’Loughlin, T.  22, 166-8, 184 Parvis, S.  130 fn.105 Penland, E. C.  110 fn.13 Peterson, E.  17-8 Pollard, T. E.  16 fn.10, 21 fn.40, 47, 68 Prestige, G. L  42 fn.46 Quasten, J.  15 fn.2

Ramelli, I.  35 fn.15, 140 fn.147 Rashdall, H.  111, 113 Ricken, F.  19-21, 76, 104 Riedmatten, H.  154-5 Robbins, G. A.  22 fn.49 Robertson, J. M.  19 fn.25, 21 fn.40, 36, 54 fn.107, 75-6, 85, 100 fn.106, 128, 170 Rondeau, M. J.  22 fn.48, 38-9 fn.30, 102, 158, 171, 173-4 Ruhbach, G.  18 fn.23 Runia, D. T.  43 fn.51 Russell, N.  140 Sansterre, M.  18 fn.20 Simmons, M.B.  116-7 Simonetti, M.  21 fn.40, 48, 59 fn.123, 66 Singh, D.  18 Sirinelli, J.  23 fn.53 Skeat, T. C.  22 fn.49 Slusser, M.  24 fn.60, 39 fn.30, 109 fn.3, 113 Spoerl, K.  15 fn.4, 21, 38 fn.30, 41, 51 fn.87, 61, 68-9, 120, 146 fn.9-10, 159 fn.67, 181-3, 184 fn.18 Stead, C.  35 fn.15, 54 fn.107, 114, 155, 184 fn.17 Steenberg, M. C.  101 fn.111 Strutwolf, H.  20,24, 61, 66 fn.162, 75-6, 111 fn.19, 145-7, 153, 155-9, 163, 168, 173 fn.124 Studer, B.  156 fn.52 Teal, A.  160 Turner, H. E. W.  109 fn.5 Twomey, V.  18 Ulrich, J.  23 fn.53, 127, 130-1, 148 Vaggione, R. P.  34 fn.14 Voegelin, E.  18 Wallace, D. B.  97 Wallace-Hadrill, D.S.  17 fn.14, 22-3, 31, 117, 122-3, 142 Wallraff, M.  22 fn. 48 Watson, F.  22, 184 Weber, A.  21-2, 43, 54 fn.106, 59 fn.123, 78 fn.12, 86, 88 fn.55 Webster, J.  27 Weedman, M. E.  24 Widdicombe, R.  47 fn.66, 53 fn.104

i nd e xe s

Wiles, M.  95 Williams, G. H.  18 Williams, M. H.  22 fn.49, 52 fn.92 Williams, R.  42 fn.46, 53-5, 79 fn.16, 155 fn.47

Young, F. M.  160 Zachhuber, J.  71 fn.186 Zamagni, C.  16, 23 fn.56 Zizioulas, J.  27 fn.69

Subjects Abraham  89 fn. 59, 102-3, 167 Anointing  72-3, 88-93, 138 Apophaticism  33, 37, 42, 76-83, 85, 96, 104, 118 Apostle(s)  64-5, 71, 82, 98, 129, 131, 152 Arianism  15, 20, 38, 50, 51 fn. 87, 56, 72, 146 fn. 10, 181 Baptism  62, 91, 118-9 Biblical Personalism  26, 28, 31-2, 42, 47, 57, 73, 76, 145, 179 Binitarianism  40-1, 61 Canon Tables  22, 25, 56, 123, 166, 184 Cappadocians  15, 25, 31-2, 34, 38, 40-1, 71 fn. 186, 181, 183-4 Christ as Healer  29, 107-11, 122, 126, 134-5, 150, 161-2, 167 Sacrifice  29, 88, 92-3, 107-9, 111-2, 122, 132, 135-7, 153, 170, 180 Victor  29, 108-9, 113, 122, 131-3, 137-8, 141, 143 Christ’s Pre-existence  37-8, 49-50, 53, 70-1, 100, 145, 166 Christ’s Suffering  29, 129, 148, 154, 156, 161, 163-4, 168, 171-7 Christological Metaphors Fragrance 54 Image of God  21, 29, 48, 54-5, 59, 70, 76, 85-8, 103-4, 107-8, 117, 121-3, 125, 132, 138, 141-3, 170, 179, 180-1, 185 Ray  54, 161 Wisdom of God  21, 170 Church  15, 25, 27-8, 31, 35, 46, 48-50, 61-2, 65, 90 fn. 63, 90 fn. 71, 98, 117, 119, 120-2, 127-30, 136, 142, 182 Communicatio Idiomatum  147, 173

Constantine  15, 17-9, 22, 29, 31 fn. 3, 112 Councils Chalcedon  28-9, 145-7 Constantinople 38 Nicaea  15, 20-1, 31, 35, 50, 61-2, 75, 179 Creatio ex Nihilo  33, 35-8, 77, 81, 85 Creation Act of  58-9, 67, 74, 85, 87, 93, 94, 97, 98-101, 145, 150, 180 Nature  9, 33-8, 40-1, 43, 49-50, 55, 58, 60, 64, 75-83, 95-6, 104, 108, 160 Creative Agent  36, 75-6, 81, 94-5, 97101, 104-5, 145, 180 Cross  29, 93, 109, 113, 122, 132, 136-8, 143, 154, 163, 171-7 Deification  60, 139-41, 161-2 Demonology  19, 109, 112-14, 135, 137-8, 141, 149, 157, 180 Divine Participation  51, 53, 57, 60, 69, 72, 74, 91, 140, 162 Eternal Begetting  45, 53, 58-60, 63, 69, 72-4, 78, 90, 91, 167 Eternal Generation  26, 50, 53, 57-8, 65, 69, 77-8, 90-1 Eucharist  136, 142 Exegesis Figurative 129 Partitive  132, 154 Prosopological  22 fn. 48, 39 fn.30, 66, 102, 147, 156-7, 164, 169, 171 Father as Source  31, 35-8, 41-7, 52, 55, 57, 60 fn. 131, 63, 69-71, 73-4, 77, 80, 82, 85, 91, 94, 98-101, 104-5, 129, 142, 180 Unbegotten  42-9, 52-5, 57, 60, 69, 70-3, 75, 77-8, 80-2, 85, 90, 92, 104

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Free Will  112-16, 163 Garden of Gethsemane  56, 155-6, 168-9 Gnostic Soteriology  29, 112, 116, 133, 136 Hebrews  122, 126, 128 High Priest  29, 76, 85, 88-93, 104, 108, 136, 179 History  15-20, 25, 27-8, 40, 75, 79, 86, 95, 99, 101-2, 104, 107-8, 112, 125, 132, 142, 148, 172, 184 Holy Spirit  28, 31, 34, 41-2, 44, 46, 51, 60-73, 88-92, 118-9, 121, 123, 130, 132, 174, 179, 180, 182, 185-6 Human nature Christ  58-9, 132 146-76, 180 Humanity  58-9, 82, 84-5, 108 113-7, 131-42 Impassibility  29, 33, 103-4, 139, 147, 1546, 159-64, 166, 173-4, 176-7, 180-1, 183 Ineffability  33, 36, 76, 78-80, 85, 104, 128, 139, 150, 154 Jews  46, 98, 119-21, 126-8, 130 Judaism  46, 62, 118, 120, 142 Knowledge of God  29, 68, 78, 83-5, 92, 107-8, 110-11, 113-21, 125-38, 141-2, 153, 180, 183 Law  96-7, 126-7, 132 Library of Caesarea  43 fn. 51, 52 fn. 92, 110 Liturgy  29, 117, 120, 129, 136, 142, 180 Logos-Sarx  21, 146-7, 150, 151, 176 Mere Man (Psilanthropism)  155-60, 164 Melchizedek  89, 93 Miracles  111, 119, 149, 151-2, 162, 165 Monad  37, 39, 40, 50, 62, 69, 94, 98 Moses  17, 44, 89, 96-7, 101, 104, 118, 122, 126-7, 132 οὐσία’  32-8, 94 ὁμοούσιος  31-2, 34-5 Pamphilus  52 fn. 92 Patripassianism  39, 96, 118, 157 Philosophical Theology  17, 19-21, 51 fn. 89 Platonic Philosophy Chain of Being  37, 76

One  19, 26, 35, 46, 57, 76, 78, 104 World Soul  19-20, 26, 29, 61 fn. 134, 85, 180 Pneumatochians 67 Political Theology  17-9 Polytheism  29, 46, 116, 118, 120-1, 127, 133 fn. 123 Prophets  46, 65, 89-92, 118, 126-8, 156 Πρόσωπον  38 fn.30, 44, 94 Providence  17-8, 35, 76, 92, 104, 134, 150 φύσεως  37, 43-5, 48, 54 77, 81-2, 84, 94, 114, 123, 131, 134, 137, 148, 151, 156, 160, 163-6 Revelation  85, 103, 108-9, 111-2, 114, 11920, 125-8, 170, 180, 185 Sabellianism  15, 50-1, 62, 96, 118, 157, 176, 181 Sabellius  51, 119, 130 Salvation ‘Images’ Communicative  108, 110, 132-4, 141-2 Conflict  109, 112-3, 137, 141-2 Payment  109, 111-2, 131-2, 135-7, 141-2 Therapeutic  109, 110-1, 134-5, 141-2 Scripture  19, 24, 29, 46, 59, 66, 76, 92, 102, 104, 117, 163, 171, 179, 183-4 Soul of Christ  21, 29, 146-7, 150-1, 15360, 173 fn.124, 176-7, 180-1, 183 Subordinationism Derivative  28, 31, 51-2, 56-8, 60, 62-3, 65-6, 70-4, 87, 91, 123, 168-9, 172, 179, 182 Ontological  20, 26, 28, 47-8, 52, 57, 61, 65, 155 fn. 47, 179 Theotokos  165, 176 Trinitarian Relations  23, 28, 31-2, 34, 38, 41-2, 44-5, 53-6, 60, 62, 65, 67, 69, 71-4, 91, 122-5, 145, 168-9, 179, 181-2 Unity of God  28, 31, 52, 55, 68-75, 76, 85, 87, 170, 179, 181-2 ὑπόστασ(ε)ις  32-4, 38-41, 43, 48-51, 54, 66, 68-73, 79, 94, 96, 99, 118-9, 125, 130, 145, 157, 169, 181 Worship  47-9, 55-7, 82, 107, 113-5, 117, 120-2, 126, 129, 133, 135-6, 138, 142-3