Providence and Narrative in the Theology of John Chrysostom 9781009220934, 1009220934

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Providence and Narrative in the Theology of John Chrysostom This book is the first major study of providence in the thought of John Chrysostom, a popular preacher in Syrian Antioch and later archbishop of Constantinople (ca.  350 to 407). While Chrysostom is often considered a moralist and exegete, this study explores how his theology of providence profoundly affected his larger ethical and exegetical thought. Robert G. T. Edwards argues that Chrysostom considers biblical narratives as vehicles of a doctrine of providence in which God is above all loving towards humankind. Narratives of God’s providence thus function as sources of consolation for Chrysostom’s suffering audiences and may even lead them now, amid suffering, to the resurrection life – the life of the angels. In the course of surveying Chrysostom’s theology of providence and his use of scriptural narratives for consolation, Edwards also positions Chrysostom’s theology and exegesis, which often defy categorization, within the preacher’s immediate Antiochene and Nicene contexts.  . .  is a Humboldt Postdoctoral Fellow at the University of Göttingen, Germany. He is a translator of John Chrysostom’s works and has published widely on early Christian theology and exegesis in leading academic journals.

Providence and Narrative in the Theology of John Chrysostom

ROBERT G. T. EDWARDS University of Göttingen

Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge 2 8, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York,  10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne,  3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 103 Penang Road, #05–06/07, Visioncrest Commercial, Singapore 238467 Cambridge University Press is part of Cambridge University Press & Assessment, a department of the University of Cambridge. We share the University’s mission to contribute to society through the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781009220934 : 10.1017/9781009220941 © Cambridge University Press & Assessment 2022 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press & Assessment. First published 2022 A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data : Edwards, Robert G. T., author. : Providence and narrative in the theology of John Chrysostom / Robert Edwards, University of Goettingen, Germany. : Cambridge, United Kingdom ; New York, NY, USA : Cambridge University Press, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index. :  2022030695 (print) |  2022030696 (ebook) |  9781009220934 (hardback) |  9781009220958 (paperback) |  9781009220941 (epub) : : John Chrysostom, Saint, -407. :  65.46 39 2022 (print) |  65.46 (ebook) |  270.2092–dc23/eng/20220817 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022030695 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022030696  978-1-009-22093-4 Hardback Cambridge University Press & Assessment has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Providence and Narrative in the Theology of John Chrysostom This book is the first major study of providence in the thought of John Chrysostom, a popular preacher in Syrian Antioch and later archbishop of Constantinople (ca.  350 to 407). While Chrysostom is often considered a moralist and exegete, this study explores how his theology of providence profoundly affected his larger ethical and exegetical thought. Robert G. T. Edwards argues that Chrysostom considers biblical narratives as vehicles of a doctrine of providence in which God is above all loving towards humankind. Narratives of God’s providence thus function as sources of consolation for Chrysostom’s suffering audiences and may even lead them now, amid suffering, to the resurrection life – the life of the angels. In the course of surveying Chrysostom’s theology of providence and his use of scriptural narratives for consolation, Edwards also positions Chrysostom’s theology and exegesis, which often defy categorization, within the preacher’s immediate Antiochene and Nicene contexts.  . .  is a Humboldt Postdoctoral Fellow at the University of Göttingen, Germany. He is a translator of John Chrysostom’s works and has published widely on early Christian theology and exegesis in leading academic journals.

Providence and Narrative in the Theology of John Chrysostom

ROBERT G. T. EDWARDS University of Göttingen

Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge 2 8, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York,  10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne,  3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 103 Penang Road, #05–06/07, Visioncrest Commercial, Singapore 238467 Cambridge University Press is part of Cambridge University Press & Assessment, a department of the University of Cambridge. We share the University’s mission to contribute to society through the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781009220934 : 10.1017/9781009220941 © Cambridge University Press & Assessment 2022 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press & Assessment. First published 2022 A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data : Edwards, Robert G. T., author. : Providence and narrative in the theology of John Chrysostom / Robert Edwards, University of Goettingen, Germany. : Cambridge, United Kingdom ; New York, NY, USA : Cambridge University Press, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index. :  2022030695 (print) |  2022030696 (ebook) |  9781009220934 (hardback) |  9781009220958 (paperback) |  9781009220941 (epub) : : John Chrysostom, Saint, -407. :  65.46 39 2022 (print) |  65.46 (ebook) |  270.2092–dc23/eng/20220817 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022030695 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022030696  978-1-009-22093-4 Hardback Cambridge University Press & Assessment has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Providence and Narrative in the Theology of John Chrysostom This book is the first major study of providence in the thought of John Chrysostom, a popular preacher in Syrian Antioch and later archbishop of Constantinople (ca.  350 to 407). While Chrysostom is often considered a moralist and exegete, this study explores how his theology of providence profoundly affected his larger ethical and exegetical thought. Robert G. T. Edwards argues that Chrysostom considers biblical narratives as vehicles of a doctrine of providence in which God is above all loving towards humankind. Narratives of God’s providence thus function as sources of consolation for Chrysostom’s suffering audiences and may even lead them now, amid suffering, to the resurrection life – the life of the angels. In the course of surveying Chrysostom’s theology of providence and his use of scriptural narratives for consolation, Edwards also positions Chrysostom’s theology and exegesis, which often defy categorization, within the preacher’s immediate Antiochene and Nicene contexts.  . .  is a Humboldt Postdoctoral Fellow at the University of Göttingen, Germany. He is a translator of John Chrysostom’s works and has published widely on early Christian theology and exegesis in leading academic journals.

Providence and Narrative in the Theology of John Chrysostom

ROBERT G. T. EDWARDS University of Göttingen

Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge 2 8, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York,  10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne,  3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 103 Penang Road, #05–06/07, Visioncrest Commercial, Singapore 238467 Cambridge University Press is part of Cambridge University Press & Assessment, a department of the University of Cambridge. We share the University’s mission to contribute to society through the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781009220934 : 10.1017/9781009220941 © Cambridge University Press & Assessment 2022 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press & Assessment. First published 2022 A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data : Edwards, Robert G. T., author. : Providence and narrative in the theology of John Chrysostom / Robert Edwards, University of Goettingen, Germany. : Cambridge, United Kingdom ; New York, NY, USA : Cambridge University Press, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index. :  2022030695 (print) |  2022030696 (ebook) |  9781009220934 (hardback) |  9781009220958 (paperback) |  9781009220941 (epub) : : John Chrysostom, Saint, -407. :  65.46 39 2022 (print) |  65.46 (ebook) |  270.2092–dc23/eng/20220817 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022030695 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022030696  978-1-009-22093-4 Hardback Cambridge University Press & Assessment has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

For Kerensa

He loves us exceedingly, with an extraordinary love: a love that is passionless, but also most ardent, vigorous, genuine, indissoluble – a love that cannot be quenched. John Chrysostom, On the Providence of God

Contents

Preface

page ix

List of Abbreviations

xiii

1

Stories of Suffering and Providence John’s Vision of Providence and Biblical Narrative The Contribution What Is Providence? Chapter Outline

1 6 11 18 27

2

Divine and Human Activity in Biblical Narrative Turning to Biblical Narrative for Consolation History and Narrative The Subject Matter of Biblical History The Exegetical Relationship between Providence and ‘What Is Up to Us’ Conclusion

29 32 38 43

3

4

Narrative Clusters, Providential Habits, and Typological Exegesis Clusters Deep Structures: Change of Circumstances Providential Habits: Time for Repentance Virtue and Narrative Structure? Typological Interpretation Conclusion Proofs of Providence and God’s Philanthropic Character A Series of Proofs of Providence Creation and Fall The Incarnation vii

51 57 59 61 66 73 79 81 91 93 96 102 112

Contents

viii

Christ’s Power and Philanthropy Narrated Conclusion

5

True Judgements and Consolation Changing Judgements with Consolation The Providential Good of Affliction The Apparent Evil of Affliction Moral Evil and the Danger of Misjudging Providence Incomprehensible Providence Consolatory Judgements in Biblical Narratives: John Chrysostom vs. Gregory of Nyssa Conclusion

119 123 126 127 131 134 138 144 149 153

6

The Virtue of Yielding to Providence Scripture’s Exemplary Characters Character and Characterization Yielding to Providence Suffering and the Life of the Angels Conclusion

155 156 162 166 180 185

7

Conclusion

187

Bibliography Scripture Index Subject Index

193 213 215

Preface

To many in our age, providence surely seems an old-fashioned notion. The word itself evokes various impressions: perhaps it calls to mind the deeply misled idea that military and economic supremacy comes as a result of God’s provision for a nation or empire – resulting sometimes in the relentless pursuit of colonialism. Alternatively, it might call to mind a pre-scientific explanation for physical processes, both large and small – from animal and human physiology to the movement of the stars. In this sense, providence may seem to be merely a word for ‘simple’ folk who don’t have more sophisticated explanations for the changes and chances of this world. Providence might also be deployed to set aside the seriousness of human suffering and evil: when all disastrous events are ascribed to God’s providence, divine providence ends up looking a lot like divine capriciousness. These are, of course, caricatures of what might arise in the mind of someone living in the modern ‘West’, and yet I think they are not too far off the mark. Today, in the post-Enlightenment and now post-Christian North American and European contexts in which I have lived, other ideas of historical and cosmic order are, of course, predominant. Among those who spend any time at all thinking about the arrangement of the whole, it is not uncommon to find the idea that chaos and suffering are everywhere (an idea that I will not try to deny!), and therefore, one must live one’s ‘best life’ – whatever that may be. This is a worldview that is without providence. Another commonly held worldview – also without providence – is a highly individualistic one, which disregards the question of the order of things altogether: whether the world is chaotic or orderly is irrelevant, since I am in control of my own destiny! Undoubtedly, such a ix

x

Preface

view is easier to hold among more prosperous populations, which have ready access to modern medicine and in which suffering is so often simply ignored. Certainly, from these perspectives, the idea that God (however conceived) oversees the whole physical world, ranging from the movements of the stars to physiological processes, is unfathomable, while the idea that God guides human history – of the individual and all humanity – is altogether laughable. Particularly in light of the depths of human suffering, such perspectives are wholly understandable, and very tempting, even for those of us who prefer to believe in a good providence that governs the world. Even if the ‘official story’ is that the idea of a loving providence prevailed in pre-modern times, other more pessimistic perspectives seem to have been no less tempting or common prior to the Scientific Revolution and Enlightenment. John Chrysostom’s sermons reveal this much. Preaching in the fourth and fifth centuries in Syrian Antioch and Constantinople (both of which are situated in opposite extremes of modern-day Turkey: Antakya and Istanbul, respectively), John frequently speaks about providence, apparently because so many of those to whom he was preaching had different ideas. Certainly, his audiences were not full of atheists in the modern sense of the term, but divine powers were often understood to be unconcerned with humanity and therefore capricious; or, even if people held to the idea that there is a cosmic order, it did not care for human affairs. Then, as now, human suffering caused many to question – even to laugh at – the idea that a loving providence could ever be in charge of the universe. John Chrysostom thinks that those who hold to such perspectives, however, are grievously mistaken. If someone interprets events in this manner, it is because they are not reading all the evidence; and the evidence that they do read, they are misreading. For John, if one reads the evidence properly, God’s philanthropic providence – providence that is loving towards humankind – can be appreciated as the cause of all things. Indeed, even experiences of suffering come from God’s loving providence. However, the preacher also recognizes that it is hard to see things this way. He therefore spends much of his time not only attacking these incorrect views but especially speaking about God’s good providence for all humankind and particularly for the saints. I will not claim that John Chrysostom’s ‘solution’ to the questions of human suffering and his perspective on providence are perfect. That is not the point of this book. Nevertheless, it was apparently a compelling vision of providence,

Preface

xi

with which many of his audiences in Antioch and Constantinople could identify. For those who have had leisure to read the sermons of John Chrysostom, it is often difficult to square their repetitious and moralizing nature with the fact that he was so immensely popular a preacher in his own age: why, if his preaching was so repetitive and accusatory, was it so beloved? Several scholars have recently provided helpful answers to this question: John was tapping into an already-existing ‘medical’ discourse – a therapy of the emotions – which people could understand culturally; he had a profound understanding of human emotion and the power of narrative, and he used this knowledge to shape his audience; moral upbraiding was expected and appreciated from teachers in antiquity – and Chrysostom fulfils this role with ease. These are all, I think, good answers to the question. However, I also believe that John’s idea of God’s loving providence was one of the aspects of his preaching that so captivated his audience. In this book, I seek to show why that vision was so forceful – even while, undoubtedly, many continued to reject the idea. Here I briefly anticipate some of the aspects of Chrysostom’s teaching on providence that make it so compelling. First, it takes seriously the depths of human suffering and evil while also maintaining the goodness of God’s created order, which stems from divine love for humanity (philanthrōpia). While John does maintain that suffering is to the spiritual benefit of those who receive it rightly, at no point does he downplay the grievousness of the suffering of his flock. Second, Chrysostom’s view of providence acknowledges simultaneously the limits of human knowledge of God’s plans and the individual’s ultimate control over his or her own choices. That is, while I cannot always know precisely why God has so ordered the events of my life, no capricious force has any power over me. Rather, I am empowered to choose whether I live the good life of virtue – what Chrysostom calls the ‘life of the angels’ – or the opposite. Finally, and perhaps most compelling is not Chrysostom’s doctrine of providence, but his use of stories of providence in his consolation of those who are suffering and who are at risk of rejecting the idea of God’s loving care. Chrysostom uses the stories of Scripture to help his flock tell their own stories – so often filled with suffering – in accord with the view that God does everything out of his love for humankind. This study, which began as a doctoral thesis at the University of Notre Dame, has benefitted from the help of so many – most directly from the expertise of my doctoral committee. David Lincicum taught me to reflect much more deeply on biblical reception; John Cavadini, having taught his

xii

Preface

doctoral seminar to ‘think (and speak) in Augustinian’, helped me in this dissertation to ‘speak in Chrysostomian’; John Fitzgerald generously joined the committee at a late hour and offered his expertise in the long philosophical tradition to which John Chrysostom belongs. Many thanks are due to them all but especially to my adviser, Blake Leyerle, whose generosity, thoughtfulness, rigour, and good humour have not only been deeply appreciated but have also given me something to aspire to as a teacher and scholar. She introduced me to Chrysostom and his oeuvre, and – as will be seen in the following pages – I owe much of my own interpretation to her. I am also grateful to Kacie Klamm, Kirsten Anderson, Grant Gasse, and Jeremiah Coogan, each of whom read chapters of this book at an early stage and offered valuable feedback. Kathleen Shain-Ross undertook the Herculean task of reading through the whole manuscript, and her feedback helped me to see the forest for the trees. Naturally, all mistakes that remain are my own. When I could locate no suitable cover image or this book, the iconographer James Blackstone (of dunstanicons.com) came to the rescue. The image is modelled on an image in the Menologion of Basil II and depicts John Chrysostom on his way into exile – the saint’s own experience of suffering and providence. It is also fitting to thank those who (it seems many years ago now) taught me to read Greek, especially Bruce Clausen and Shelley Reid. I was one of many students to whom they gave an immeasurable gift of reading this beautiful language. It has brought me great joy. Finally, at an institutional level, thanks are also due to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, which helped fund the last few years of my PhD and thus the initial research for this book, as well as the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation, which funded my research while I completed the book manuscript. Finally, thanks are due to my family and friends – who (thanks be to God) are too many to mention! I especially extend my gratitude to those who know me best and who are therefore the most long-suffering of individuals. To my parents: thank you for your unfailing support in every season; I have had the good fortune of never doubting that you are proud of me. To Eliza and Margot, who sat upon each knee as I wrote this book: thank you for keeping me from working too hard. To Kerensa: you are my fiercest supporter and wisest counsellor; thank you for the loving care you show to me, our daughters, and so many others, and for the vision of providence and love (not to mention your charm and wit!) that you bring to us all. To you I dedicate this book.

Abbreviations

Where possible, abbreviations from The SBL Handbook of Style (2nd edition; Atlanta: SBL, 2014) have been used for both primary and secondary literature. I have not included in this list my abbreviations for John Chrysostom’s commentaries and longer series of biblical homilies, for which I use the conventional abbreviations included in the SBL Handbook (e.g., Comm. Gal. for the Commentary on Galatians; Hom. Gen. for the Homilies on Genesis). Where abbreviations for John Chrysostom’s works are insufficiently clear in the SBL Handbook, I have included in square brackets the abbreviations suggested by Wendy Mayer (http://alc.academia.edu/WendyMayerFAHA). For convenience, abbreviations used in this book are listed below.

Primary Sources John Chrysostom Adfu. Adv. Iud. Anom. [De incompr. hom.] Anom. 8 [Pet. Mat. fil. Zeb.] Anom. 12 [De christ. div.] Ant. exsil.

Adversus eos qui non adfuerant Adversus Judaeos Contra Anomoeos 1–5 = De incomprehensibili dei natura Contra Anomoeos 8 = De petitione matris filiorum Zebedaei Contra Anomoeos 12 = De Christi divinitate Sermo antequam iret in exsilium xiii

xiv

List of Abbreviations

Cat. ill. Cum exsil. Dav. Diab. Ep. Olymp. Exp. Ps. Fem. reg. Freq. conv. Grat. Hom. 1 Cor. 10:1 [Nolo vos ign.] Hom. 2 Cor. 4:13 [Hab. eund. spir. hom.] Hom. 2 Tim. 3:1 [Hoc scit. quod in nov. dieb.] Hom. Act. 9:1 [Mut. nom. hom.] Hom. Isa. 45:7 [Ego dom.] Hom. Jo. 5:17 [Pater m. usq. mod. op.] Hom. Jo. 5:19 [Fil. ex se nihil fac.] Hom. Matt. 26:9 [Pater, si poss.] Hom. Rom. 16:3 [Prisc. et Aquil. serm.] Inan. glor. Laed. Laud. Paul. Laz. Oppugn. Paenit. Paralyt. Pasch. Pecc. Pent. Proph. obscurit.

Catecheses ad illuminandos Sermo cum iret in exsilium De Davide et Saule De diabolo tentatore Epistulae ad Olympiadem Expositiones in Psalmos Quod regulares feminae viris cohabitare non debeant Quod frequenter conveniendum sit Non esse ad gratiam concionandum In dictum Pauli: Nolo vos ignorare In illud: Habentes eundem spiritum In illud: Hoc scitote quod in novissimis diebus De mutatione nominum In illud Isaiae: Ego Dominus Deus feci lumen In illud: Pater meus usque modo operatur In illud: Filius ex se nihil facit In illud: Pater, si possibile est, transeat In illud: Salutate Priscillam et Aquilam De inani gloria et de educandis liberis Quod nemo laeditur nisi a se ipso De laudibus sancti Pauli apostoli De Lazaro Adversus oppugnatores vitae monasticae De paenitentia In paralyticum demissum per tectum In sanctum pascha Peccata fratrum non evulganda De sancta pentecoste De prophetarum obscuritate

List of Abbreviations Res. Chr. Rom. mart. Saturn. Serm. Gen. Scand. Stag. Stat. Virginit.

xv

Adversus ebriosos et de resurrectione domini nostri Jesu Christi In sanctum Romanum martyrem Cum Saturninus et Aurelianus acti essent in exsilium Sermones in Genesim Ad eos qui scandalizati sunt (De providentia Dei) Ad Stagirium a daemone vexatum Ad populum Antiochenum de statuis De virginitate

Other Ancient Sources Aristotle, Eth. nic. Aristotle, Poet. Basil of Caesarea, Eun. Basil of Caesarea, Hex. Cicero, Nat. d. Epictetus, Diatr. Eusebius of Caesarea, Praep. Ev. Eusebius of Caesarea, Dem. Ev. Gregory of Nazianzus, Or. Gregory of Nyssa, Eun. Gregory of Nyssa, Trid. spat. [Res. 1] Josephus, Ant. Marcus Aurelius, Med. Palladius of Hierapolis, Dial. Plutarch, Stoic. rep. Nemesius of Emesa, Hom. nat. Seneca, Prov. Socrates of Constantinople, Hist. eccl. Sozomen, Hist. eccl. Theodoret of Cyrrhus, Graec. affect. cur. T.Job

Ethica nicomachea Poetica Contra Eunomium Homiliae in Hexaemeron De natura deorum Diatribai (Dissertationes) Praeparatio evangelica Demonstratio evangelica Orationes Contra Eunomium De tridui spatio = In Christi resurrectionem I Antiquitates judaicae Meditationes Dialogus de vita Joannis Chrysostomi De Stoicorum repugnantiis De hominis natura De providentia Historia ecclesiastica Historia ecclesiastica Graecarum affectionum curatio Testament of Job

xvi

List of Abbreviations

Secondary Sources ACW Ancient Christian Writers ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Part 2, Principat. Edited by Hildegard Temporini and Wolfgang Haase. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1972– AThR Anglican Theological Review ByzZ Byzantinische Zeitschrift CH Church History CP Classical Philology CPG Clavis Patrum Graecorum. Edited by Maurice Geerard. 5 volumes. Turnhout: Brepols, 1974–1987. CSCO Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium DTC Dictionnaire de théologie catholique. Edited by Alfred Vacant et al. 15 volumes. Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1908–1950. ETL Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses FOTC Fathers of the Church GCS Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten [drei] Jahrhunderte GNO Gregorii Nysseni Opera. Edited by Werner Jaeger, et al. Leiden: Brill, 1952–2014. GOTR Greek Orthodox Theological Review GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies HTR Harvard Theological Review ITQ Irish Theological Quarterly JECS Journal of Early Christian Studies JEH Journal of Ecclesiastical History JLA Journal of Late Antiquity JR Journal of Religion JTS Journal of Theological Studies LCL Loeb Classical Library LS The Hellenistic Philosophers. Edited by A.A. Long and D.N. Sedley. 2 volumes. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1987–1989. MScRel Mélanges de science religieuse NTS New Testament Studies OCP Orientalia Christiana Periodica PG Patrologia Graeca PTS Patristische Texte und Studien RevScRel Revue des sciences religieuses

List of Abbreviations RSR SacEr SC SJT StPatr SVF

TS VC ZAC

xvii

Recherches de science religieuse Sacris Erudiri Sources Chrétiennes Scottish Journal of Theology Studia Patristica Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta. Edited by Hans Friedrich August von Arnim. 4 volumes. Leipzig: Teubner, 1903–1924. Theological Studies Vigiliae Christianae Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum / Journal of Ancient Christianity

1 Stories of Suffering and Providence

The final turbulent decade of John Chrysostom’s life is, in basic outline, well established: coming from Syrian Antioch, John was consecrated bishop of Constantinople in  397; after having served in this capacity for seven years, he was sent into exile by his erstwhile patrons, the imperial family, with the support of Theophilus, the bishop of Alexandria. A few years later, in 407, he died while he was on his way into even deeper exile. Despite these well-rehearsed events, from shortly after John’s death, there was substantial disagreement over how to narrate them, with defenders and detractors alike seeking to provide the definitive account of John’s downfall. Among the earliest accounts is that of Palladius of Helenopolis, which was written within just a few years of John’s death.1 While Palladius purports in his Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom to state ‘just the facts’,2 he ends up writing a sort of martyr narrative. John stands in the tradition of the apostle Paul and even of Christ himself, contending against Satan and his earthly representatives: Theophilus the bishop of Alexandria and those of his party.3 In 1

2 3

For the dating of this work, see Demetrios S. Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis: The Origenist Advocate (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 27–29; Peter Van Nuffelen, ‘Palladius and the Johannite Schism’, JEH 64, no. 1 (2013): 9–10. Also very early is Pseudo-Martyrius’ Funeral Oration. See Florent van Ommeslaeghe, ‘La valeur historique de la Vie de S. Jean Chrysostome attribuée à Martyrius d’Antioche (BHG 871)’, StPatr 12 (1975): 478–83. Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis, esp. 33–61, has argued that the dialogue as a whole represents a courtroom defence of John. In the line of Paul, see Palladius, Dial. 8.79–81 (SC 341, 162); Dial. 8.99–105 (SC 341, 164–66); Dial. 8.114–15 (SC 341, 166); and Dial. 10.55–56 (SC 341, 208). In the line of Christ, see especially Palladius, Dial. 9.147 (SC 341, 194); Dial. 10.24–28 (SC 341, 204).

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contrast, Socrates of Constantinople, who wrote his Church History several decades later, presents a less positive picture of John.4 While Socrates concedes that John’s various opponents – both imperial and ecclesiastical – are undoubtedly in the wrong, it is ultimately Chrysostom’s unyielding personality that is to blame for both his earlier successes and his later failures:5 if he had only been more tactful and politically minded, his problems would have been solved. Notably, in their narratives of the end of John’s life, Socrates and Palladius relate many of the same events; they even share in similar (uniformly negative) assessments of John’s Alexandrian opponent, the bishop Theophilus. Where they differ is in their assessments of the causes of John’s downfall. For Socrates, it is John’s pride; for Palladius, his saintliness. And while both of these have become familiar ways of narrating the turbulent events at the end of the bishop’s life,6 John himself traces

4

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On the hagiographical nature of even these early accounts of John’s exile and death, see especially Wendy Mayer, ‘The Making of a Saint: John Chrysostom in Early Historiography’, in Chrysostomosbilder in 1600 Jahren: Facetten der Wirkungsgeschichte eines Kirchenvaters, ed. Martin Wallraff and Rudolf Brändle (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2008), 39–59.  443 is the usual date given for Socrates’ Church History and Sozomen’s somewhat later; see Glenn F. Chesnut, The First Christian Histories: Eusebius, Socrates, Sozomen, Theodoret, and Evagrius (Paris: Beauchesne, 1977), 167. But see the reassessment in Charlotte Roueché, ‘Theodosius II, the Cities, and the Date of the “Church History” of Sozomen’, JTS 37, no. 1 (1986): 130–32. On Socrates’ negative assessment of John, see Martin Wallraff, Der Kirchenhistoriker Sokrates: Untersuchungen zu Geschichtsdarstellung, Methode und Person (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), 72–74; Peter Van Nuffelen, Un héritage de paix et de piété: étude sur les histoires ecclésiastiques de Socrate et de Sozomène (Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 26–36. He is described as stern and severe throughout, but see especially Hist. eccl. 6.3.13 (SC 505, 268); Hist. eccl. 6.21.2 (SC 505, 346). While the portrayal of Chrysostom in the work of Palladius and other ‘Johannite’ sympathizers has prevailed in the hagiographical tradition, Socrates’ account of John’s personality and downfall predominates modern scholarship. For critical accounts of John’s years in Constantinople, see Claudia Tiersch, Johannes Chrysostomus in Konstantinopel (398–404). Weltsicht und Wirken eines Bischofs in der Hauptstadt des Oströmischen Reiches (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002); as a counterpoint, Justin M. Pigott, ‘Capital Crimes: Deconstructing John’s “Unnecessary Severity” in Managing the Clergy at Constantinople’, in Revisioning John Chrysostom: New Approaches, New Perspectives, ed. Chris de Wet and Wendy Mayer (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 733–78; and his fuller treatment in New Rome Wasn’t Built in a Day: Rethinking Councils and Controversy at Early Constantinople 381–451 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2019). On the various political ‘spins’ put on John’s life in the decades following his death, see Mayer, ‘Making of a Saint’; ‘Media Manipulation as a Tool in Religious Conflict: Controlling the Narrative Surrounding the Deposition of John Chrysostom’, in Religious Conflict from Early Christianity to the Rise of Islam, ed. Wendy Mayer and Bronwen Neil (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013), 151–68.

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a different aetiology. In John’s estimation, the cause of his suffering is neither his brusque personality nor his laudable piety – nor even the venom of Theophilus. Rather, everything he has suffered is a result of God’s providence. As he sees it, providence is the reason for his successes and sufferings and is therefore the principle that governs his narration of his own life. Although John composed no detailed account of his final years,7 throughout his exiles he maintained an intimate correspondence with his friend and patroness, Olympias. And in these letters, in which John tells Olympias of his various trials, we can hear what he thinks is the cause of the very same events related in Socrates’ and Palladius’ accounts. Writing to console Olympias, and perhaps also himself, he finds that all the trials that he and his supporters have suffered come from God’s providence. Drawing from the narratives of Scripture, he learns to tell his own story – and teaches Olympias to do the same – with divine providence as the cause of all events, especially his sufferings. In one of these letters, John responds to Olympias’ grief over his sufferings by suggesting that it is all to God’s glory: ‘Perhaps it seemed good to God that I be placed on a longer race, twice as long, so that the crowns might also become brighter.’8 As the letter proceeds, John narrates his specific sufferings in keeping with the idea that they have all been for good: after a lengthy narration of the sufferings he endured in Caesarea at the beginning of his exile, he assures Olympias that these sufferings are ‘able to do away with many of my sins and to furnish a great occasion for [God’s] good favour’.9 In this letter as in the others, John continually weaves together his own story – and that of Olympias – with the narratives of Scripture’s suffering saints. Indeed, it is often through telling scriptural stories that he furnishes himself and Olympias with the criteria for interpreting adverse events. Thus, in reference to Joseph he writes, ‘his brother did not plan this, but everything happened from God’s providence’.10 So also, John suggests, should Olympias consider that all afflictions in her life have occurred from God’s providence. But providence plays a larger role than acting as the lens through which Chrysostom interprets individual events of suffering in his and Olympias’ lives. John also shapes his personal narrations around the 7

8 10

He does, however, send a letter in 404 with a brief account of his deposition to Pope Innocent (Letter to Innocent 1), which also survives inserted in Palladius’ Dialogue. See Anne-Marie Malingrey, Palladios. Dialogue sur la vie de Jean Chrysostome, vol. 2, SC 342 (Paris: Cerf, 1988), 47–95. 9 Ep. Olymp. 9.1a (SC 13bis, 218). Ep. Olymp. 9.3e (SC 13bis, 230). Ep. Olymp. 10.14b (SC 13bis, 300).

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narrative structures that he finds in Scripture’s stories of providence. In his seventh letter to Olympias, after describing God as a skilled helmsman (a commonplace image for divine providence by Chrysostom’s time), he spells out for Olympias one of these narrative structures of God’s providential work: But if [God] doesn’t [ease the storm] at the beginning and immediately, such is his custom: not to resolve terrors at the beginning, but when they have increased, and come to completion, and most are in despair, then he works wonders and acts contrary to expectation, demonstrating his own power, and training in patience through what has occurred.11

Following this generic narrative outline, John furnishes many biblical narratives to show that God has consistently operated in this manner throughout history, as he has providentially cared for the saints. Finally, he concludes this long letter by saying that all these sufferings – of the biblical saints and Olympias alike – are ‘ineffable proofs of God’s great providence and succour’.12 Chrysostom fully expects things to work out in his and Olympias’ lives according to this narrative structure. Indeed, in the letter before this he had narrated his own misfortunes according to the same pattern. At least twice in the opening of this letter, John quickly mirrors this narrative of extreme suffering with sudden and unexpected resolution: ‘We could hardly catch our breath when we arrived in Cucusus – where we are writing from – and we could hardly see clearly. . .. [But] now, since the painful things have passed, we are narrating them to your Piety.’13 Directly following this statement, he lists his various distresses in Cucusus with great specificity, finally writing, ‘but now all these things have come to naught. For, when we got to Cucusus, we put aside every sickness, even its remnants, and we are in the best of health. We were delivered both from the fear of the Isaurians . . . and from having to be prepared for [their assault]. An abundance of necessities flows to us from every direction, and everyone has welcomed us with all affection’.14 And finally, he closes the same short letter in a similar vein: ‘So far we are enjoying the benefit of great relaxation here, such that in two days every unpleasantness that happened on the way has washed away.’15 11

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Ep. Olymp. 7.1b (SC 13bis, 134, 28–33). See my article, ‘Healing Despondency with Biblical Narrative in John Chrysostom’s Letters to Olympias’, JECS 28, no. 2 (2020): 203–31. These passages are discussed in more detail in Chapter 4. 13 Ep. Olymp. 7.5d (SC 13bis, 154). Ep. Olymp. 6.1a (SC 13bis, 126). 15 Ep. Olymp. 6.1a–b (SC 13bis, 126). Ep. Olymp. 6.1e (SC 13bis, 130).

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Chrysostom thus continually narrates his own life in keeping with God’s providence; not only does he employ providence as the interpretative lens for individual events – whether sufferings or successes – but he also uses it to shape the entire narratives he tells himself and Olympias. And this way of interpreting and narrating his life brings him – and should bring Olympias – no small comfort: for God who has provided so richly for them in the past and present will continue to do so into eternity. On the basis of these letters, we can imagine that if John had written a full account of the last decade of his life, full of the many sufferings related by both Socrates and Palladius, such a work would have been an elegant encomium to God’s providence. Although he would have related many of the same events as these other writers did, the guiding feature of his narration would be neither his abrasive personality nor his saintliness but God’s providential care. As with all other events in sacred history, his exile should be attributed to God’s providence: it has served to refine his followers in Constantinople and has proved their virtue and endurance in the face of trial; it has prepared both them and him for the age to come. Likewise, if John were able posthumously to narrate his re-inscription in the diptychs and the return of his relics to Constantinople – events that Socrates includes in his history – he likewise would have attributed these not to his own piety nor even to his support base in Constantinople but to God’s providence. As we have seen in the narrative structure described above, this is so often how God’s providence works: when the saints are nearly in despair of God’s help, then God intervenes for a reversal of fortunes. Thus, Palladius’ account of John’s last words – ‘Glory to God for all things’ – seems to capture John’s feelings about his trials: his sufferings are from God’s loving providence and are thus worth praising God over.16 Another thing that John shares with Socrates and Palladius is his recognition of the power of narrative. But while Socrates and Palladius wield this power for primarily apologetic or polemical purposes, John relies on it for consolation – for healing (θεραπεία). As we have seen hints of in his Letters to Olympias, John finds that by rightly narrating the

16

Palladius, Dial. 11.140 (SC 341, 226). Palladius refers to this as John’s habitual saying, and John himself confirms this in a letter to Olympias: ‘I won’t stop uttering this always in everything that happens to me: “Glory to God for all things”’ (Ep. Olymp. 4.1b; SC 13bis, 118). Katos too notes that John’s dying words were an affirmation of divine providence (Palladius of Helenopolis, 33).

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events in one’s life, one can be consoled and led to perfect virtue. This consolation does not come in the form of a banal ‘everything happens for a reason’, nor does it allow one to see ‘in eternal perspective’. The consolation that comes from providential narration is so powerful because (like the narratives of Socrates and Palladius) it is concrete: by turning to the narratives – the historiai – of Scripture, Chrysostom points to actual circumstances, on a small scale (within a human lifetime), in which God has proved his care for his saints. In the concrete narratives of Scripture, John finds many discrete instances of God’s providential care, which together furnish an overarching vision of how God has always cared and will always care for humanity.

’       Therefore, while I have focused so far on John’s and Olympias’ personal narratives, more significant for Chrysostom’s exposition of divine providence are biblical narratives. Indeed, John’s vision of God’s providence over his own life is shaped profoundly by what he reads in Scripture, especially its narratives. He sees the narratives of Scripture as windows onto divine providence, through which human beings may correct their vision of events and thereby be consoled and led to virtue. The recognition that God’s goodness and providence govern over our experiences, and the knowledge of what is in our own limited human power, play a significant role in forming the virtuous self. Because John himself has done the hard work of correcting his own vision through his reading of Scripture, such that he interprets adverse events in the light of God’s good providence, in his pastoral office he seeks to do the same for his flock. For John’s goal in his preaching and teaching is to paint – even to etch – the narratives of Scripture, and their virtuous characters, onto the walls of his listeners’ minds.17 As we have already seen him do in his Letters to Olympias, John most often discusses providence and interprets biblical narratives of providence when he is writing or preaching to console those who are suffering. In fact, he is remarkably consistent in his consolation and comfort: he usually turns straightaway to Scripture – and, more specifically, to biblical narrative, or historia. Chrysostom approaches consolation in such a manner because, as he sees it, biblical narrative gives insight into God’s 17

See Laz. 4.2 (PG 48, 1008–9).

John’s Vision of Providence and Biblical Narrative

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providential plan or arrangement of things (οἰκονομία προνοίας).18 This providential oikonomia is how Chrysostom refers to God’s way of relating to humanity throughout history. The history of God’s working for the benefit of the saints serves to pull the reader out of the pit of despondency and despair, since it demonstrates that God continually works, even today, for the same salvation of humanity. In other words, Chrysostom finds in biblical narratives God’s characteristic ways of working in the world. Scholars have often referred to John’s use of scriptural stories as exempla (παραδείγματα): proofs to demonstrate a point or actions to be emulated.19 But they are much more than this. By reading biblical narratives, John comes to understand God’s characteristic providential way of acting in the world. He applies narratological interpretations to these scriptural narratives (ἱστορίαι), learned in the course of his grammatical and rhetorical education, and readily adapts them to his understanding of biblical poetics and theology. By reading biblical narratives in such a way, he learns, and can teach his congregation, God’s customary way of relating to human beings. The central claim of this book is that for Chrysostom biblical historia is fundamentally about God’s providence. And this is why biblical narrative is so helpful for consoling the suffering: because it shows that God arranges everything out of his providence and love for humankind. Individual narratives testify to this vision of God’s providence, as does the whole historia of Scripture. Chrysostom envisions divine providence as God’s continual act of love for humankind, from beginning to end, which is seen especially in the greatest proofs of providence: creation and the incarnation. His understanding of providence, then, shapes his reading of individual narratives as well as Scripture as a whole: the former, because no single narrative ought to be read outside of the context of God’s continual love for humanity, in which there are recurring narrative patterns of saving providence; the latter, because the differences between biblical ages or covenants are downplayed in favour of God’s continuous care, characterized by God’s love for humanity (φιλανθρωπία), which is the same before the Law as it is under grace. Chrysostom’s understanding of providence therefore has much to tell us about Chrysostom’s exegesis and biblical theology. Biblical narratives, in their vision of God’s providential care for humankind, also serve a dual function: they speak to God’s character 18 19

For this specific phrase, see Stag. 1.7 (PG 47, 441); Hom. 1 Cor. 34.4 (PG 61, 291). See Chapter 6.

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and to human experience. Thus, while the certainty of God’s providential love and mercy consoles the suffering, biblical narratives of suffering also provide exemplary human characters who have virtuously withstood and endured suffering, holding fast to the providence of God and hoping in the salvation to come. Chrysostom’s discussions of providence are therefore not merely exegetical-theological exercises but are also pastoral therapies: John attempts to answer the intellectual question of how God governs the world because he is concerned to explain profound, personal human suffering. In this we see how Chrysostom’s consolatory and hortatory (pastoral) work is inextricable from his exegetical and theological work. His pastoral care in situations of suffering is founded upon a thoroughgoing exegesis of biblical narrative that leads him to a robust theology of providence. In other words, John’s pastoral goals are brought about through his exegetical and theological demonstration of the truth of God’s providence even in the midst of suffering. The consolation that a knowledge of providence offers, however, is not just aimed at making one ‘feel better’ but is meant to lead one to perfect virtue – what Chrysostom refers to as the ‘life of the angels’. To be sure, the exposition of biblical narratives of divine providence and human virtue do serve as emotional therapies: they are meant to make one emotionally resilient in the face of adversity. Emotional resilience is not, however, the ultimate goal. Rather, Chrysostom is concerned to have his flock read their own suffering in the light of God’s ever-present providence so that they might be formed as virtuous persons. More than this, he would have them slough off the passions, attending not to this world, but to the age to come, and thus to become like the angels. If one learns to read suffering the right way – as an occasion of God’s providence – suffering becomes a vehicle of God’s transformation into the life of the angels. Suffering not only serves to refine the sufferer, thus forming the virtuous self, but even leads the sufferer to the glory of the one who suffered for us and was raised. By suffering, one may attain to the resurrection even in this age. Thus, by God’s providential design, the suffering self may become simultaneously the glorified, resurrected, and angelic self.20 Because of the ubiquity of scriptural narratives of providence in Chrysostom’s sermons, commentaries, letters, and treatises, this book explores the intersection of pronoia and historia: what does it mean that, 20

See Judith Perkins, The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era (London: Routledge, 1995).

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in Chrysostom’s eyes, biblical history is about providence? And how is the providence seen in biblical history meant to lead the preacher’s audiences to a life of virtue? Although pronoia and historia could each be studied in its own right, the two belong together in this study because they so often appear together in Chrysostom’s teaching itself. While present throughout Chrysostom’s extensive literary corpus, the joint themes of pronoia and historia are found especially in the three works that represent the core of this study: the Consolation to Stagirius,21 the Homilies on the Statues22 and On the Providence of God.23 In each of these works, Chrysostom consoles his suffering audiences by offering exegetically driven judgements about providence, but in slightly different ways, as he speaks to a variety of situations and audiences. The Consolation to Stagirius is a treatise in three books and is framed as a consolation to a young monk who suffers from epilepsy and depression and was probably written during Chrysostom’s diaconate (ca. 381–386).24 John attempts to treat Stagirius’ depression by offering, in the first book, a thoroughly exegetical vision of divine providence; in 21

22 23

24

Ad Stagirium a daemone vexatum (CPG 4310). There are two modern translations of this work that I know of: one is the French dissertation, Élisabeth Mathieu-Gauché, ‘La Consolation à Stagire de Jean Chrysostome: Introduction, traduction et notes’ (PhD diss., Université Paris IV-Sorbonne, 2003). The other is in Italian: Lucio Coco, Johannes Chrysostomus: A Stagirio tormentato da un demone (Rome: Città Nuova, 2002). Ad populum Antiochenum de statuis (CPG 4330). Especially the first eight sermons. Ad eos qui scandalizati sunt (CPG 4401). In most of the Greek manuscripts, this treatise has the title ‘To those who have been scandalized’. However, Anne-Marie Malingrey, in her critical edition, chose to use part of the title that is found in only a few manuscripts: ‘On the Providence of God’. Although less often attested as a title, as Malingrey says, it does accurately reflect the subject matter of the treatise. See Anne-Marie Malingrey, Jean Chrysostome. Sur la providence de Dieu, SC 79 (Paris: Cerf, 2000), 36–37. In my study, I disregard the series of five homilies, De fato et providentia (CPG 4367). While there does exist an unpublished critical edition (F. Bonniere, ‘Jean Chrysostome – Édition de De fato et providentia, introduction, texte critique, notes et index’ [PhD diss., Université Lille, 1975]), this series of orations is much more problematic than the others because the early modern editors of Chrysostom dubbed them either dubious or spurious. See J. A. De Aldama, Repertorium Pseudochrysostomicum (Paris: CNRS, 1965). Whereas Thomas Halton, ‘Saint John Chrysostom, “De Fato et Providentia”: A Study of Its Authenticity’, Traditio 20 (1964): 1–24, has argued that the work is authentic, and several others treat it as if it is authentic (e.g. Domenico Ciarlo, ‘Sulla teoria e la prassi della “providentia Dei” in Giovanni Crisostomo’, Atti della Accademia Pontaniana (n.s.) 56 [2007]: 87–93; Antonios K. Danassis, Johannes Chrysostomos: Pädagogisch-psychologische Ideen in seinem Werk [Bonn: Bouvier Verlag Herbert Grundmann, 1971]), a shadow nevertheless hangs over it. More to the point for my considerations, it is neither consolatory nor occasional, which is further evidence of likely spuriousness. For the dating of this treatise, see J. N. D. Kelly, Golden Mouth: The Story of John Chrysostom – Ascetic, Preacher, Bishop (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), 39–44.

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the second and third books, he narrates the stories of exemplary figures who, in the midst of grievous suffering, nevertheless trusted in divine providence. The more famous Homilies on the Statues were delivered in early 387 to console the Antiochene populace, which was rightly terrified of the emperor Theodosius’ wrath: a number of Antioch’s more unsavoury citizens had gone about destroying the statues of the emperor throughout the city. This capital offense led Antioch’s populace to be in dread for their lives. Throughout this particularly tense Great Fast, Chrysostom preached about these events, while introducing biblical material. Some is drawn from the lectionary and some not, but all of Scripture is a demonstration of God’s providence and thus a comfort.25 Finally, in 407, John found himself in exile. In this final situation of personal suffering, he wrote On the Providence of God. The goodness of divine providence is, Chrysostom thinks, the most convincing consolatory argument, and the bulk of the treatise is taken up with his re-narration of biblical stories. In this treatise, John attends to the consolation not of the despondent, necessarily, but of those suffering from moral lapse or scandal. Why this requires consolation becomes clearer when this treatise is brought into conversation with Chrysostom’s other writings from this same exile: like the Letters to Olympias,26 the treatise No One Can Be Harmed27 and On the Providence of God were written to aid those – including Olympias – who were suffering in the aftermath of John’s departure from Constantinople. These works too are full of demonstrations of God’s providence in biblical historia. While these three works are therefore deeply consonant with one another, the differences between them build confidence that this selection of works provides a representative picture of Chrysostom’s thought on providence, narrative, and suffering. First, each work responds to a different mode of suffering. For Stagirius, the suffering was personal, physical, and ever-present. For the people of Antioch, the suffering was communal and caused by the dread of future events. Olympias’ grief was well-founded; and, unlike that of Stagirius, it was not in itself physical, but emotional or psychological. Second, these works span almost the whole of Chrysostom’s pastoral career: the first was written during his 25 26 27

For a detailed study of these homilies, see Frans van de Paverd, St. John Chrysostom, The Homilies on the Statues: An Introduction (Rome: Orientalium, 1991). CPG 4405. Anne-Marie Malingrey, Jean Chrysostome. Lettres à Olympias. Seconde édition augmentée de la Vie anonyme d’Olympias, SC 13bis (Paris: Cerf, 1968). CPG 4400. Anne-Marie Malingrey, Jean Chrysostome. Lettre d’exil. À Olympias et à tous les fidèles (Quod nemo laeditur), SC 103 (Paris: Cerf, 1964).

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diaconal ministry (ca. 381–386), the second was preached during his sacerdotal ministry (387), and the third was written during his episcopal ministry, from exile (407). Finally, each represents a different genre: the Consolation to Stagirius is a kind of extended letter to a specific addressee with a specific problem; On the Statues is a series of homilies before a large audience; and On the Providence of God is a treatise with no specified addressee or occasion. Despite this diversity, these works share a common mode of consolation: they rely on proofs of divine providence as revealed in biblical history. Relying as I do on this set of works, we come to a broad, representative picture of the intersection of historia and pronoia in Chrysostom’s thought.

  Despite how important a topic providence is for John Chrysostom, it has received very little attention, with the relationship between pronoia and historia receiving even less. In 1936, Henri-Dominique Simonin, who referred to Chrysostom as ‘le grand théologien de providence’,28 described over the course of only a few pages Chrysostom’s theology of providence as the continuity of divine action in history, with the final judgement as a corollary of the goodness and justice of the providential plan. Simonin also noted that Chrysostom makes use of biblical exempla because these persons exemplify trust in God’s providence.29 While in 1975, George Dragas developed Simonin’s analysis, he neither offered a unified place for providence within Chrysostom’s thought nor discussed where or how Chrysostom locates divine providence in Scripture.30 Around the same time, Edward Nowak also briefly discussed Chrysostom’s teaching on providence, as well as related ethical

28 29 30

H.-D. Simonin, ‘La providence selon les Pères Grecs’, in DTC 31.1 (1936): 941–60. Simonin, ‘Pères Grecs’, 954. George D. Dragas, ‘St. John Chrysostom’s Doctrine of God’s Providence’, Ekklesiastikos Pharos 57 (1975): 375–406. Christopher Hall and Domenico Ciarlo both subsequently offered similarly descriptive accounts of Chrysostom’s view of providence, which, while nuancing some of Dragas’ points, offer few new insights: Christopher A. Hall, ‘John Chrysostom’s On Providence: A Translation and Theological Interpretation’ (PhD diss., Drew University, 1991); Christopher A. Hall, ‘Nature Wild and Tame in St. John Chrysostom’s On the Providence of God’, in Ancient and Postmodern Christianity: Paleo-Orthodoxy in the 21st Century: Essays in Honor of Thomas C. Oden, ed. Kenneth Tanner and Christopher A. Hall (Downer’s Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2002), 25; Ciarlo, ‘Sulla teoria e la prassi’.

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teachings.31 Despite his comment that ‘Chrysostom was undoubtedly inspired by the Scriptures’,32 Nowak rarely speaks about how Scripture might figure into Chrysostom’s theological or ethical teaching.33 Finally, Theresia Hainthaler has recently offered a summary of pronoia and hypomonē (patience) in On the Providence of God and especially the Letters to Olympias.34 This is the extent of scholarly reflections on providence and narrative in Chrysostom’s works. As my above descriptions of Chrysostom’s works should show, the primary task of this study – elucidating Chrysostom’s theology of providence and exegesis of narrative – does not eliminate the need to consider the less purely theological aspects of his work. Chrysostom’s discussions of providence are rhetorical and are deeply rooted in his pastoral or therapeutic project. My hope, therefore, is not to separate his pastoral care, exegesis, and theology but instead to bring together these various aspects of the sprawling and varied landscape of Chrysostom studies as they relate to his teaching of providence. In what follows, I lay out some of the relevant contours specific to the field of Chrysostom studies, in order to explain where my own project falls. My study of Chrysostom’s thought speaks into an enduring picture of Chrysostom as a stern, cheerless moralist. Chrysostomus Baur, in his influential (now century-old) Heilige Johannes Chrysostomus und seine Zeit, is an exemplar of this tradition. In his chapter on Chrysostom as a moralist, Baur writes that he is a ‘preacher and teacher of morals . . . . Whether he wrote a consolatory composition or preached a sermon, whether he expounded Holy Scripture or wrote letters, always and above all he constantly slips into the sphere of moral teaching and asceticism’.35 31 32 33

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Edward Nowak, Le chrétien devant la souffrance: Étude sur la pensée de Jean Chrysostome (Paris: Beauchesne, 1972). Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance, 153: ‘[Chrysostome] s’inspirait sans doute de l’Écriture’. For several short discussions of Chrysostom’s use of Scripture as it relates to suffering, see Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance, 213–18 and brief notes on pp. 78, 97, 136, and 224 n. 6. Theresia Hainthaler, ‘Pronoia bei Johannes Chrysostomus in De providentia und seinen Briefen an Olympias’, in Pronoia. The Providence of God. Die Vorsehung Gottes. Forscher aus dem Osten und Westen Europas an den Quellen des gemeinsamen Glauben: Studiendtagung Warschau, 30. August – 4. September 2017, ed. T. Hainthaler, F. Mali and M. Lenkaityte Ostermann (Innsbruck: Tyrolia, 2019), 145–61. Chrysostomus Baur, Heilige Johannes Chrysostomus und seine Zeit, 2 vols. (Munich: Hueber, 1929–30); citations taken from the English translation: John Chrysostom and His Time, 2 vols., trans. M. Gonzaga (Westminster, MD: Newman, 1959–60), 1:373.

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Even Baur himself, though, is participating in a longer continental scholarly tradition in this respect.36 In Anne-Marie Malingrey’s survey of this tradition, she demonstrates that this tradition was alive and well up until the 1990s and it has certainly continued since then.37 Recently, however, Wendy Mayer has offered a more sophisticated view of Chrysostom’s ethical program.38 She suggests that we ought to think of John as a ‘philosopher’ who participates in the ancient rhetorical tradition of ‘medico-philosophical psychic therapy’.39 Mayer thus places Chrysostom’s work within a larger Greco-Roman tradition in which philosophers treat human passions therapeutically, in medical terms. This shift in studying Chrysostom’s rhetoric and pastoral care corresponds to a turn in Classics in which discussions of therapy, and indeed philosophy as therapy, have come to replace discussions of moral philosophy.40 Within this larger context, it can be seen that Chrysostom is not interested merely in policing human behaviours but in a deeper therapy 36

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40

On French scholarship on Chrysostom from the nineteenth century, see Anne-Marie Malingrey, ‘Saint Jean Chrysostome Moraliste?’, in Valeurs dans le stoïcisme: du Portique à nos jours. Textes rassemblés en hommage à Michel Spanneut, ed. M. Soetard (Lille: Presses Universitaires de France, 1993), 177–78. She points especially to Paul Albert, St Jean Chrysostome considéré comme orateur populaire (Paris: Hachette, 1858); Amédée Thierry, St Jean Chrysostome et l’impératrice Eudoxie: la société chrétienne en Orient (Paris: Perrin, 1872); Aimé Puech, Un réformateur de la société chrétienne au IVe siècle: St Jean Chrysostome et les moeurs de son temps (Paris: Hachette, 1891). Malingrey, ‘Chrysostome Moraliste’, 171: ‘Il n’est guère d’article de dictionnaire ou d’étude sur l’oeuvre de Jean Chrysostome qui ne la présente comme celle d’un prestigieux orateur et d’un moraliste sévère.’ Wendy Mayer advises us not to think too narrowly about pastoral care, since the modern category does not line up neatly with the roles of the priest or bishop in Antioch and Constantinople: see Wendy Mayer, ‘Patronage, Pastoral Care and the Role of the Bishop at Antioch’, VC 55, no. 1 (2001): 58–60. Wendy Mayer, ‘Shaping the Sick Soul: Reshaping the Identity of John Chrysostom’, in Christians Shaping Identity from the Roman Empire to Byzantium: Studies Inspired by Pauline Allen, ed. Geoffrey Dunn and Wendy Mayer (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 143–45. This approach has been made popular by the likes of Michel Foucault, Pierre Hadot, Martha Nussbaum, Richard Sorabji and others. See Konrad Banicki, ‘Therapeutic Arguments, Spiritual Exercises, or the Care of the Self: Martha Nussbaum, Pierre Hadot and Michel Foucault on Ancient Philosophy’, Ethical Perspectives 22, no. 4 (2015): 601–34. Richard Sorabji has also been central in understanding therapeutic practices, and the emotions, among ancient philosophers: Richard Sorabji, Emotion and Peace of Mind: From Stoic Agitation to Christian Temptation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). Mayer herself follows a strand of this that focuses on ancient medical discourse, especially Christopher Gill, ‘Philosophical Therapy as Preventative Psychological Medicine’, in Mental Disorders in the Classical World, ed. William V. Harris (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 339–60.

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and transformation of the human person. Nevertheless, this perspective on Chrysostom’s work remains fundamentally interested in ethical, rather than dogmatic or theological questions. Related to the prioritization of Chrysostom’s moral teaching is the tendency to separate discussions of exegesis, theology, and ethics. Baur downgrades Chrysostom’s exegesis, in keeping with Chrysostom’s pastoral aims: ‘one must admit that the good aim, to edify and to make the Holy Scripture as dignified and holy as possible to the readers or listeners, led our exegete occasionally beyond the bounds of actual fact’.41 Edward Nowak treats Chrysostom’s philosophy, theology, and ethics separately.42 Mayer’s recent work shows the same tendency; she writes, for example: If we stripped out the copious scriptural exempla adduced throughout [On the Providence of God] and substituted another concept of the divine for the Christian God, what we have here is a treatise on correcting the errors and passions of the soul that could have been written equally by Galen or one of the Stoic-Epicurean practical-ethical philosophers.43

While Mayer does comment that exegesis is one component that contributes to the therapy of the passions,44 her statement serves to divide out the exegetical (‘copious scriptural exempla’), the theological (‘the Christian God’) and the pastoral (‘correcting the errors and passions’). In each of these cases, the elevation of Chrysostom’s moral or therapeutic agenda can serve to marginalize his work as a theologian or an exegete. This common parcelling out of pastorale, from exégèse, from theologie is something that would have been foreign to Chrysostom, for whom these three were all intimately, and inextricably, connected. Certainly, Baur, Nowak, and Mayer have not been alone in this enduring scholarly tradition; they serve rather as exemplary voices for it. However, one of the goals of this book is to read these aspects of John Chrysostom’s writings together in an integrated manner. Despite calls for studies of Chrysostom’s theology in the twentieth century,45 such studies have remained 41 43 45

42 Baur, Chrysostom and His Time, 1:321. Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance. 44 Mayer, ‘Shaping the Sick Soul’, 153. Mayer, ‘Shaping the Sick Soul’, 143–44. See especially Robert Carter, ‘The Future of Chrysostom Studies’, StPatr 10 (1970): 14–21; a few years later, Robert Carter, ‘The Future of Chrysostom Studies: Theology and Nachleben’, in Symposion: Studies on St. John Chrysostom, ed. Panayotis Christou (Thessaloniki: Patriarchikon Hidryma Paterikon Meleton, 1973), 129–36. Carter argued that the study of Chrysostom’s manuscripts and theology ought to be the two great priorities of Chrysostom studies. In her sequel to Carter’s articles, Mayer noted that his

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sparse.46 In recent decades, things have improved a little.47 However, even when theology has been considered, few have attempted to conceive of the relationship between John’s theological work and his dominant moral or therapeutic teaching. Several scholars have, however, taken pains to demonstrate that he is a theological thinker. Charles Kannengiesser lamented the idea that Chrysostom should ever be referred to as merely a moralist – which would be a ‘heart-breaking banality’48 – and argued with particular vehemence for Chrysostom as a theologian, especially applauding the preacher’s ability to make the already established orthodoxy real or intimate to his hearers.49 David Rylaarsdam has recently explored the unity of Chrysostom’s moral teaching and theology, in his study on God’s adaptability or condescension (συγκατάβασις).50 Rylaarsdam shows that Chrysostom brings the rhetorical goal of speaking in a way appropriate to one’s audience to bear on his reading of

46

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call to study Chrysostom’s theology had been heeded, apparently having in mind Chrysostom’s thought more broadly and not limited to strictly theological topics. See Wendy Mayer, ‘Progress in the Field of Chrysostom Studies (1984–2004)’, in Giovanni Crisostomo. Oriente e occidente tra IV e V secolo. XXXIII Incontro di studiosi dell’antichità christiana. Roma, 6–8 maggio 2004 (Rome: Augustinianum, 2005), 24. James Daniel Cook agrees with Mayer in this regard: Preaching and Popular Christianity: Reading the Sermons of John Chrysostom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 8. However, Carter had in mind studies of such properly theological topics as divine incomprehensibility and philanthrōpia, while Mayer seems to consider more broadly studies of Chrysostom’s thought, which have not often been theological in a strict sense. See especially Melvin E. Lawrenz, The Christology of John Chrysostom (Lewiston: Mellen, 1996); Jean Daniélou, ‘L’incompréhensibilité de Dieu d’après saint Jean Chrysostome’, RSR 37 (1950): 176–94; Camillus Hay, ‘St John Chrysostom and the Integrity of the Human Nature of Christ’, Franciscan Studies 19, nos. 3–4 (1959): 298–317. See Thomas R. Karmann, ‘Johannes Chrysostomus und der Neunizänismus: eine Spurensuche in ausgewählten Predigten des antiochenischen Presbyters’, SacEr 51 (2012): 79–107; Raymond J. Laird, ‘John Chrysostom and the Anomoeans: Shaping an Antiochene Perspective on Christology’, in Religious Conflict from Early Christianity to the Rise of Islam, ed. Wendy Mayer and Bronwen Neil (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013), 129–49. Charles Kannengiesser, ‘Le mystère pascal du Christ mort et ressuscité selon Jean Chrysostome’, in Jean Chrysostome et Augustin: Actes du Colloque de Chantilly 22–24 Septembre 1974, ed. Charles Kannengiesser (Paris: Beauchesne, 1975), 245 (‘une banalité navrante’). See especially Charles Kannengiesser, ‘“Clothed with Spiritual Fire”: John Chrysostom’s Homilies on the Letter to Hebrews’, in Christology, Hermeneutics, and Hebrews: Profiles from the History of Interpretation, ed. Jon C. Laansma and Daniel J. Treier (London: Bloomsbury, 2012), 82. David M. Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy: The Coherence of His Theology and Preaching (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014).

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Scripture and his theology of the incarnation: God reveals himself to humanity and saves, through Scripture and in the incarnation, by making himself comprehensible and adapting himself to humanity – just as the good rhetorician does with his audience. At the same time, we are beginning to see scholars attempt in other ways to consider the agreement between Chrysostom’s exegetical and moral projects: for example, recently Pierre Molinié and Wendy Mayer have each explored how the opening exegetical section of Chrysostom’s typical exegetical sermon relates to the following moral section.51 In the light of these scholarly trends, my goal is to portray Chrysostom’s discussion of human suffering and divine providence in due proportion. He is a pastor, philosopher, and rhetorician whose work is also profoundly theological and exegetical. Although Chrysostom does frequently speak about ideal and actual human behaviours, actions, and habits, it is not at all uncommon for him also – and sometimes in one breath – to speak about divine activity. And he mostly speaks about God’s activity in terms of divine providence. As we will see throughout this study, divine activity and human activity are intertwined in complex relationships that can only be understood with reference to scriptural histories. At the same time, exegetical discussions of providence are very often found within the context of Chrysostom’s pastoral care, and therapeutic treatment, of the suffering saints. In this context as in others, Chrysostom the pastor cannot really be understood without reference to his exegesis and theology. This study also speaks to broader scholarly discussions of early Christian exegesis, especially the exegetical employment and understanding of historia – which I have so far referred to as narrative. While my focus is, of course, on the exegesis of John Chrysostom himself, I will also occasionally offer comparisons of John’s exegesis to that of the other major Antiochene, Theodore of Mopsuestia, in order to question some entrenched assumptions about the ‘school of Antioch’ and its interest in and use of historia. First, we find that Chrysostom is not so easily inscribed within an Antiochene school of exegesis.52 It is usually claimed 51

52

Pierre Molinié, Jean Chrysostome exegete: Le commentaire homilétique de la Deuxième épître de Paul aux Corinthiens (Rome: Pontificio Istituto Orientale, 2019), 436–57, 621–59; Wendy Mayer, ‘The Homiletic Audience as Embodied Hermeneutic: Scripture and Its Interpretation in the Exegetical Preaching of John Chrysostom’, in Hymns, Homilies and Hermeneutics in Byzantium, ed. Sarah Gador-Whyte and Andrew Mellas (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 11–28. This, despite the unquestioned scholarly consensus. See especially the influential Theodor Foerster, Chrysostomus in seinem Verhältniss zur antiochenischen Schule: Ein Beitrag zur

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that if Chrysostom deviates from the school’s norm, this is due to his homiletical context.53 His preaching merely represents a ‘milder’ or ‘moderate’ variety of Antiochene exegesis – in each case, Chrysostom being measured against (the ‘extreme’) Theodore of Mopsuestia, the exemplar of the school.54 Not only do I doubt that any of Chrysostom’s contemporary ecclesiastics (let alone the imperial family) would have referred to him or his preaching as moderate or mild, but I will also show that Chrysostom’s exegesis differs in some fundamental (and not merely superficial) ways from that of Theodore. Second, this reassessment of Antiochene exegesis especially concerns the related ideas of historia and typological exegesis. Examining Chrysostom’s works, we find that he is much less interested in the factuality of biblical narratives than is often claimed and that his use of typology therefore functions differently than it does for Theodore. We will therefore shed light both on Chrysostom in his own right and on the Antiochene school of exegesis as a whole. While a fair amount of work has already been done to question the historical scholarly assumptions about the ‘Alexandrian school’ of exegesis,55 much

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Dogmengeschichte (Gotha: Friedrich Andreas Perthes, 1869); Baur, John Chrysostom and His Time. On the other hand, F. H. Chase, Chrysostom: A Study in the History of Biblical Interpretation (Cambridge: Deighton, Bell & Co., 1887), impressively takes Chrysostom on his own terms but still turns him into more of a scholar than he is. On this point, see Bradley Nassif, ‘Antiochene Θεωρία in John Chrysostom’s Exegesis’, in Ancient & Postmodern Christianity: Paleo-Orthodoxy in the 21st Century: Essays in Honor of Thomas C. Oden, ed. Kenneth Tanner and Christopher A. Hall (Downer’s Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2002), 49–67. Foerster, Chrysostomus in seinem Verhältniss, 13. Also see Manlio Simonetti, Biblical Interpretation in the Early Church: An Historical Introduction to Patristic Exegesis, trans. John A. Hughes, Anders Bergquist, Markus A. Bockmuehl, and William Horbury (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 74. Foerster, Chrysostomus in seinem Verhältniss, 14. D. S. Wallace-Hadrill, Christian Antioch: A Study of Early Christian Thought in the East (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), sees Antiochene exegesis as a spectrum in which Theodore is ‘extreme’ and Chrysostom ‘moderate’. Also see Nassif, ‘Antiochene Θεωρία in John Chrysostom’s Exegesis’ (2002), 53; Sten Hidal, ‘Exegesis of the Old Testament in the Antiochene School with Its Prevalent Literal and Historical Method’, in Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament: The History of Its Interpretation. Volume I, From the Beginning to the Middle Ages (until 1300). Part 1: Antiquity, ed. Magne Sæbø (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 562. Peter Martens has been active in this work recently, mostly on Origen: ‘Revisiting the Allegory/Typology Distinction: The Case of Origen’, JECS 16, no. 3 (2008): 283–317; Origen and Scripture: The Contours of the Exegetical Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012); ‘Origen against History? Reconsidering the Critique of Allegory’, Modern Theology 28, no. 4 (2012): 635–56. Also see David Dawson, Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision in Ancient Alexandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992).

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less has been done on its Antiochene counterpart.56 This research therefore represents a significant step towards reconceiving of the Antiochene school of exegesis. Thus, whereas in this study I am the first to put forward pronoia as a serious category of Chrysostom’s thought, I offer a reinterpretation of historia on the basis of Chrysostom’s own writings, rather than in keeping with an older narrative of a monolithic Antiochene school of exegesis.

  ? While we will go into much more detail in the following chapters, it is worth furnishing at the outset a short summary of Chrysostom’s own understanding of providence, as well as some of its philosophical and theological context. For, although the preacher’s treatment of providence is not deeply engaged in philosophical debates, it is philosophically coherent. Furthermore, Chrysostom’s teaching on providence is situated within a larger intellectual context – one in which Christian philosophers understood their own doctrine of providence to be distinct from those of other philosophical schools. Therefore, I here introduce Chrysostom’s understanding of providence within its immediate Christian philosophical context (especially in agreement with Nemesius of Emesa and Theodoret of Cyrrhus), as well as the relationship that this Christian philosophical tradition has to its close philosophical relative, Stoicism. 56

Frances Young is largely the exception to the rule: Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 168–75; ‘The Rhetorical Schools and Their Influence on Patristic Exegesis’, in The Making of Orthodoxy: Essays in Honour of Henry Chadwick, ed. Rowan Williams (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 182–99. In the latter, Young contrasts the influence of rhetorical schools in Antioch with the debt of Alexandrian interpreters to philosophical schools but later comes to see this as a false dichotomy: ‘Interpretation of Scripture’, in The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, ed. Susan Ashbrook Harvey and David G. Hunter (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 848. Also see Christoph Schäublin, Untersuchungen zu Methode und Herkunft der antiochenischen Exegese (Cologne: P. Hanstein, 1974); John J. O’Keefe, ‘“A Letter That Killeth”: Toward a Reassessment of Antiochene Exegesis, or Diodore, Theodore, and Theodoret on the Psalms’, JECS 8, no. 1 (2000): 86. Also see Margaret Mitchell’s work on Chrysostom’s exegesis of the apostle Paul: The Heavenly Trumpet: John Chrysostom and the Art of Pauline Interpretation (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); ‘“A Variable and Many-Sorted Man”: John Chrysostom’s Treatment of Pauline Inconsistency’, JECS 6, no. 1 (1998): 93–111; ‘The Archetypal Image: John Chrysostom’s Portraits of Paul’, JR 75, no. 1 (1995): 15–43. Also worthy of note on Theodore of Mopsuestia’s exegesis is Hauna T. Ondrey, The Minor Prophets as Christian Scripture in the Commentaries of Theodore of Mopsuestia and Cyril of Alexandria (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018).

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Although Chrysostom speaks continually about providence and finds it in every letter of Scripture, he never defines the term. Not only does he leave his audience to deduce its meaning, but, as is typical for John, he employs no single technical term for it. The noun pronoia, which occurs nearly 1,000 times across his many works, is only one among a constellation of terms that denotes the idea of providence. Very close synonyms include kēdemonia (‘providential care’; occurring about 500 times), as well as boētheia (‘aid’; about 400), epimeleia (‘care’; fewer than 400). The additional terms sophia and oikonomia can also sometimes fit comfortably within the semantic range of pronoia. This variety of terms goes some way towards demonstrating how broad an idea providence is for Chrysostom. George Dragas recognizes its breadth in John’s preaching but also sees a coherence to the idea: ‘[Providence] is . . . associated with several aspects of God’s revelation, and thus acquires various nuances, contents and intentions. Basically, it means God’s Acts, or Activity, by which He designs, executes and directs the process of Creation, Preservation and Salvation.’57 Dragas’ rough definition agrees with Chrysostom’s own general statements on providence. In a homily on John 5:17 (‘My father is working until now and I too am working’), Chrysostom writes: If you want to learn what work (ἐργασίαν) the Father is working (ἐργάζεται), and which the Son is too, I would say that it is the providence, control, and care for the things that exist (τὴν πρόνοιαν . . . τῶν ὄντων, τὴν διακράτησιν, τὴν κηδεμονίαν). For everything that appeared came to be in six days. And God rested on day seven. But [God’s] providence for them did not stop. Therefore Christ calls this providence ‘work’ (ἐργασίαν), saying, ‘My Father works, so I also work’, meaning, providing, caring, controlling, holding together, allowing nothing to waste away (προνοῶν, κηδόμενος, διακρατῶν . . . συνέχων, οὐδὲν ἀφιεὶς διαῤῥυῆναι).58

Chrysostom describes God’s activity in similar terms in On the Providence of God. Even if the following is not put forward explicitly as a definition of providence, it provides a good sense of Chrysostom’s understanding of the term: [God] is the beginning and the cause and the source of all goods (αὐτὸς ἀρχὴ καὶ αἰτία καὶ πηγή πάντων τῶν ἀγαθῶν); he is the creator, he brought forward the things that did not exist; and he supports, regulates, and maintains what he brought forward, as he wishes (διακρατεῖ καὶ διακοσμεῖ καὶ διατηρεῖ ὡς βούλεται).59 57 58 59

Dragas, ‘Doctrine of God’s Providence’, 376. Hom. Jo. 5:17 [Pater m. usq. mod. op.] (PG 63, 516,33–42). Scand. 2.9 (SC 79, 64).

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God, as creator and sustainer, is the ‘source of all goods’. By providence, God created in the beginning and continues to preserve the same creation through all things. Therefore, all individual parts of his providence are goods (τὰ ἀγαθά). Chrysostom also speaks frequently about the way in which God providentially orders creation specifically for humanity’s benefit, which he refers to as God’s oikonomia.60 This providential oikonomia is in every way ordered to the salvation of humanity. Chrysostom states in the Consolation to Stagirius: ‘Even if we sin ten thousand times, and even if we turn from him, he does not cease to arrange (οἰκονομῶν) what is for our salvation, so that we may turn again and be saved.’61 That God’s providential arrangement of things is ordered to salvation is further seen in oikonomia’s semantic overlap with synkatabasis: both can refer to the incarnation. And it is true that, throughout John’s works, God is seen to provide especially by means of his loving, saving condescension. Thus, the providential economy refers especially to God’s administration of the salvation of human beings, even while embracing all creative activity.62 John Chrysostom is of course far from the first person to speak or write at length about providence. Not only other Christians but also other philosophical schools had already spent much energy reflecting on divine providence. The Stoic philosophy of providence proves especially helpful for appreciating John’s (and other Antiochene Christians’) understanding 60

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Along with its verbal form oikonomeō. See Gerhard Richter, Oikonomia: Der Gebrauch des Wortes Oikonomia im Neuen Testament, bei den Kirchenvätern und in der theologischen Literatur bis in 20. Jahrhundert (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012), who recognizes the diversity of uses to which this term is put in the church fathers (2, and throughout), and especially in Chrysostom (336). For an overview of Chrysostom’s use of the term, see Richter, Oikonomia, 336–59. Of course, on many occasions Chrysostom’s use of oikonomia is unrelated to providence, some of which are quite famous: in On the Priesthood, Chrysostom relates a story in which he lies in order to have his friend Basil forcibly ordained, while he himself avoids it; this economy – a ‘white lie’ – is not dissimilar, according to Chrysostom, to the disagreement seen between Peter and Paul in Galatians 1–2, which is a sort of ‘staged’ disagreement. This interpretation also crops up, famously, in the correspondence between Jerome and Augustine. See Ralph Hennings, Der Briefwechsel zwischen Augustinus und Hieronymus und ihr Streit um den Kanon des Alten Testaments und die Auslegung von Gal. 2,11–14 (Leiden: Brill, 1994). Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 428,40–43). Also see Stag. 1.5 (PG 47, 437,23–24): ‘For each day many great things are ordered for our salvation (Πολλὰ . . . μεγάλα . . . ὑπὲρ τῆς σωτηρίας τῆς ἡμετέρας οἰκονομεῖται).’ As Nowak notes, providence is almost always discussed in relation to human beings (Chrétien devant la souffrance, 102). Also see Dragas, ‘Doctrine of God’s Providence’, 400: ‘the economy of Christ’ – the incarnation – ‘makes absolutely clear the soteriological character of God’s providential activity’.

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of providence. Just like all those in antiquity who held to a doctrine of providence, the Stoics saw providence as the guiding force that orders and administers the structure of the cosmos, which is continually and consistently in operation.63 As Cicero relates in his description of Stoic philosophy, ‘the world and all the world’s parts both were fixed at the beginning and are at all times administered by the providence of the gods’.64 In one of his letters, Seneca – who is the only Stoic writer whose treatise On Providence survives – describes providence in this way: ‘This law is from the world’s framer, who distributed to us the laws of living: that we be well, but not in luxury. Everything is prepared for our wellbeing and is ready to hand.’65 This quotation reveals, among other things, that in a Stoic scheme the universe is providentially ordered for the sake of humanity’s flourishing – which is possible if one lives according to the precepts of the creator. In Stoic teaching, providence is consistently spoken of in this anthropocentric manner: while providence oversees the whole, it particularly concerns humanity. God’s special provision for humanity extends to externals – food, the light and warmth of the sun, material for clothing, and so forth – and also includes the construction of the human person with its faculties.66 Cicero, who appears to rely on writers of the old Stoa, reflects the same anthropocentrism: ‘This world and the abundance of those things which are in the whole world [are] for the very great profit and advantage of the human species.’67 In keeping with Stoic theology, God’s providence is thus immanent in creation sustaining and ordering all the parts of the cosmos, including humanity. The Platonists and the Aristotelians also maintained that providence oversees the universe; however, the teaching of neither school is particularly anthropocentric on this point: for example, in Plato, the individual 63

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See, among others, Keimpe Algra, ‘Plutarch and the Stoic Theory of Providence’, in Fate, Providence, and Moral Responsibility in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought: Studies in Honour of Carlos Steel, ed. Pieter d’Hoine and Gerd Van Riel (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2014), 121–26. Cicero, Nat. d. 2.30.75 (Teubner 138); also see Nat. d. 2.53.132 (Teubner 169). For a more extended treatment of the relationship between Stoicism and Chrysostom’s philosophy of providence, see my article, ‘Providence, Ethics, and Exempla: Reassessing the Stoicism of John Chrysostom’s Quod nemo laeditur nisi a se ipso’, in Greek and Byzantine Philosophical Exegesis, ed. James Wallace and Athanasios Despotis (Paderborn: Brill Deutschland/Schöningh, 2022), 217–44. Ep. 119.15 (LCL 77, 378). See Epictetus, Diatr. 1.16 (Teubner, ed. Schenkl, 55–56). Cicero, Nat. d. 2.31.80 (Teubner 141); also see Nat. d. 2.61.154 (Teubner 180). On Cicero’s sources, see Myrto Dragona-Monachou, ‘Divine Providence in the Philosophy of Empire’, ANRW II.36.7: 4425.

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contributes to the preservation of the whole rather than the other way around.68 Furthermore, both of these schools are much more intent on maintaining God’s transcendence and therefore have trouble considering how providence might impinge upon our individual lives.69 Thus, a Stoic doctrine of providence stands much closer to a Christian one, insofar as it is concerned with divine immanence and how providence impacts human life.70 And while these other philosophical schools were certainly deeply influential of Christian thought in other ways, Christian articulations of providence seems to have been most of all influenced by Stoicism. Those who belong to the same Greek Christian tradition as Chrysostom can of course make the same general statements about providence as any of those other philosophical schools mentioned above agreed on.71 Thus, Nemesius of Emesa, who was in the late fourth century a 68 69

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Plato, Laws 10, 903c–d. This picture, however, is complicated by the Timaeus, which has a more anthropocentric vision of the cosmos, from which the Stoics borrow. See Gretchen Reydams-Schils, Demiurge and Providence: Stoic and Platonist Readings of Plato’s Timaeus (Turnhout: Brepols, 1999). See Nemesius. Hom. nat. 43 (Teubner 125–26); Robert W. Sharples, ‘Threefold Providence: The History and Background of a Doctrine’, Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies, Supplement 78 (2003): 107–27. Plotinus also, in the third Ennead, reckons with the relation between nature, fate, and providence, but neither Chrysostom nor Nemesius make any mention of it – nor (strangely) seem to be all that aware of Neoplatonism. In contrast, see Theodoret, Graec. affect. cur. 6.59–73. For broader treatments of providence and related topics in Greek and Roman antiquity, see Genevieve Lloyd, Providence Lost (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008), 57–128; Albrecht Dihle, ‘Liberté et destin dans l’antiquité tardive’, Revue de Théologie et de Philosophie 121 (1989): 129–47; and the somewhat dated William Chase Greene, Moira: Fate, Good, and Evil in Greek Thought (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1944). In Italian, see the extensive treatment in Aldo Magris, Destino, provvidenza, predestinazione: Dal mondo antico al cristianesimo (Brescia: Morcelliana, 2008). Popular views of providence: Averil Cameron, ‘Divine Providence in Late Antiquity’, in Predicting the Future, ed. Leo Howe and Alan Wain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 118–43. For English overviews of the topic, see esp. Andrew Louth, ‘Pagans and Christians on Providence’, in Text and Culture in Late Antiquity: Inheritance, Authority and Change, ed. J. H. D. Scourfield and Anna Chahoud (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2007), 279–97; Ken Parry, ‘Fate, Free Choice, and Divine Providence from the Neoplatonists to John of Damascus’, in The Cambridge Intellectual History of Byzantium, ed. Anthony Kaldellis and Niketas Siniossoglou (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 341–60. On the earliest apologetic uses of providence, see Silke-Petra Bergjan, Der fürsorgende Gott: Der Begriff der ΠΡΟΝΟΙΑ Gottes in der apologetischen Literatur der Alten Kirche (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002). For the early development of a Christian doctrine of providence, see Jelle Wytzes, ‘Paideia and Pronoia in the Works of Clemens Alexandrinus’, VC 9, no. 2 (1955): 148–58; Matyáš Havrda, ‘Grace and Free Will according to Clement of Alexandria’, JECS 19, no. 1 (2011): 21–48; Fabienne Jourdan, ‘La théodicée développée sur le thème du larcin des Grecs: origine du mal, liberté et

What Is Providence?

23

bishop of a See just over 200 km from Chrysostom’s native Antioch,72 says this: ‘Providence then is care for things by God. It is also defined as follows: providence is the will (βούλησις) of God by which all things receive a suitable way of life.’73 Here Nemesius not only agrees with the Stoics but even appears to borrow from the Stoic Chrysippus’ definition of fate (which is in some cases in Stoic theology considered identical with providence): ‘Fate (εἱμαρμένην) is something strung together whether from the will of God (ἐκ Θεοῦ βουλήσεως) or by some similar cause.’74 Despite the general similarities between Christian and Stoic doctrines of providence, there are real differences between Christian and Stoic understandings of the historical or practical outworking of their doctrines. These differences are illuminating for what is particular to the Christian tradition of which Chrysostom is a part. While the two schools agree that God orders the cosmos generally and each particular thing therein, Christian teaching on providence is much more concerned with God’s work in history. For Christians, and especially for Chrysostom,

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providence chez Clément d’Alexandrie (Stromates I 17,81–87)’, Semitica et Classica 4 (2011): 147–70. Silke-Petra Bergjan, ‘Clement of Alexandria on God’s Providence and the Gnostic’s Life Choice: The Concept of Pronoia in the Stromateis, Book VII’, in The Seventh Book of the Stromateis, ed. Matyáš Havrda, Vít Hušek, and Jana Plátová (Brill: Leiden, 2012), 63–92. On Origen, see the classic work, Hal Koch, Pronoia und Paideusis: Studien über Origenes und sein Verhältnis zum Platonismus (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1932). The Cappadocians, as heirs of Origen, discuss providence and free will: Basil of Caesarea in his Hexaemeron and Gregory of Nyssa in The Creation of Man; see Bronwen Neil, ‘Divine Providence and Free Will in Gregory of Nyssa and His Theological Milieu’, Phronema 27, no. 2 (2012): 35–51; Zurab Jashi, ‘Human Freedom and Divine Providence according to Gregory of Nazianzus’, StPatr 67 (2013): 199–205; Claudio Moreschini, ‘Goodness, Evil and the Free Will of Man in Gregory of Nyssa’, in Fate, Providence and Moral Responsibility in Ancient, Medieval and Early Modern Thought, ed. Pieter d’Hoine and Gerd Van Riel (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2014), 343–56. Other than this, little is known about Nemesius. His work was important throughout antiquity and the middle ages, sometimes being incorporated into the corpus of Gregory of Nyssa. See William Telfer, Cyril of Jerusalem and Nemesius of Emesa (London: SCM, 1955), 203. On Nemesius as an ‘Antiochene’, see William Telfer, ‘The Fourth Century Fathers as Exegetes’, HTR 50, no. 2 (1957): 96. To demonstrate the proximity of Emesa and Antioch, according to the calculations of orbis.stanford.edu, the trip (in favourable conditions, through Epiphaneia and Apamea) would take less than four days, whether by fast carriage or by horse. On foot, it would take an additional day or two. Hom. nat. 42 (Teubner 125), trans. Sharples and van der Eijk, 208. This testimonium is found in Eusebius, Praep. Ev. 6.8.8 and Theodoret, Graec. affect. cur. 6.11 (SVF 2.914): τὴν. . . εἱμαρμένην τινὰ εἴτε ἐκ βουλήσεως εἴτε ἐξ ἧς δήποτε αἰτίας. For the synonymity of fate and providence, see SVF 1.102 (LS 46B). Nemesius also notes that both Chrysippus and Philopator attempt to reconcile providence and fate (Hom. nat. 35; Teubner 105).

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God acts providentially by intervening in human history. Along with other Greek Christian writers of the fourth and fifth centuries, John thinks of historical events in their particularity as the greatest demonstration of God’s providence. This principle can even apply to the strange miracle of the Gerasene demoniac, when Christ drives ‘Legion’ into a herd of pigs to drown in the water below: It is clear from this that there is no one who doesn’t enjoy the benefit of God’s providence. And if all do not [enjoy it] similarly, nor in [only] one way, even this is the greatest expression of providence: what is from providence is shown [to be] for the advantage of each. And . . . he provides not only for the common good of all (κοινῇ πάντων), but also for the particular good of each (ἰδίᾳ ἑκάστου). And he made this clear to his disciples when he said, ‘And even the hairs of your head have been numbered’. (Luke 12:7)75

If the particularity of obscure miracles such as this demonstrates God’s providence, so much more the incarnation. For example, in another Christian treatment of providence, Theodoret of Cyrrhus, a priest in Antioch shortly after the time of Chrysostom, writes, ‘the Lord of the universe did not think it right that he should disregard the one besieged by sin and about to be handed over as a prisoner to death for whose sake he had already done all these good things. For this reason he took on human form and veiled his invisible nature under a visible one’.76 Because of sin, human beings, who are special recipients of divine providence in creation, were at risk of destroying themselves; so, in order to re-create humanity in the image of God, God specially intervened in history. This one divine manifestation, furthermore, was the greatest in a series of God’s appearances to humankind for their salvation.77 God’s providence is thus characterized by miraculous intervention in human history. Even Nemesius, who draws readily from Stoic teaching on providence, highlights God’s providence in the miraculous, and God’s providence over particular historical events, including the ‘wonders of Egypt’, ‘the prophets’ and ‘the incarnation of God for our sake’.78 Thus, in keeping with those 75 76 77 78

Hom. Matt. 28.3 (PG 57, 354,26–34). Theodoret, Graec. affect. cur. 6.77 (SC 57, 282; trans. Halton, 155). Theodoret, Graec. affect. cur. 6.79 (SC 57, 282–83). Nemesius, Hom. nat. 42 (Teubner 120; trans. Sharples and van der Eijk, 204); likewise, the cross is an event entailed in God’s providence: see Nemesius, Hom. nat. 43 (Teubner 134). His concern with particulars being overseen by providence is in part why he spends so much time refuting an Aristotelian notion of providence: see R. W. Sharples, ‘Nemesius of Emesa and Some Theories of Divine Providence’, VC 37, no. 2 (1983): 141–56.

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Christians who are closely related to him, Chrysostom holds not only to a general providence in which God sustains cosmic processes and allows for the maintenance of free will but particularly considers the way that God providentially works in history. This interest in history is indeed particular to Christian teaching. For, in contrast, Stoic philosophers are little interested in particular historical events or in historical causation – and thus also narration.79 Because of God’s radical immanence in the order of things – in which the divine is ‘mixed’ with the material – God does not intervene with any special providence in particular moments over, against others.80 Even in Seneca’s treatise On Providence, which is full of historical exempla, exemplary Stoic sages do not function as extraordinary proofs of providence, since providence does not operate extraordinarily.81 For the Stoics, there is no personal fate or providence: as Susanne Bobzien writes of Stoic philosophy, ‘if everything is fated, then certainly so are . . . “landmarks” . . . like one’s date of death’.82 Personal, or particular events are only fated insofar as all events are fated. Thus, in the Stoic scheme, miracles are nonsensical, for God cannot condescend to become closer to humanity than he already is by virtue of the makeup of the universe. Thus, while Christian and Stoic philosophers are in agreement on much else pertaining to divine providence – including anthropocentrism – here we discover what is distinctive about Christian teaching on providence, including that of Chrysostom. The main reason that a Christian doctrine of providence is so concerned with particular historical events is, of course, its reliance on 79

80

81

82

Pace Thomas Bénatouïl, ‘How Industrious Can Zeus Be?’, in God and Cosmos in Stoicism, ed. Ricardo Salles (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 27; and the more substantial claim in William Turpin, ‘Stoic Exempla, and the Praecipuum munus annalium’, Classical Antiquity 27, no. 2 (2008): 359–404. Turpin, however, provides no evidence of the claim that there is a Stoic interest in the working of providence in history. See especially Paul Veyne, ‘La providence stoïcienne intervient-elle dans l’histoire?’, Latomus 49, no. 3 (1990): 553–74. In contrast, René Brouwer, ‘Polybius and Stoic Tyche’, GRBS 51, no. 1 (2011): 111–32, argues that Polybius’ historical view of Tyche is in keeping with a Stoic understanding of providence, even while Polybius himself is not Stoic. He also notes that a Stoic, Christian, and Polybian view of history are all in keeping with one another, which is altogether too harmonizing. Seneca, Prov. 6.5–6 (Teubner 19,4–8). Also see Seneca’s use of exempla in Prov., which prove God’s provision by way of the divine gift of free will, which allows for virtue. On this, see Edwards, ‘Providence, Ethics, and Exempla’. Susanne Bobzien, Determinism and Freedom in Stoic Philosophy (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998).

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scriptural articulations of creation and salvation. Indeed, for Christians of Chrysostom’s ilk, providence is oriented fundamentally to salvation. And unlike a Stoic concept of salvation, which is ever present by virtue of providence’s preservation of free choice and reason83 – which allows one to achieve the ultimate good of virtue – a Christian concept of God’s saving providence is that salvation happens at discrete moments in time: particularly at the two comings of Christ. Thus, while God’s providence sometimes rescues and rewards the saints in this life, providence can always be relied on to ensure rewards are given in the age to come.84 In this way, along with the salvation wrought by the incarnation – at a discrete moment in time – a traditional (non-Origenian)85 eschatology stands at the heart of Chrysostom’s understanding of providence: God arranges everything for the salvation of humanity, now and at the end. Thus, for Chrysostom and his contemporaries, both mundane and miraculous events are said to operate according to God’s providence. God’s loving condescension covers both general providence and special providence: creation, which benefits all equally, is no more or less providential than the incarnation or any other miracle. And indeed, it seems to

83

84

85

See Epictetus, Diatr. 1.6 (Teubner 25). Also see Seneca, Ep. 110.10 (LCL 77, 270); Seneca, Ep. 74.10–12 (LCL 76, 118–20); Seneca, Prov. 6.6–7 (Teubner 19,13–17). Also see Plutarch, Stoic. rep. 1065a–66d, in which Plutarch admittedly does little justice to Chrysippus’ doctrine. On the importance of eschatology in John’s theology, see Francis Leduc, ‘L’eschatologie, une preoccupation centrale de Saint Jean Chrysostome’, Proche-Orient Chretien 19 (1969): 109–34; Laurence Brottier, ‘La résurrection, source et but de la spiritualité chrysostomienne’, Connaissance des Pères de l’Église 43 (1991): 16–20. Cyrille Crépey notes how at odds with Stoicism is the idea of eschatological recompense: ‘La recompense, un theme majeur dans le discours pastoral de Jean Chrysostome’, RevScRel 83, no. 1 (2009): 110. Although more recently Ilaria Ramelli has argued that Chrysostom’s eschatology is ambiguous and that ‘it is not to be ruled out that he personally embraced [the apokatastasis], at least in the limited form comprehensive of all Christians’ (Ilaria Ramelli, The Christian Doctrine of Apokatastasis: A Critical Assessment from the New Testament to Eriugena [Boston: Brill, 2013], 555), Brian Daley (whose work Ramelli appears not to have consulted) notes that although chastisement is always medicinal in this life, Chrysostom rejects the notion that suffering in the life to come is likewise merely purgative; he insists that condemnation is eternal, and that the threat of punishment is not merely pedagogical but has a real future referent (Hope of the Early Church: A Handbook of Patristic Eschatology [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991], 107–8). In so arguing, Daley is following the consensus reached over a century ago: see Eugène Michaud, ‘St. Jean Chrysostome et l’apokatastase’, Revue internationale de théologie 18, no. 72 (1910): 672–96; and Stefan Schiwietz, ‘Die Eschatologie des hl. Johannes Chrysostomus in ihr Verhältnis zu der origenistischen’, Der Katholik 4, no. 12 (1913): 445–55; 4, no. 13 (1914): 45–63, 200–16, 271–81, 370–79, 436–48.

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be more the miraculous than the mundane that determines John’s view of God’s providence insofar as miraculous synkatabatic events are particular demonstrations of God’s general providence. And while other Christians in Chrysostom’s milieu – Nemesius and Theodoret among others – hold to the importance of the concrete role of providence in history, the miraculous and salutary aspects of providence are especially pronounced in Chrysostom’s works. And they are so pronounced because of his focus on biblical historia. Even with all the similarities between Chrysostom’s Christian view of providence and that of the Stoics, then, John and other early Christian writers view divine providence largely from the theologoumena they read in Scripture, and which by the fourth and fifth centuries belong firmly in the Christian tradition: providence is ordered to salvation, coming from divine love for humanity, which is most clearly pictured in the incarnation of the Only Begotten, and which will be fully realized in the age to come.

  In Chapters 2–4, we closely engage the relationship between pronoia and historia in Chrysostom’s works. Chapter 2 begins by arguing that Chrysostom turns to biblical history to console because in it he reads the particularity of divine providence. The subject matter of biblical narrative (ἱστορία) is human and divine activity, and therefore in all its detail biblical historia demonstrates God’s providence. Chapter 3 delves into the narrative structures of the scriptural stories that provide the framework in which Chrysostom can speak of divine providence and human virtue. It also explores how Chrysostom reads scriptural narratives alongside one another to find such narrative structures, which leads us to reassess some of the claims about Chrysostom’s attention to history and his use of typology. Finally, Chapter 4 focuses on how Chrysostom conceives of the whole of Scripture as a coherent unity, that is, as a series of proofs, or demonstrations, of divine providence. While Chrysostom emphasizes the continuity and consistency of God’s providential work and his loving, philanthropic character, the creation and the incarnation are the greatest proofs of God’s love for humanity, and discussions of them form the heart of this chapter. In Chapters 5 and 6, we then turn back to the consolatory work that providence, and the narratives of providence, are meant to do for John’s audiences. Thus, Chapter 5 lays out the theological and moral judgements that the narratives described in so much detail in the previous chapters are

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meant to cultivate, particularly the goodness and incomprehensibility of God’s providence. This chapter also explores how these characteristic teachings on providence are meant to console his audience. Finally, Chapter 6 discusses the role that Scripture’s exemplary characters who have yielded to providence play in leading Chrysostom’s audience to virtue and to the life of the angels. Here we especially see how Chrysostom sets out to have Scripture form his audience, through his rhetorical reading and amplification of biblical narratives of providence.

2 Divine and Human Activity in Biblical Narrative

Every exegesis of Scripture is a comfort and relief . . . . I will make clear to you from the thing itself that all Scripture is a consolation to those who attend to it. Stat. 7.1 (PG 49, 92,47–55) Let the wealthy hear, let the poor hear; for the narrative is useful to both. Or, rather, the history is profitable to all men – both to those who prosper and to those who suffer. Adfu. 4.1 (PG 63, 478,45–48) Therefore, great is the virtue of [righteous] men, but greater still is the philanthropy of God. Stat. 5.6 (PG 49, 77,44)

In the thought of the early church, the concepts of history and providence are often married. This connection appears especially in early Christian historiography, beginning with Eusebius in the early fourth century and continuing long after Chrysostom. It is also seen in apologetic literature, in writers as diverse in their perspectives on the rise of a Christian empire as Lactantius and Augustine.1 In addition to the role of providence in

1

On providence in early Christian historiography, see Chesnut, First Christian Histories, 61–90; on Eusebius and providence, L. Cracco Ruggini, ‘The Ecclesiastical Histories and the Pagan Historiography: Providence and Miracles’, Athenaeum 55 (1977): 107–26. On Lactantius’ approach to the rise of an empire friendly to Christians under Constantine, see

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obviously miraculous events, providence is held by various early Christian historiographers to be the source of otherwise ordinary human events and processes, including the translation of the Hebrew Bible into Greek, the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, the imperial family’s embrace of Christianity, and the (un)timely demise of Julian ‘the Apostate’, among many others. Early Christian writers are in this respect heirs to earlier conceptions of history, especially imperial propagandistic historiography that would paint the rise of Augustus as a gift of divine providence.2 As much as Chrysostom is an heir to this apologetic tradition, however, he is almost entirely uninterested in providential activity in contemporary or ‘secular’ history. His concern is instead the relationship between divine providence and the scriptural history of God’s people.3 Chrysostom is not the first to discern a felicitous agreement between a doctrine of providence and the books of Scripture. Jewish writers throughout the Second Temple period found providence to be a useful hermeneutic for thinking about God’s salvific work in Israel’s past. In the Wisdom of Solomon (a book that Chrysostom employs extensively), God’s providence is conceived, in a classical image, as the pilot of a ship, which oversees Israel through its captivities (Wisdom 14:1–4; 17:2). In 4 Maccabees, providence ‘preserves Israel’ through the sacrifice of the Maccabean martyrs (4 Macc 17:22); this providence is identical to the ‘providence of our ancestors’, which works miraculously and exacts vengeance on the enemies of Israel (4 Macc 9:23–24). In 3 Maccabees, God’s ‘invincible providence’ also works miracles from heaven for the Jews under Ptolemaic rule (3 Macc 4:21). Still more significant than these is Josephus’ re-narration of biblical history in his Antiquities, which,

2

3

Jeremy M. Schott, Christianity, Empire, and the Making of Religion in Late Antiquity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008) 106–9; on Augustine’s divergence from an earlier Christian apologetic, and his more pessimistic view of the Roman empire in the City of God, see R. A. Markus, ‘The Roman Empire in Early Christian Historiography’, The Downside Review 81, no. 265 (1963): 340–54. See Jean-Pierre Martin, Providentia deorum: Recherches sur certains aspects religieux du pouvoir imperial romain (Rome: École française de Rome, 1982). Also see the Letter of Aristeas, for a Jewish perspective on the miraculous nature of the translation of the Seventy. But see Robert L. Wilken, John Chrysostom and the Jews: Rhetoric and Reality in the Late Fourth Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 128–60, on the effect of Julian’s attempt to rebuild the temple in Jerusalem. Also see Chrysostom’s brief comments on the emperors at Hom. Matt. 43.3 (PG 57, 460,42–54). Even this is concerned with the fulfilment of prophecy and sacred history (‘salvation history’), rather than world history.

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much more than his Jewish War, makes space for the working of divine pronoia in the life of Israel. For example, he writes in the introduction to the Antiquities that the history teaches that ‘for those who follow the will of God . . . all things go on prosperously beyond belief, and happiness is laid before them by God as a reward’.4 Providence is especially responsible, in Josephus’ re-narration of the biblical record, for rewarding virtue and punishing vice.5 Chrysostom himself has a view as to the utility of biblical history – as a demonstration of providence and virtue – which, as we will see in this chapter, is not far from Josephus’ own. Although Chrysostom is not, perhaps, directly or substantially indebted to any of these writers in particular, it is clear that he participates in an already well-established tradition of locating divine providence in biblical history.6 However, unlike many of these writers, John Chrysostom approaches the relationship between history and providence as neither apologist nor historiographer. Instead, he often turns to God’s providential care in history in an effort to comfort and console his suffering flock. His pastoral concern directs his attention to God’s providential care – and what better place (he thinks) to demonstrate God’s solicitude than the histories of Scripture! Chrysostom habitually turns to biblical history to console because in it he reads the ‘economy of providence’.7 In this chapter, after demonstrating that Chrysostom characteristically turns to biblical stories for consolation, I offer a sustained argument concerning the relationship between biblical historia and providence in Chrysostom’s writings. No such study has ever been undertaken – not even on historia itself, which has usually been assumed to accord with modern notions of historicity. While Chrysostom does think about historicity from time to time, I argue that narrativity is not only central to his

4 5

6 7

Ant. 1.14 (LCL 242, 8). See, most recently, Paul Spilsbury, ‘Flavius Josephus on the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire’, JTS 54, no. 1 (2003): 1–24 (7–10). Also see the more detailed discussions in Harold W. Attridge, The Interpretation of Biblical History in the Antiquitates Judaicae of Flavius Josephus (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1976), 71–108, 154–76. Josephus, who is himself indebted to the Greek historiographical tradition, plays no insignificant role in the development early Christian historiography described above, most especially in Eusebius. For the debt of Luke/Acts to Jewish writers, see Kylie Crabbe, Luke/Acts and the End of History (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2019), 135–204. Chrysostom appears to be familiar with Josephus’ Antiquities. See P. R. Coleman-Norton, ‘St. Chrysostom’s Use of Josephus’, CP 26, no. 1 (1931): 85–89. For this specific phrase, see Stag. 1.7 (PG 47, 441,22); Hom. 1 Cor. 34.4 (PG 61, 291,58–59).

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definition of historia but also bears the brunt of much of Chrysostom’s exegetical work. Narrativity is so central because, as Chrysostom sees it, the very subject matter of scriptural history is human and divine activity: virtue and providence. Only by attending with accuracy to the scriptural narration of human and divine activities can one come to learn the divinely revealed truth about virtue and providence. Although we will hear much more about Chrysostom’s attention to narrative in the following chapters, here I draw attention to how his reading of biblical narrative highlights the relationship between character and causation at both human and divine levels. Through his attentive reading of biblical history, Chrysostom comes to an understanding of the particularity of divine providence in the lives of the saints: how divine activity and human activity interact in real time, throughout the contingent course of human history. Chrysostom can therefore call the very histories of Scripture consolatory because they intimate, to the attentive reader, God’s providence and care for humanity.

      In the Homilies on the Statues, one of Chrysostom’s tasks is to console his congregation. Because Antioch’s imperial images had been defaced, the Antiochene populace was in grave fear of the coming wrath of the emperor. Although Chrysostom also attempts at times to fan the flames of fear to lead his listeners to repentance, in the early homilies of the series he especially attempts to assuage his audience’s grief.8 As usual – and as a good rhetorician – Chrysostom does not at the outset explain his rationale for turning to biblical narrative. However, after days of consoling his audience with biblical narratives, he finally provides some rationale for doing so: ‘Let’s now bring the consolatory discourse (τῆς . . . παρακλήσεως . . . τὸν λόγον) to an end; for even [now], on the fifth day, we are still comforting your Love, and we may finally seem to be a nuisance.’9 He goes on to say that the congregation has had enough of consolation and that ‘it is now time to turn our instruction to the exegesis 8

9

See Blake Leyerle, ‘The Strategic Use of Fear in the Preaching of John Chrysostom’, in Social Control in Late Antiquity: The Violence of Small Worlds, ed. Kate Cooper and Jamie Wood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 173–87; James Cook, ‘“Hear and Shudder!”: Chrysostom’s Therapy of the Soul’, in Revisioning John Chrysostom: New Approaches, New Perspectives, ed. Chris L. de Wet and Wendy Mayer (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 247–75. Stat. 7.1 (PG 49, 92,36–39).

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of the Scriptures’.10 This gives the audience pause, however, because over the previous four days they have heard Chrysostom preaching on the Scriptures: his fourth homily in the series was dedicated to the narrative of the three confessors in the fiery furnace (Dan 3) and the narrative of Job; and, in the fifth homily, Chrysostom refers back to this consolatory use of these narratives in the previous homily: ‘The narrative (διήγησις) of the three children and the Babylonian furnace seems to have given no small comfort to your Love; and yet even more the example (παράδειγμα) in the case of Job and the dunghill which is more august than any royal throne.’11 By the time of the seventh homily in the series, we discover that Chrysostom has neither ceased offering consolation nor changed his approach to the biblical text. The only real difference is that the biblical text being interpreted is not of his own choosing but is the opening verse of the day’s liturgical reading: Therefore, commending your hearts to God who is able to speak into your mind, and to drive away all grief within, let’s now assume our usual teaching – especially since every exegesis of Scripture is a comfort and relief. So that, even if we may seem to abandon consolation, we fall again upon the same theme through the exegesis of the Scriptures. For, I will make clear to you, from the thing itself, that all Scripture is a consolation for those who attend to it.12

Chrysostom presents the lection, Gen 1:1, as a challenge to the claim that Scripture is consolatory. Whereas he admits that he has previously ‘attempted to search out consolatory discourses’,13 now, when he is forced to interpret a particular biblical text, he attempts to ‘show the consolation hidden in this saying’.14 It is hidden because the verse ‘may especially seem to present no trace of consolation, and to be completely foreign to consolatory discourses’.15 He continues to downplay the audience’s expectation, asking, ‘Is it not an historical narration (οὐχ ἱστορίας διήγησίς ἐστι)?’16 This, the audience is to suppose, is not full of the same comfort and consolation as other parts of Scripture. However, as we look back to the previous homilies, it has been precisely through his exposition of biblical narratives that he has comforted the audience. He lingers on the same point in his introduction to the next homily in the series: ‘Yesterday you came to know how all Scripture brings comfort 10 12 14 16

Stat. 7.1 Stat. 7.1 Stat. 7.2 Stat. 7.1

(PG 49, 92,42–43). (PG 49, 92,47–55). (PG 49, 93,8–9). (PG 49, 93,6–7).

11

Stat. 5.1 (PG 49, 67,58–68,58). Stat. 7.1 (PG 49, 92,56–57). Stat. 7.1 (PG 49, 92,60–93,1).

13 15

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and consolation, even if it is an historical narration (ἱστορίας διήγησις). For the verse, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth”, was an historical narrative (ἱστορίας ἐξήγησις); but the discussion showed that the verse was full of consolation.’17 It thus becomes clear that biblical narratives – including both this passage and those set forth in the earlier homilies – are useful for consolation: ‘But if only one brief verse demonstrates such great providential care (κηδεμονίαν) from God, what if we were to read this whole proceedings to you, and unroll its entire minutes? Do you see how all Scripture is comfort and consolation?’18 Chrysostom’s habit of turning to biblical narrative for consolation is also seen in the other two primary works under consideration here. At the beginning of On the Providence of God, Chrysostom explains the purpose for his composition of the treatise: I am putting together this medical treatment (θεραπείαν) not only from the divine Scriptures, but also from the events of the present life, which occur continually. I am doing this so that even for those who do not hold fast to the Scriptures there might be a common correction, if they are willing. For I will not stop repeating this: the one who doesn’t want this treatment cannot be healed by force or by constraint, and neither can the one who doesn’t accept the divine oracles (τοὺς θείους . . . χρησμούς). And [this medical treatment is put together] much more from [the divine oracles] than from the demonstration of events. For it is necessary to believe that God’s declaration is more trustworthy than what is seen.19

At this early point in this work, Chrysostom explains that the treatise is designed as a remedy and prophylactic treatment for skandalon in the face of extreme suffering. Whereas he includes, as part of the treatment, discussions of events that occur in this life,20 the really effective treatment is the divine oracles: holy Scripture. This efficacy is borne out in the rest of the treatise. Chrysostom scarcely touches on the topic of external circumstances, and, from almost immediately following the above quotation, he brings forward Scripture. After chapters 2 through 7, which are taken up with scriptural proofs that God’s providence is characterized above all by love for humanity (φιλανθρωπία), almost the entire remainder of the treatise (chapters 8 through 24) is devoted to extended narrations of biblical exempla from both the Old Testament and the New Testament.

17 19 20

18 Stat. 8.1 (PG 49, 97,26–30). Stat. 7.4 (PG 49, 96,26–30). Scand. 1.4–6 (SC 79, 57–59). For example, he provides a couple of non-biblical instances of despondent persons in Stag. 3.12.

Turning to Biblical Narrative for Consolation

35

Jean-Noël Guinot has observed a similar phenomenon in the Consolation to Stagirius. Contrary to rhetorical custom, in this treatise exempla have a larger place than does the argument (θέσις) that precedes them. Guinot views Book 1 as the argument that God provides for the saints who are sick with athumia and Books 2 and 3 as extended biblical exempla (on the patriarchs and the prophets, respectively).21 However, Guinot does not note that even Book 1 is filled with biblical exegesis that does not directly argue for the thesis in question but that instead exemplifies it through biblical narratives. The usual rhetorical mode of argumentation has thus been reversed: rather than having a long thesis with a few exempla, Chrysostom has a short thesis followed by historical exempla that go on for more than two-thirds of the work. This is the same lopsidedness that is seen in On the Providence of God – and that is also evident in his other late works addressed to Olympias. Furthermore, at the beginning of the Consolation to Stagirius, Chrysostom makes a rhetorical move similar to what we have seen in the Homilies on the Statues: If my discussion were to a nonbeliever, or someone who thinks that all things happen by chance, or who attributes the providence of the world to evil demons, it would require much work for me: after having first expelled the deceptive opinion and persuading him to recognize the true providence of all, only then would I turn the discussion to encouragement. But because by God’s grace you have known the holy writings from infancy and you received the true and saving teachings from your ancestors, you believe accurately that God cares for all, and even more for those who believe in him – because of this, let’s omit this [first] part [of the discussion], and make the beginning elsewhere.22

Because of Stagirius’ experience in the faith, Chrysostom need not refute vain opinions, nor give a constructive discussion of a Christian view of providence, nor deliver the ‘true and saving teachings’ (i.e., Scripture). However, for the rest of Book 1 (and into Books 2 and 3), Chrysostom sets about doing precisely these three things. He proceeds to state that God is to be judged good because he created for the sake of humankind – an argument that he makes with recourse, as always, to a long exegesis of Scripture. In this case, as in the Homilies on the Statues, the exegesis centres on the creation accounts of Genesis 1–2.23 21

22

Jean-Noël Guinot, ‘Les exempla bibliques dans l’Ad Stagirium de Jean Chrysostome: proposition d’une clef de lecture’, in Giovanni Crisostomo: Oriente e occidente tra IV e V secolo, XXXIII Incontro di Studiosi dell’Antichità Cristiana, Augustinianum 6–8 Maggio 2004, Roma (Rome: Augustinianum, 2005), 166–68. 23 Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 427,31–42). Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 427,43–428,25).

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Divine and Human Activity in Biblical Narrative

It is noteworthy that whereas Chrysostom mentioned in On the Statues that he could search out ‘consolatory arguments’, not just from ‘biblical histories’ but also from the rest of Scripture, he does most often choose to relate histories for consolation.24 Chrysostom is, of course, aware that consolatory statements can be found all throughout Scripture. For example, he provides a catena of these teachings in his first homily On the Statues, including Christ’s saying, ‘Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and say every false evil word against you for my sake. Rejoice and be glad that your reward is great in heaven – for thus their fathers did to the prophets.’25 At the end of the Consolation to Stagirius, he includes several of these consolatory comments also: ‘If you are without discipline, you are therefore bastards and not sons. For what is a son whom a father does not discipline?’ (Heb 12:8); ‘God, who is faithful, will not allow you to be tried more than you are able’ (1 Cor 10:13); and, ‘If indeed it is righteous for God to give afflictions to those who afflict you, and relief to you who are afflicted’ (2 Thess 1:6–7).26 In On the Statues 1, these passages are explicitly referred to as consolatory sayings (παραμυθίαι).27 This way of consoling is not so different from what we see in other early Christian consolation. For example, in Basil of Caesarea’s consolatory letters, we see a kind of new Christian collection of consolatory commonplace arguments being forged: ‘The Lord gives and the Lord takes away’ (Job 1:21);28 ‘Do not mourn as those who have no hope’ (1 Thess 4:13);29 ‘not a sparrow falls to the ground without the will of our Father’ (Matt 10:29);30 ‘[God does not let] us be tempted above that we are able, but with the temptation [he gives] us a way of escape that we may be able to bear it’ (1 Cor 10:13);31 ‘the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed in us’ (Rom 8:18).32 24 25 26 28 29

30

31 32

Stat. 7.1 (PG 49, 92,56–57). Stat. 1.8 (PG 49, 27,26–31); Matt 5:11–12; Luke 6:23. 27 Stag. 3.14 (PG 47, 494,28–34). Stat. 1.8 (PG 49, 27,25). Basil, Ep. 5.2 (Courtonne 1, 18,29–31); Ep. 300 (Courtonne 3, 176,58–60). Basil, Ep. 62 (Courtonne 1, 152,8–9); this is probably also what he is referring to in Basil, Ep. 302 (Courtonne 3, 180,39–41): ‘For we are not permitted, from the legislation of the Apostle, to grieve for those who have fallen asleep in the same way as those on the outside.’ Basil, Ep. 6.2 (Courtonne 1, 20,1–4): ‘But our affairs are not without providence, as we have learned in the Gospel that a sparrow does not fall to the ground without the will of our Father; thus, it has happened by the will of our creator.’ Basil, Ep. 139.2 (Courtonne 2, 58,10–12); Ep. 256 (Courtonne 3, 98,36–37). Basil, Ep. 139.2 (Courtonne 2, 59,24–25).

Turning to Biblical Narrative for Consolation

37

Chrysostom also, of course, participates in the longer Greek rhetorical tradition of consolation. He shares many consolatory commonplaces (especially metaphors) with the Stoics – likely from a shared heritage of consolation – which are fundamental to Chrysostom’s way of consoling.33 While he certainly belongs to this consolatory tradition, his consolatory work can hardly be called derivative. First, the consolations of Chrysostom and the Stoics, in terms of their content, are in fact more different than they are similar: we have seen Chrysostom turn above all to biblical narrative, something that neither (of course) Stoic nor even other Christian authors of his age typically do.34 Second, in terms of literary form, Chrysostom differs even more with the ‘hard core’ of consolationes, inasmuch as his works – save perhaps some of the Letters to Olympias – do not fall into the typical categories of either funeral orations or letters to the bereaved.35 However, if we conceive of the coherence of the consolatory genre in terms of social function rather than literary form or content, as J. H. D. Scourfield has argued, these differences are accounted for, and Chrysostom’s claim that the major works we are here considering are ‘consolations’ makes much more sense:36 Chrysostom is attempting to assuage the grief and pain of his audience, in various situations, by various means – but always with recourse to biblical narrative. Therefore, we find that Chrysostom, while sharing in a larger tradition of consolation, is distinctive with respect to his use of biblical narrative. 33

34

35

36

See Leokadia Malunowiczówna, ‘Les éléments stoïciens dans la consolation grecque chrétienne’, StPatr 13 (1975): 35–45; Jonathan P. Wilcoxson, ‘The Machinery of Consolation in John Chrysostom’s Letters to Olympias’, StPatr 83 (2017): 37–72. See Charles Favez, La consolation latine chrétienne (Paris: Vrin, 1937), 101–5. Although Seneca is well known for his use of historical exempla, which occurs even in consolations, they operate very differently than they do in Chrysostom. See Edwards, ‘Providence, Ethics, and Exempla’. J. H. D. Scourfield, ‘Towards a Genre of Consolation’, in Greek and Roman Consolations: Eight Studies of a Tradition and its Afterlife, ed. Han Baltussen (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2013), 1–36. On the continuity of the consolation tradition from pagan to Christian writers, see Han Baltussen, ‘Introduction’, in Greek and Roman Consolations: Eight Studies of a Tradition and Its Afterlife (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2013); Robert C. Gregg, Consolation Philosophy: Greek and Christian Paideia in Basil and the Two Gregories (Cambridge, MA: Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1975); Jane F. Mitchell, ‘Consolatory Letters in Basil and Gregory Nazianzen’, Hermes 96, no. 3 (1968): 299–318; J. H. D. Scourfield, Consoling Heliodorus: A Commentary on Jerome, Letter 60 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993); Josef Lössl, ‘Continuity and Transformation of Ancient Consolation in Augustine of Hippo’, in Greek and Roman Consolations: Eight Studies of a Tradition and its Afterlife, ed. Han Baltussen (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2013), 153–75. Scourfield, ‘Genre of Consolation’, 19–20.

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Indeed, his exegesis and re-narration of biblical stories appears to be disproportional to what is customary. Chrysostom is not, however, unreflective in his practice of consolation but – as we will go on to see – sees the greatest consolation to come from God’s care for the saints in history.

   So far, I have spoken of ‘biblical narrative’, ‘biblical history’, and ‘biblical stories’, without defining these terms and whether they differ. In fact, each of these refers to historia, a noun Chrysostom employs almost three hundred times throughout his extant Greek corpus. While historia is an unquestionably important term for Chrysostom, no study has been undertaken on his use of it; and in all the Chrysostomian scholarship I have located, it is assumed that he shares a common ‘Antiochene’ understanding of historia with Theodore of Mopsuestia and their common teacher Diodore of Tarsus.37 In older scholarship, this means that historia is something akin to a modern historical-critical understanding of ‘history’.38 Even in more recent scholarship, it continues to be assumed that for Chrysostom historia means something like ‘factuality’ – which is precisely how Hill understands it in his monograph on Antiochene interpretation of the Old Testament.39 However, in her influential book Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture, Frances Young has sought to reconsider the meaning of historia in early Christian exegesis. Speaking of all the Antiochene interpreters together, she argues that, while historia could refer to an ancient literary genre not totally dissimilar to what we mean by history, ‘ancient literary criticism had no true historical sense’.40 Indeed, because 37

38 39 40

In addition to the other scholarship cited in this section, see, for example, WallaceHadrill, Christian Antioch; Hidal, ‘Exegesis of the Old Testament’. Though not solely with respect to exegesis, also see Andrew Louth, ‘John Chrysostom and the Antiochene School to Theodoret of Cyrus’, in The Cambridge History of Early Christian Literature, ed. Frances Young, Lewis Ayres, and Andrew Louth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 342–52. See, especially, Foerster, Chrysostomus in seinem Verhältniss. See, for example, Hill, Reading the Old Testament in Antioch (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 145, 165. Young, Biblical Exegesis, 79. Also see her comment: ‘It is true that historia meant pragmata (deeds) or res gestae (things that happened); stories given this epithet were meant to be “true”, not res fictae or res fabulosae – that was the expectation raised in the readers’ minds by the genre. But the distinctive thing about historical writing was not “single-minded pursuit of facts” but their presentation as morally significant, their interpretation in terms of “ virtue” and “vice” and “fortune”’ (Young, Biblical Exegesis, 167).

History and Narrative

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historia was seen as one among many literary-rhetorical forms, it, like other narratives, ‘was meant to be a good, improving story’.41 In this, the Antiochenes are continuous with a longer Christian tradition of adopting the literary assumptions of Greek paideia: ‘[The Antiochenes’] sense of history belonged to the world of antiquity, where telling the story of the past was literary and edificatory.’42 In the face of scholarship that had not yet recognized early Christian exegetes’ debt to ancient understandings of historia, Young does the important work of establishing the fact that the Antiochenes adopted this understanding of history.43 Her argument, however, requires further support and clarification if for no other reason than those who have read her highly influential work continue to emphasize historicity when discussing historia.44 Although Chrysostom never defines historia, the contours of its meaning can be discerned from the contexts in which he employs the noun.45 His use of the term can be divided into two different exegetical contexts, whether he is interpreting ‘prophetic literature’ (including the Psalms and the latter prophets) or ‘prose’ (including both narrative and epistolary material). While the use of historia that is particular to prophetic literature is interesting,46 the ‘prose’ use – which actually occurs in his interpretation of prose and prophecy – is both more relevant to our discussion of providence and much more common than the other. In this common usage, historia usually means something like ‘story’ and has narrativity as its central feature. The past – that is, the narration of past factual 41 43 44 45

46

42 Young, Biblical Exegesis, 80. Young, Biblical Exegesis, 168. As indeed she attempted to do earlier in Young, ‘Rhetorical Schools’. For example, Hill, who appears to have read Young, Biblical Exegesis, interprets historia in exactly this way in his Reading the Old Testament in Antioch. As far as I have found, in the extant works, no ‘Antiochene’ defines historia. The closest approximation of a definition – and not a terribly adequate one – is found in Theodore of Mopsuestia’s Commentary on Galatians: ‘a narration of things that happened’ (rerum gestarum . . . narrationem); Rowan Greer, ed., Theodore of Mopsuestia: The Commentaries on the Minor Epistles of Paul (Atlanta: SBL, 2010), 114, line 25. A full-scale study of the almost 300 instances of the term still remains to be undertaken, in addition to a comparison especially to Diodore of Tarsus and Theodore of Mopsuestia. Nevertheless, I note here that Chrysostom is capable of employing the term in different ways – even if he predominantly uses it in a non-technical narrative sense. For example, he contrasts historia with prophēteia, not as two different senses of the same text, nor as ‘word’ vs. ‘event’, but as two different times of which a Psalm might speak – the past and present, respectively. See Comm. Isa. 2.5 (SC 304, 124,58–60); Comm. Isa. 6.6 (SC 304, 284,54–57); Comm. Isa. 7.7.35 (SC 304, 324,34–35). Exp. Ps. 117.5 (PG 55, 335,38–41); Exp. Ps. 117.6 (PG 55, 338,12). On very few occasions, Chrysostom contrasts reading ‘according to history’ with reading ‘according to anagogy’. See, for example, Exp. Ps. 46.1 (PG 55, 208,55–58).

40

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occurrences – is not the primary component of his definition of historia. Instead, it is the narrative form, regardless of the events being factual (and thus in a real past), which is constitutive of Chrysostom’s use of historia. This will especially be seen in Chapter 3. In fact, historia is often synonymous with, or at least very closely related to, narrative (διήγημα). Sometimes this synonymity is indicated as a hendiadys: for example, ‘narratives (διηγήματα) and histories (ἱστορίας) of ancient virtues’.47 But it is most often seen in statements of parallel syntax (usually an isocolon) in which the nouns historia and diēgēma serve the same grammatical function. The best example is from the homily Against those who had been present: ‘Let the wealthy hear, let the poor hear; for the diēgēma is useful to both. Or, rather, the historia is profitable to all men – both to those who prosper and to those who suffer.’48 Likewise, in On the Providence of God: ‘And if he is undisciplined, he is very quickly changed by the diēgēma to prudence, and established better by the historia.’49 Thus, when we speak of historia in Chrysostom, ‘story’ is usually a better rendering than ‘history’, or ‘historical narrative’. In addition to the apparent synonymity of historia and diēgēma, there are also instances in which historia is not employed to speak of a historical narrative (i.e., one with a real past) at all. Chrysostom is happy to call parables historiai, in full knowledge of what constitutes a parable. In his second homily on Lazarus and the Rich Man, Chrysostom speaks of ‘the historia of the rich man, Lazarus, and the things that happen to each of them’.50 We see the synonymity of ‘parable’ and ‘history’ even more directly in another homily about the same parable: ‘And why is it necessary to go through the parable? You know the whole historia: the savagery of the rich man, and how he didn’t give of his table to the poor man’.51 In yet another homily, the parable of the ten thousand talents (Matt 18:21–35) is also called a historia.52 This use of historia indicates that the emphasis of the term is less on its relationship to a real past than on its narrative form. This will become clearer as we go on to see his interpretations of specific biblical historiai. For now, it is enough to note 47 49

50 52

48 Exp. Ps. 121.2 (PG 55, 349,15). Adfu. 4.1 (PG 63, 478,45–48). Scand. 22.17 (SC 79, 266). This is seen throughout his works, though: for example, Hom. 1 Cor. 10:1 [Nolo vos ign.] 1 (PG 51, 243,18–21); Hom. Act. 54.2 (PG 60, 376,60–61); Hom. Act. 9:1 [Mut. nom. hom.] 1.3 (PG 51, 118,31–37); Hom. Act. 9:1 [Mut. nom. hom.] 2.2 (PG 51, 126,15–18); Dav. 1.7 (PG 54, 686,43–46). 51 Laz. 2.6 (PG 48, 970,219–21). Grat. 3 (PG 50, 657,19–22). Pecc. 11 (PG 51, 363,34–35).

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that Chrysostom’s use of the term most often focuses on its narrativity and is thus not exclusively nor even primarily the technical usage which we associate with ‘Antiochene’ interpreters.53 This emphasis on the narrativity of historia is less surprising in the light of the use of the term in ancient (including late antique) Homeric and tragic scholia. Among the scholiasts, historia can refer to ‘story’, rather than ‘history’, inasmuch as, on occasion, it is used to refer to ‘mythology’ or ‘mythography’; René Nünlist also notes that ‘the word ἱστορικός can . . . mean “mythographer”’.54 Further, if, for example, a tragedian were to deviate from a traditional story (Aristotle’s meaning of muthos), the tragedian would be said to be narrating contrary to the story (παρ᾽ ἱστορίαν).55 On the other hand, Chrysostom is clear that many of the historiai in Scripture are located in a real past, and therefore he often refers to a biblical story as an ‘ancient historia’.56 Even when he does not use this term explicitly, there is no question that Chrysostom believes many scriptural stories to have a factual basis. For example, he assumes that the events narrated in the book of Jonah occurred in a real past. His use of rhetorical historikē or to historikon – investigating the historical circumstances of stories – demonstrates this.57 For example, Chrysostom points to the historical circumstances of the difficulty of Abraham’s journey from

53

54 55 56

57

Although historicity appears to be central to Theodore of Mopsuestia’s exegesis, he too has a sense of the importance of the narrativity of biblical texts. Greer, Commentary on the Minor Pauline Epistles, xiv. René Nünlist, The Ancient Critic at Work: Terms and Concepts of Literary Criticism in the Greek Scholia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 259 n. 10. Thalia Papadopoulou, ‘Tradition and Invention in the Greek Tragic Scholia: Some Examples of Terminology’, Studi italiani di filologia classica 16, no. 2 (1998): 214–22. Although there are a few exceptions, the ‘ancient histories’ to which Chrysostom refers are scriptural stories, especially Old Testament histories that are related in New Testament books. Thus ‘ancient’ (παλαιά) is often relative to ‘new’ (καινή) in terms of the biblical Covenants, and the term is often used when an evangelist, Jesus, or Paul choose to draw on a narrative from the Old Testament. For example, from Paul, see Hom. Rom. 18.4 (PG 60, 577,31); Hom. 1 Cor. 15.3 (PG 61, 125,9–10); Hom. 1 Cor. 23.2 (PG 61, 190,49); Hom. 1 Cor. 24.3 (PG 61, 202,22); Hom. 1 Cor. 28.1 (PG 61, 234,2–3); Hom. 2 Cor. 15.2 (PG 61, 504,30–31); Hom. 2 Cor. 17.2 (PG 61, 520,19); Hom. 1 Cor. 10:1 [Nolo vos ign.] 1 (PG 51, 243,18–19). In other cases, Chrysostom is simply relating narratives from the Old Testament. See, for example, Hom. Act. 9:1 [Mut. nom. hom.] 3.2 (PG 51, 134,21–22); Pent. 1.1 (PG 50, 453,25); Stat. 14.1 (PG 49, 145,49); Stat. 20.4 (PG 49, 203,35); Exp. Ps. 43.4 (PG 55, 172,61); Saturn. 5 (PG 52, 418,9); Hom. Matt. 35.1 (PG 57, 406,11). He only uses this term once in his whole corpus, in a work that is decidedly more ‘scholastic’ than most of his homilies and treatises: Exp. Ps. 49.1 (PG 55, 242,14–15). On historikē, see Young, Biblical Exegesis, 78–87.

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Chaldea and notes that Job’s dunghill is preserved for pilgrims even to this day.58 He also speaks about the reliability of Gospel events due to the reports of ‘eyewitnesses’ (αὐτόπται).59 Still, even when historiai are located in a real past, the narrativity of historia does most of the exegetical work. Chrysostom is rarely concerned to prove the historicity or factuality of the events recorded in Scripture, but he is continually interested in the narrative forms of Scripture and how the historical circumstances shed ethical or theological light on the narrative.60 Although I will demonstrate Chrysostom’s attention to narrativity below, an example from his Homilies on John demonstrates the purpose of historia and historikē in his exegesis. Like Theodore of Mopsuestia (the other Antiochene) in his preface on the Commentary on John, Chrysostom also outlines the historical circumstances of the putative author of the Gospel, John the son of Zebedee. For Chrysostom, all the details about John the apostle are adduced to show his humble position: he was from Galilee, from which ‘no prophet arises’; he was a fisherman by trade, his father not being able to afford a better living for him; he had no worldly learning. But Chrysostom does this not simply to establish the facta. Rather, the Evangelist’s humble position leads Chrysostom to exalt the divinity of the Gospel: ‘When you learn who John was, and where and of what parents he was from, and what sort of person he was, then you may hear his voice and all philosophy; then you may know well that these things weren’t from him, but were from the divine power that moved his soul.’61 This is in contrast to Theodore’s work of historikē, in which he means simply to lay out the historical facts of the matter, to establish the authority of the author, and to explain why this Gospel diverges so much from the Synoptic Gospels.62 For Chrysostom, the historical facts – important as they are – ultimately reflect back on the nature of the narration. 58 59 60

61

Stag. 2.6 (PG 47, 457,44–458,54); Stat. 5.1 (PG 49, 69,3–8). See especially his discussion in Hom. Act. 1.2 (PG 60, 16,40–56). He does at times speak about narrations, narratives, or histories of events (ἱστορία / διήγησις / διήγημα πραγμάτων): Stat. 7.1 (PG 49, 93,7); Stat. 8.1 (PG 49, 97,27); Stat. 14.6 (PG 49, 151,43–44); Hom. Gen. 24.1 (PG 53, 206,33). But even here there is no real differentiation between events (πράγματα) and their narration (διήγησις). The genitive appears rather to be epexegetical, simply demonstrating the synonymity of historia and diēgēma. Thus, a ‘narration of history’ is often to be translated something like a ‘historical narration’. Also note that this genitive construction can work backwards (ἱστορίαν τοῦ διηγήματος), as in Laz. 6.4 (PG 48, 1032,22), showing that the genitive relationship is not particularly meaningful. 62 Hom. Jo. 2.1 (PG 59, 29,27–31). Theodore, Comm. Jo. prol. (Vosté 5–11).

The Subject Matter of Biblical History

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      Chrysostom indicates in several places what biblical history is a history of – that is, what historia’s subject matter (πράγματα) is. While not all identical, these statements, taken together, provide insight into what Chrysostom thinks biblical history enquires into. Scripture is, above all, a history of the righteous (οἱ δίκαιοι). Although biblical history is not, to begin with, a ‘history of salvation’ or a ‘history of covenants’, we do find that central to all of these histories of righteous persons are divine promises – and, indeed, divine providence. Chrysostom articulates most directly that the subject matter of history is the righteous in one of his Homilies on Lazarus and the Rich Man: For this reason, the history of divine Scripture is full of very many such examples: it shows us both the righteous and the evil suffering badly, so that, whether someone is righteous or a sinner, he might bear it nobly, since he has examples. But it shows to you not only those who suffer, but also the wicked who are successful, so that you might not be disturbed by their success, learning from what has happened to this rich man what kind of fire remains for them after these things, unless he repents.63

This longer explanation of historia applies specifically to Chrysostom’s interpretation of the parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man. Nevertheless, Chrysostom notes that historia is ‘full of many such examples’, demonstrating both good persons and evil persons flourishing and suffering. In this particular case, the example of Lazarus and the Rich Man demonstrates that despite current experience, God’s economy leads to the punishment of the wicked and the reward of the righteous. Thus, while we do learn that the characters in histories are exemplary – as has been noticed time and again (especially in recent scholarship)64 – we find here a more

63 64

Laz. 3.9 (PG 48, 1004,7–17). See, for example, the earlier book Louis Meyer, Saint Jean Chrysostome: Maître de perfection chrétienne (Paris: Beauchesne, 1933), 298–363. More recently, see Mitchell, Heavenly Trumpet; Pak-Wah Lai, ‘John Chrysostom and the Hermeneutics of Exemplar Portraits’ (PhD diss., Durham University, 2010); Demetrios E. Tonias, Abraham in the Works of John Chrysostom (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2014); Raymond J. Laird, ‘It’s All in the Mindset: John Chrysostom and the Great Moments of Personal Destiny’, in Men and Women in the Early Christian Centuries, ed. Wendy Mayer and Ian J. Elmer (Strathfield, NSW: St. Paul’s, 2014), 195–210; Massimiliano Signifredi, ‘La scrittura fondamento di una nuova cultura: alcune osservazioni sugli “exempla” biblici delle de Lazaro contiones di Giovanni Crisostomo (CPG 4329)’, Studi e Materiali di Storia delle Religioni 32, no. 1 (2008): 127–57; Guinot, ‘Exempla bibliques’.

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basic observation about the histories themselves: that the very subject matter of historia is ‘the righteous’. We hear something similar in Chrysostom’s fifty-third Homily on Genesis, on the topic of Jacob and Esau: But let no one who hears these things be astonished, when after this he sees the brother [Jacob] becoming a wanderer because he was afraid of [Esau]; and, [when he sees Jacob] being urged on to another place, let him not, when he attends to the beginning, think that the prediction fails. For whenever the Master promises something, even if we see things coming about that are opposed to the promises in the beginning, let’s not be disturbed. For it is not as if he fails just before the end. But this happens so that, when in everything the righteous (οἱ δίκαιοι) are demonstrated more illustrious, it prepares us for the abundance of God’s power to be made clear. And you will find this in the case of all the righteous (ἐφ’ ἑκάστου τῶν δικαίων), if you want to get to know all the histories with accuracy.65

Again, biblical history is full of exemplary characters. But at a more basic level, Chrysostom continues to note that, even if some stories are indeed about negative (evil) exempla whose behaviour ought to be avoided, the subject matter of biblical histories is most often the righteous, how they have suffered, and then been raised again. We also find in this passage that there is real theological significance to the history – in fact to all biblical histories. First, the righteousness of these persons is defined by, or predicated upon, their reliance upon God’s promises. Second, all histories testify to the reliability of God’s promises, despite appearances. Furthermore, the narrative shape of the story is what indicates its moral and theological significance. The passages that I have now cited can make it seem as if Scripture, as a history of the righteous, only says something about these righteous persons – hence the scholarly emphasis, over the last couple of decades, on scriptural figures as morally and pedagogically exemplary. However, even in the passages we have already seen, the righteousness of these characters is hardly a ‘Hellenic’ or even a ‘Stoic’ virtue, as has sometimes been suggested of Chrysostom’s use of exempla.66 Rather, the righteousness of these figures is a righteousness before, and in relation to, God and God’s activity; righteousness only exists in those persons who trust in God and in the promises that God has personally delivered to them. The relationship between human righteousness and divine character or

65 66

Hom. Gen. 53.5 (PG 54, 470,6–26). Tonias, Abraham in the Works of John Chrysostom, 15. Also see Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance, throughout.

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activity is especially seen in statements which are frequent throughout Chrysostom’s preaching, in which he pairs the human virtue with the divine love or providence that are displayed together in a biblical historia. These exclamations take the rough form of, ‘this demonstrates not only the just man’s virtue, but also God’s love!’ Many such comments occur in the Homilies on Genesis, but they can be found throughout Chrysostom’s corpus – especially when he is interpreting narrative passages of Scripture. To select just a few examples: I again want to introduce the theme of righteous Noah, so that you may learn well the righteous man’s great virtue (τοῦ δικαίου τὴν πολλὴν ἀρετὴν), and God’s unspeakable philanthropy (τὴν ἄφατον τοῦ Θεοῦ φιλανθρωπίαν), and the longsuffering which exceeds every explanation.67 Through these works he was taught, and he learned the piety of the righteous man’s obedience, and the excess of God’s providence for him (τῆς τε ὑπακοῆς τοῦ δικαίου τὸ φιλόθεον . . . καὶ τῆς περὶ αὐτὸν προνοίας τοῦ Θεοῦ τὴν ὑπερβολήν).68 Therefore, great is the virtue (ἀρετὴ) of these men, but greater still is the philanthropy of God (ἡ τοῦ Θεοῦ φιλανθρωπία).69 Not only those who live in Palestine but also those who live in Egypt learned both God’s providence for [Abraham] and the righteous man’s virtue (καὶ τοῦ Θεοῦ τὴν περὶ αὐτὸν πρόνοιαν καὶ τοῦ δικαίου τὴν ἀρετήν).70

Just as biblical narratives demonstrate the virtue, patience, obedience, love for God, etc., of the righteous, so they also put on display various divine characteristics: especially God’s love for humanity and providence. These latter two characteristics are closely related theological topics, embracing the whole of God’s relationship with and disposition towards humanity. Although, as we learned in Chapter 1, John is not particularly engaged in the philosophical debates of his age, he is aware of the popular philosophical distinction between the work of divine providence and the work of human beings (what is ‘up to us’ or what is ‘in our power’).71 This is the distinction maintained firmly in the above comments. Biblical

67 69 70

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68 Hom. Gen. 22.1 (PG 53, 185,60–64). Hom. Gen. 31.6 (PG 53, 290,44–46). Stat. 5.6 (PG 49, 77,44). Cat. ill. 8.8 (SC 50bis, 252,10–11). See many other examples – which list is by no means comprehensive: Hom. Gen. 21.4 (PG 53, 180,3–4); Hom. Gen. 24.4 (PG 53,212,4–5); Hom. Gen. 26.5 (PG 53, 235,59–60); Hom. Gen. 35.1 (PG 53, 321,44–46); Hom. Gen. 47.1 (PG 54, 428,19–21); Hom. Eph. 1.2 (PG 62, 12,28–29); Cat. ill. 7.29 (SC 50bis, 244,2–3). See Chapter 5.

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histories demonstrate above all human and divine actions: the virtue of righteous human beings and the love and providence of God. All of biblical history witnesses to these two activities. If any further evidence is required that Chrysostom is concerned with this distinction, questions will be put to rest when we hear Chrysostom’s continual recitation of the pseudo-Stoic dictum that ‘no one can be harmed unless he harms himself’, in the treatise with the same title. Everywhere throughout his reading of biblical history, Chrysostom is concerned with teaching about both God’s providence and what is up to us – because these are the very subject matter of historia. Therefore, when Chrysostom employs biblical stories in his pursuit of consolation, he does not simply do so because they are convenient rhetorical exempla. (It is important to recall that Chrysostom uses exempla much more extensively for consolation than do other Christian consolers of his age.) Rather, he does this because the place where God’s activity and ideal human activity are seen most clearly is in biblical historia. If one wanted to look for truths, divine and human, which will be of the most help to those suffering, biblical narrative is the place to start. The consolatory force of biblical narrative is so powerful not simply because it demonstrates divine and human actions but especially because these actions, when they are seen in narrative form, reflect on both narrative causation and the character of the actors. In narratives, actions do not exist in isolation but in relation to other events (hence causation) and in relation to persons (hence character). While divine and human causation and character will be discussed in more detail in the following chapters, for now I offer some discussion of the particular usefulness that historia in its narrativity holds for elucidating the notions of causation and character in relation to human and divine activity.

Causation History in antiquity, as now, was concerned with causes.72 This is one important place where historia and pronoia meet in Chrysostom’s preaching. Narrative on its own, as chronological sequence, is fundamentally 72

The interest in causes occurs as early as Herodotus. See Peter Derow, ‘Historical Explanation: Polybius and His Predecessors’, in Greek Historiography, ed. Simon Hornblower (Oxford: Clarendon, 1994), 75. This whole paragraph relies on observations made in Charles William Fornara, The Nature of History in Ancient Greece and Rome (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 104–20.

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concerned with causation, whether implicitly or explicitly. However, in Greco-Roman antiquity in particular, historia inquired above all into causes (αἰτίαι, προφάσεις). Herodotus famously inquires into the causes behind the war between the Greeks and the Persians and in doing so discovers many other aetiologies. Thucydides – whose understanding of what constitutes a cause seems intentionally at odds with that of Herodotus – nevertheless investigates the causes of the Peloponnesian War. Polybius investigates the causes whereby the Roman Republic gained dominance over the Mediterranean.73 As the genre of the historia develops, and the closely related genre of the bios also comes into its own, historical causes very often take on a different, moral utility, but causation nevertheless continues to be an important question.74 Plutarch’s bioi, while also political, are famously concerned with the ethical motivations of historical figures; and indeed by Chrysostom’s time, the moral utility (rather than the political or military utility) of history – and thus moral causation or motivation – was most often highlighted.75 Working within this larger historiographical context, Chrysostom finds that biblical history speaks about causes that are both divine and human. However, many of the biblical narratives upon which Chrysostom fastens are not, on the face of it, especially transparent in terms of causation, let alone in creating a distinction between divine and human action and causation. We might say, rather, that they demonstrate, for the most part, God’s power and faithfulness to his promises; but how divine activity is distinguished from, or related to, human activity is not usually spelled out in biblical narrative. This opacity of causation, though, is in large part the reason for Chrysostom’s frequent repetition of the imperative to ‘attend [to Scripture] with accuracy’: Considering all these things, I encourage you, let’s not simply gloss over what was said, but let’s scrutinize everything with accuracy, and let’s see the cause of what was said in every case (ἀλλὰ μετὰ ἀκριβείας ἐξετάζωμεν ἅπαντα, καὶ τὴν αἰτίαν τῶν λεγομένων πανταχοῦ σκοπῶμεν).76 73

74

75

76

See Polybius, Hist. 1.2. On the relationship between causes and utility in Polybius, see Kenneth Sacks, Polybius on the Writing of History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), 122–70. For an overview on the relationship between bios and historia, see Philip Stadter, ‘Biography and History’, in A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, ed. John Marincola (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007), 2:528–40. Lisa Irene Hau, Moral History from Herodotus to Diodorus Siculus (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016), has written the definitive book on how ancient histories offer moral teaching in their narrativity; she also notes that there is significant diversity among approaches, and develops a helpful typology. Hom. Jo. 39.4 (PG 59, 227,1–4).

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In order to read biblical history well, one must delve into the causes found there; these causes are not, however, immediately available upon a cursory, or inattentive, reading. The virtue of the ancient Greek historiographer, akribeia, must be employed.77 And an accurate reading entails, among other things, that one scrutinize causes. Thus, we hear in a homily on Matthew: Therefore, let’s not scrutinize simply the events, but also the time and the cause and the mindset and the differences between characters, and let’s inquire with accuracy (μετὰ ἀκριβείας ζητῶμεν) into all other things such as happened to them. For in no other way will we attain to the truth.78

For Chrysostom, akribeia resides in the divinely inspired text itself; in turn, the readerly discipline of akribeia is instrumental for coming to the causes that the text provides.79 God provides an abundance of meaning in every jot and tittle, and therefore even the minutest scriptural hints must be employed with attention if we want to interpret a text truly (ἀκριβῶς). This especially applies to determining a narrative’s causation. The investigation of causes (αἰτία; ὑπόθεσις) is morally complicated in Chrysostom’s work. Most often the preacher implores his audience not to pry, meddle, or look inquisitively into causes – especially the causes for the events in one’s own life. Prying is not only futile but will also throw one into spiritual confusion, allowing one’s soul to be disturbed time and time again.80 These causes, false as they are, lead one astray. At the same time, coming to a true interpretation (λογισμός) of the causes of events is vital for the health of one’s soul. And this is precisely where biblical history is valuable to its readers: in the causes it consistently highlights. When Chrysostom speaks against prying into the causes of events in the lives of his audience, he exhorts them to examine instead the lives of the righteous narrated in Scripture. Because biblical history is fundamentally about human virtue and divine providence, it provides the reader with the general causes and outcomes with respect to both personal responsibility 77

78 79 80

Thucydides is especially concerned to provide an ‘accurate’ (ἀκριβές) account, by providing accurate causes. See, for example, Hist. 4.47.2. Luke also draws from this historiographical tradition (Luke 1:3). Hom. Matt. 17.6 (PG 57, 263,5–9). See Robert C. Hill, ‘Akribeia: A Principle of Chrysostom’s Exegesis’, Colloquium 14, no. 1 (1981): 32–36. Richard Lim, Public Disputation, Power, and Social Order in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), comments on the social role of the language of curiosity in his chapter, ‘Meddlesome Curiosity, Mystification, and Social Order in Late Antiquity’ (149–81).

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and divine activity, with which we ought to interpret our own lives. When attended to carefully, biblical historia is the only reliable guide to understanding causation. The causes of events, in biblical historia as now, can therefore be assigned either to God’s activity or to human activity. Having already described providence in some detail in Chapter 1, as God’s activity in and upon creation, we will find it somewhat harder to provide a definition for human activity as a cause. What Chrysostom refers to as ‘what is up to us’ is hard to define because, in contrast to God and God’s activity, human beings are altogether inconsistent. While the variability of human action is important in Chrysostom’s teaching on what is up to us, Scripture especially teaches about righteous human beings who exhibit virtue: ‘the amazing history of the Scriptures (ἡ θαυμασία τῶν γραφῶν ἱστορία) . . . describes the lives of ancients . . . from Adam until the coming of Christ . . . so that it might teach you in every way that no one else is able to be harmed except the one who is harmed from what is up to him (τὸν παρ’ ἑαυτοῦ)’.81 Human characters in Scripture are thus mostly positive representations of what is up to us. Furthermore, as we will see below, virtuous human activity as a cause does not negate or impede divine causation, but God, according to his love, turns all human activity such that it brings about his salutary purposes. It is noteworthy that for Chrysostom demonic or diabolical activity does not figure into historical causation.82 For example, in the Consolation to Stagirius, Chrysostom entertains the question, ‘Why didn’t [God] do away with the deceiver in the beginning?’83 Using the examples of Adam and Cain, Chrysostom demonstrates that God cares providentially for humankind, while Satan’s powers are limited to persuasion alone. Interactions with the devil are ‘battles’, and, just as in human battles, one is responsible for one’s own performance: if the competitor does not train, and is slothful, then he will be defeated. Being slothful is even equivalent to welcoming the devil and allowing oneself to be persuaded by the enemy.84 On the other hand, the one who overcomes the persuasion of the devil is like the noble athlete who has trained, been brave, and, finally, endured. Thus, Chrysostom writes that 81 82

83 84

Laed. 12 (SC 103, 116,4–11). On John Chrysostom’s teaching on the activity of demons, see Samantha L. Miller, Chrysostom’s Devil: Demons, the Will, and Virtue in Patristic Soteriology (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2020), 57–65. Stag. 1.4 (PG 47, 432,14–15). Stag. 1.4 (PG 47, 434,26–28); Stag. 1.5 (PG 47, 435,40).

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‘not being persuaded [by the devil] is up to us’,85 and, about Cain, that ‘even at that time it was up to us – who were not forced, but who willingly bowed to him – that [the devil] overcame and conquered’.86

Character Biblical history in its narrativity is also powerful for communicating character, both human and divine. As we will see in much more detail in Chapter 6, biblical narrative characterizes primarily through a character’s actions. Chrysostom finds that Scripture most often characterizes God as loving towards humanity (φιλάνθρωπος), with which love, mercy, grace, etc., are bound up. Historia so effectively demonstrates God’s enduring philanthropic character because in it God acts in the midst of a great complexity of events and settings. The bare assertion, ‘God is philanthrōpos’, is much less effective in demonstrating God’s love than is historia because, even amidst the complex and often adverse series of events of the latter, God is proved to be philanthropic. Likewise with human action – though the picture is more complicated because human beings behave inconsistently throughout history. Nevertheless, human character, as virtue or vice, is discovered similarly through a reading of human action (‘what is up to us’) in all the complexities of biblical narrative. In an article devoted to Chrysostom’s understanding of the concept, Maksimilijan Žitnik describes philanthrōpia as ‘the underlying, decisive principle of God’s salvific action for human beings’.87 While Chrysostom’s understanding of philanthrōpia may come from his reading of the Wisdom of Solomon (1:6; 7:23; 12:19), the term is more prominent in the classical (pagan) tradition than it is in Scripture and was even at the centre of the emperor Julian’s attempt to revitalize traditional Roman religion.88 In Chrysostom’s work, however, the term is bound up with his understanding of mercy – both divine and human – and forms the basis of his thinking about God’s character.89 Chrysostom does not always, 85 87

88 89

86 Stag. 1.4 (PG 47, 432,18–19). Stag. 1.4 (PG 47, 432,23–25). Maksimilijan Žitnik, ‘ΘΕΟΣ ΦΙΛΑΝΘΡΩΠΟΣ bei Johannes Chrysostomus’, OCP 41 (1975): 86: ‘das allem zugrundeliegende, entscheidende Prinzip des Heilshandelns Gottes am Menschen’. Žitnik, ‘ΘΕΟΣ ΦΙΛΑΝΘΡΩΠΟΣ’, 77. Though little work has been done on divine mercy (ἔλεος) in Chrysostom, for the importance of human mercy / almsgiving (ἐλεημοσύνη) for Chrysostom, see especially Blake Leyerle, ‘John Chrysostom on Almsgiving’; also see Rudolf Brändle, ‘Jean

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though, firmly delineate God’s character from God’s action, since, as I noted, the way God acts is above all what indicates God’s character. Therefore, the terms providence (as action) and philanthropy (as character) can often be used interchangeably, such as we saw above in Chrysostom’s typical way of speaking: ‘Great is the virtue (ἀρετὴ) of these men, but greater still is the philanthropy of God (ἡ τοῦ Θεοῦ φιλανθρωπία).’90 Therefore, God’s providence and care are often spoken of together with God’s philanthropy, in discussion of God’s salutary actions in relation to humankind.91 On the other hand, the positive use of what is up to us is what Chrysostom calls virtue. Virtue is the positive character of righteous human actions, seen in Scripture. Although most of the treatise No One Can Be Harmed is taken up with exempla from scriptural stories, Chrysostom does something very uncharacteristic and briefly defines virtue: ‘What then is the virtue of a human being? . . . it is the accuracy of true teachings, and rectitude of life (ἡ τῶν ἀληθῶν δογμάτων ἀκρίβεια καὶ ἡ κατὰ τὸν βίον ὀρθότης).’92 Both ethics and right belief are up to us, and, when positively expressed, are together called virtue.93 Importantly, once he has described virtue as reliant on what is up to us, he then goes on to demonstrate by examples from Scripture that persons are not harmed in their virtue, nor even by the devil, but are instead improved by external affliction. Again, virtue is precisely what we have seen is demonstrated in Scripture – not least in the statement: ‘See God’s love and the righteous man’s virtue.’ Thus, the character of divine providence is philanthrōpia, and the positive character of what is up to us is virtue.

      ‘    ’ This overarching distinction between human and divine action – thus far conceived of as providence and virtue – is reminiscent of a much larger

90 91 92 93

Chrysostome: l’importance de Matth. 25,31–46 pour son éthique’, VC 31, no. 1 (1977): 47–52; Emmanuel Clapsis, ‘The Dignity of the Poor and Almsgiving in St. John Chrysostom’, GOTR 56, nos. 1–4 (2011): 55–87. Stat. 5.6 (PG 49, 77,44). See, for example, Exp. Ps. 8.8 (PG 55, 119,25–28); Exp. Ps. 144.5 (PG 55, 471,48–51); Scand. 8.12 (SC 79, 140). Laed. 3 (SC 103, 70,25–30). For one of the few scholarly treatments of virtue in Chrysostom’s thought, see Samantha L. Miller, ‘The Exemplary Role of Adam and Even in John Chrysostom’s Virtue-Building Program’, in John Chrysostom and Severian of Gabala: Homilists, Exegetes and Theologians, ed. Johan Leemans, Geert Roskam, and Josien Segers (Leuven: Peeters, 2019), 121–35.

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and enduring debate concerning Chrysostom’s stance with respect to the later Pelagian controversy. As unfair as judging Chrysostom’s teaching against later doctrinal standards may be, several scholars have demonstrated that even according to the rule of the Council of Orange, Chrysostom by no means falls into the Pelagian heresy.94 Rudolf Brändle has also adjudicated Chrysostom’s view of faith and grace, but according to categories native to the preacher himself.95 Brändle suggests that Chrysostom’s view of grace and faith stems from his concerns that (1) the will of the human being remain autonomous (against deterministic views) and that (2) God is shown in everything to work for human salvation. These two tenets correspond to his concerns for virtue and providence, respectively. Thus, while Chrysostom’s discourse of human and divine activity can be reconciled to the Council of Orange, he does not operate according to its terms. He simply does not think about what later came to be referred to as prevenient or common grace, since the relevant debates only begin in the West some years after his death – even if both sides employ Latin translations of his Commentary on Matthew in defence of their own doctrines.96 While not contributing to discussions of grace and faith as such, Chrysostom does make his own constructive contribution to a discussion of God’s regular ways of working for salvation and of the ways in which human and divine activity relate. As I have so far argued – and as will be seen in much more detail in following chapters – his typical way of approaching human and divine activity is through biblical narratives. Because of this emphasis on historia, when Chrysostom does conceive of the relationship between these activities, he is intent on discovering patterns of providential saving actions throughout the long history of 94

95

96

Especially Anthony Kenny, ‘Was St. John Chrysostom a Semi-Pelagian?’, ITQ 27, no. 1 (1960): 16–29. I want to emphasize that I am using the Council of Orange as a guide, rather than thinking about ‘Pelagianism’ itself, which is by no means a uniform movement or system: see Ali Bonner, The Myth of Pelagianism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018). Rudolf Brändle, ‘Synergismus als Phänomen der Frömmigkeitsgeschichte, dargestellt an den Predigten des Johannes Chrysostomus’, in Gnadenwahl und Entscheidungsfreiheit in der Theologie der alten Kirche. Vorträge gehalten auf der patristischen Arbeitsgemeinschaft, 3.–5. Januar 1979 in Bethel, ed. F. von Lilienfeld and E. Mühlenberg (Erlangen: Lehrstuhl für Geschichte und Theologie des Christlichen Ostens, 1980), 69–89, 113–21. See Wendy Mayer, ‘John Chrysostom’, in The Wiley Blackwell Companion to Patristics, ed. Ken Parry (Oxford: Blackwell, 2015), 141–54; Sever J. Voicu, ‘Le prime traduzioni latine di Crisostomo’, in Cristianesimo latino e cultura greca sino al sec. IV: XXI Incontro di studiosi dell’antichità cristiana; Roma, 7–9 maggio 1992 (Rome: Augustinianum, 1993), 397–415.

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God’s interactions with humanity. He derives no systematic rule of operative grace – how grace and faith must work or coexist – but instead finds narrative patterns in Scripture in which God and human beings have interacted in time. Chrysostom’s attention to narrative, then, is the central reason for his ‘synergism’: in biblical narratives, God and human beings interact in all manner of ways. In what follows, I demonstrate that Chrysostom’s pursuit of the question is primarily of an exegetical variety and then show some of the biblical patterns of interactions between God’s providence and human virtue in biblical history. Although many of the patterns (ἔθη) of Gods working that Chrysostom highlights concern almost exclusively God’s providence – some of which we will see in detail in Chapter 3 – a couple of them deal with the ‘exchange of goods’ of providence and virtue. That is, they consider what bearing human activity has on God’s providence and vice versa. These patterns are exegetical. Chrysostom comes to them by coordinating multiple biblical narratives in terms of the interrelation of human and divine activity. In turn, this is how we can expect the divine-human relationship sometimes to operate in our own age. The two patterns that we highlight here are (1) God giving much in exchange for a little and (2) God saving many for the sake of one righteous person. While the first appears to come close to what concerned Augustine and the later framers of the Council of Orange, it is nevertheless taken from Chrysostom’s careful reading of Scripture. In it, John considers the sacrifice that Noah makes after disembarking from the ark (Gen 8:20) and comes to a general statement of the human and divine interaction seen in the narrative: This is God’s habit: whenever small and cheap things are contributed from us (παρ’ ἡμῶν), he nevertheless gives much care to us from himself (παρ’ αὐτοῦ). And so that you might learn both the excess of human cheapness and your Master’s care, look with me here: whenever we want to contribute something, what are we able to demonstrate that as great or as significant as thanksgiving by means of words? However, what is up to him (τὰ . . . παρ’ αὐτοῦ) is fulfilled for us by means of deeds. And how could deeds ever be equal to words? For the Master lacks nothing, and needs nothing from us (τῶν παρ’ ἡμῶν), except words [of thanksgiving] alone. And he demands the same thanksgiving through words, not because he himself lacks it, but so that he might train us to be right-minded and to acknowledge that he is the provider of good things.97

97

Hom. Gen. 26.5 (PG 53, 237,52–238,6).

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Although Noah’s act of thanksgiving – his offering of a holocaust – is a small one, God nevertheless recognizes it and decides never to destroy the earth again. He further rewards Noah by blessing the patriarch and his offspring and renewing the gifts of creation originally given to Adam (Gen 8:21–9:19). In the rest of this sermon, Chrysostom is not unaware of the various exchanges that take place between God and Noah prior to this and the fact that God already granted salvation of Noah’s family as a reward for his virtue. Nevertheless, Chrysostom focuses on this particular narrative pattern: God’s usual, extravagant, overabundant response to a small, cheap, human offering of thanksgiving. He focuses on this pattern of human-divine interaction because he finds it elsewhere in Scripture, in a passage that is foundational for his ethics: Matt 25:31–46. His preaching on this passage is not only some of his most moving, but the passage is also fundamental for his ideas of God’s offer of salvation in relation to human action. A version of this pattern, corresponding to Matthew 25, is seen in his Homilies on Romans, as Chrysostom begins discussing the generosity of Christ. In this homily, Chrysostom, as is his rhetorical custom, employs an ethopoeia (speech-in-character) of Christ:98 For this reason, it is not as if, from you who owe me a repayment for very many kindnesses, I [Christ] demand back what is owed; rather, I graciously crown you, and I give the gift of the kingdom in exchange for these small things. For I say neither ‘release me from poverty’ nor ‘give me wealth’ – indeed I am a beggar for your sake. Yet I still ask for bread and a garment and a little relief from hunger.99

As Chrysostom makes clear throughout this homily, the little that we give is not thanksgiving but almsgiving (ἐλεημοσύνη) – mercy. The whole kingdom of heaven is given to us in exchange for offering a needy person – Christ himself – a morsel of bread, a cup of water, a fresh garment. So too in another Homily on Genesis, in which Chrysostom delivers an excursus on the help that the Widow of Sidon gives to Elijah: ‘See how this widow, in exchange for one handful of flour and a little oil, procured a perpetual threshing floor.’100 Chrysostom reminds his audience that it is not Elijah who gives the gift, but God, since he instructed the prophet in the first 98

99

Though, as Judit Kecskeméti, ‘Exégèse Chrysostomienne et exégèse engagée’, StPatr 22 (1989): 139–40, notes, Chrysostom’s uses of ethopoeia are more often counterfactual: i.e., he will introduce speech in character with the words, ‘he did not say . . .’. For example, we hear Abraham not saying something blasphemous in Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 438,25–29). I again note Brändle, ‘Importance de Matth. 25,31–46’. 100 Hom. Rom. 15.6 (PG 60, 548, 4–10). Hom. Gen. 42.7 (PG 54, 394,3–5).

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place. Chrysostom emphasizes that this hospitality is a form of almsgiving, and that, like this widow and the widow in the Gospel (Luke 21:1–4), ‘it is God’s habit to give a lot in exchange for a little’.101 In various places in Scripture, then, God reveals the way in which he often acts in respect to human action: that he gives salvation in exchange for paltry human actions – sometimes even mere words. While Chrysostom makes no systematic rules, he is aware of the theological problems that would come from making God’s grace anything but freely given. Nothing God does must be due to an insufficiency in God’s own self or in God’s gifts. If human beings are required to offer something small to God, whether almsgiving or thanksgiving, it is not because God in himself has need of it. Instead, God has ordered the economy of salvation such that small measures are required of human beings for their own good and salvation. Chrysostom says as much in the first passage quoted in this section: the salvation which God offers is, as David Rylaarsdam has so thoroughly shown, a pedagogical one.102 Therefore, even rendering thanksgiving in words – or confessing Christ as Lord103 – is not necessary because of some lack in God or in the salvation that he offers but has its source in God’s salutary, pedagogical will or plan (βούλησις, οἰκονομία) for human beings. God has providentially ordered things, and continues to act providentially, in such a way that all things are for the benefit of humanity, including those things that would seem, at face value, to make God a harsh or imperfect taskmaster. The second of these patterns demonstrates even more that Chrysostom is not asking the same questions as later Latin theologians but is reading the narratives of Scripture carefully to come to a picture of God’s care for his people. Like the previous one, it is concerned with salvation and oriented to the biblical narratives from the Old and New Testaments: in this case, those of Paul and Abraham.104 In these stories, Chrysostom reads God’s habit of bringing salvation to many on behalf of one faithful

101 102 103 104

Hom. Gen. 42.7 (PG 54, 394,41). Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy. Along similar lines, he says that ‘this confession [i.e., the recitation of the creed upon one’s baptism] gives us adoption’ (Cat. ill. 2.26; SC 50bis, 148,16). I refer to Paul’s life as a narrative because Chrysostom sees Acts as a sort of bios of Paul. Even when Chrysostom does not rely on Acts, he often constructs narratives of Pauline suffering from the letters themselves; see Stag. 3.11 (PG 47, 487–488). Pauline narratives are also evident in the hypotheseis at the beginnings of many of his Pauline commentaries.

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person: in Abraham’s case, his supplication of the visiting angels on behalf of Sodom (Gen 18:16–33), and, in Paul’s case, his mission to the nations: For these reasons . . . they enjoy the benefit of salvation: first, in honour of the righteous man; for it is the habit of the philanthropic God to honour his servants, and often to give them the salvation of others, which also was done in the case of the blessed Paul, the teacher of the world, who radiated the rays of his own teaching in every direction.105

Throughout Chrysostom’s interpretations of Paul’s letters, he notes the apostle’s preaching and suffering to bring salvation to others.106 He makes similar comments about Noah in his forty-third homily on Genesis, which is itself an exegetical sermon on Abraham’s appeals to the angels to have mercy on Sodom: See the magnitude of the destruction, and what sort of righteous men it introduces – since from time to him these men have even become the cause for the salvation of others. For Noah, when that fearful wave seized the whole world, he saved both his wife and his sons. And Job likewise became the reason for the salvation of others. And Daniel snatched many from death when that barbarian inquired into what is above human nature and endeavoured to destroy the Chaldeans, the sorcerers, and the diviners.107

Whereas Chrysostom sometimes seems to hint at, or edge towards, a Christological reading – especially in this latter case of God’s salvation of many because of the righteousness of one – he rarely goes this far. Even in this case, when he introduces so many parallel narrative exempla, he does not bring Christ to bear – at least not explicitly. Chrysostom is not making a generalizable rule for the cause of the salvation of all human beings, which then proves true in Christ, who is the fulfilment of the tupos. Instead, he is noting that, in many instances throughout history, God has brought the preservation of human life through human means and that God is apt to use righteous persons to this end. That Chrysostom is not laying down a universal rule of how salvation comes about is seen in his apparently contradictory comments elsewhere that we are not responsible for salvation of anyone other than ourselves: it is ridiculous, Chrysostom thinks, that this could be the case, as we are responsible only for what is up to us, not what is in someone else’s power.108 105 106 107

Hom. Gen. 24.4 (PG 53, 211,49–55). See, for example, Hom. 1 Cor. 25.4 (PG 61, 210,31–32); Cat. ill. 5.14 (SC 50bis, 207,3–4). 108 Hom. Gen. 43.1 (PG 54, 397,12–21). Laz. 6.6 (PG 48, 1036,37–1037,16).

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Chrysostom is not creating a grand soteriological or anthropological system, even if his thought is coherent in broad strokes. He interprets Scripture with an eye not to what God must do nor to what humanity must do – that is, what constitutes the divine or human natures – but what typically takes place throughout the course of biblical history. He does this through close attention to the narrativity of the historiai with which he engages. And, indeed, because he often offers compelling interpretations of these narratives, it is hard to fault him on exegetical grounds. It is tempting to characterize Chrysostom’s view of providence as ‘reciprocal’ or ‘cooperative’. And this is indeed how Benjamin Wayman describes Diodore of Tarsus’ theology of providence.109 Perhaps when operating with as small a corpus as Diodore’s Commentary on Psalms, such adjectives are helpful. And they may well also be true of Chrysostom’s understanding of providence. However, these terms do justice neither to the exegetical work Chrysostom does nor to his recognition that God’s pedagogical and salutary intent means that humandivine interactions can look very different depending on individual circumstances. Thus, while we could generalize about Chrysostom’s view of the relationship between divine and human activity, I propose that we instead attend to Chrysostom’s exegetical and theological ways of discovering the operations of God’s providence in history. Only from the great complexity of human history, as narrated in Scripture, can we hope to discover the mystery of grace and faith. In all the complexity of human history, God’s philanthrōpia and providence are the only true constants.

 Chrysostom’s approach to speaking about providence is at once pastoral and scriptural. Neither of these aspects of Chrysostom’s discussion of providence should surprise us; ‘pastoral’ and ‘biblical’ are adjectives often associated with John. However, we can now speak about his teaching on providence with much more precision. Chrysostom introduces biblical narrative into his work of consolation because he thinks that biblical narrative speaks, fundamentally, about God’s action – divine providence. In combination with the factual occurrence of God’s providential acts, the narrativity of biblical historia is also a source of consolation. This is something we will see much more of in the chapters that follow. 109

Benjamin D. Wayman, Diodore the Theologian: Pronoia in His Commentary on Psalms 1–50 (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2014), 119–62, 163–95.

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Importantly, consolation derives from Scripture itself – and not just Chrysostom’s deployment thereof, since he sees Scripture to be fundamentally about human and divine activity: virtue and providence. Scriptural narrative then provides a way for appreciating the sorts of patterns in which God usually interacts with human beings – and how he interacts with us in the present – if it is attended to with accuracy. Chrysostom sees it as his homiletical task to draw out the consolation that is already inherent in biblical narrative, for the sake of his audience. Before returning to the consolatory force of narratives again in Chapters 5 and 6, we will investigate in more detail the relationship between providence and historia over the course of Chapters 3 and 4.

3 Narrative Clusters, Providential Habits, and Typological Exegesis

Such is God’s custom, at first and from the beginning to turn whatever the devil devises against us on its head and to prepare it for our salvation. Rom. mart. 1.3 (PG 50, 610,40–49) See how great is God’s longsuffering: how not from the beginning, nor from the outset, does he show his own providence, but he allows everything to happen – even for [Sarah] to fall nearly into the throat of the beast – and then he makes his power clear to everyone. Hom. Gen. 32.6 (PG 53, 301,15–20)

John Chrysostom’s biblical interpretation has attracted the attention of exegetes throughout the centuries, no less after the ascendancy of biblical criticism than before. But whereas pre-critical readers of Chrysostom largely maintained the same intimacy with Scripture as Chrysostom did himself, modern biblical critics have largely made him – as an Antiochene – into their own image: a literal, historical-critical interpreter.1 The twentieth-century project of casting Antiochene exegetes as modern biblical critics is related to the attempt to rescue ‘typology’ as a form of allegory amenable to modern sensibilities: that is, one that was rooted in ‘history’.2 In recent decades, several scholars have offered a reassessment of patristic exegesis, providing a more sensitive analysis of 1

2

Famously, on the pre-critical/critical discontinuity, see Hans W. Frei, The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative: A Study in Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century Hermeneutics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974). Esp. G. W. H. Lampe and K. J. Woollcombe, Essays on Typology (London: SCM, 1957).

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Alexandrian allegory on its own terms. However, little scholarship has reassessed Antiochene exegesis on its own terms. (Frances Young’s work is the exception to this rule.)3 Although this chapter does not undertake a full-scale study, it does offer a re-reading of Chrysostom’s exegesis on its own terms, before turning to consider how he might fit into a larger Antiochene school of exegesis. The central argument of this chapter is that in his attempt to understand God’s providence, Chrysostom attends closely to narrative plots or structures. These narrative structures form the foundation upon which Chrysostom speaks of divine providence – as well as human virtue. Providence is not discovered, however, only in individual biblical narratives but especially when narratives are read alongside each other. By consistently clustering narratives together, Chrysostom finds God’s common ways of providentially intervening in the lives of his saints. Chrysostom refers to these recurring patterns of God’s providential care and deliverance as ethē: God’s habits of caring for human beings. Because Chrysostom finds that narratives cohere together according to their common narrative structures, God’s providential habits have distinct narrative forms. In Chrysostom’s providential reading of biblical history, we thus find how deeply interconnected are Chrysostom’s exegesis of biblical narrative and his theology of providence. In this chapter, I make several fundamental claims about Chrysostom’s exegesis. I begin by demonstrating that when Chrysostom employs exempla, whether to express human or divine activity – theology or ethics – he very often clusters narratives together. Although Chrysostom can rely on individual exemplary characters, he commonly interprets biblical exempla in conversation with one another. I then show that some of these clusters of exempla cohere around providential narratives – that is, narratives in which God’s activity is demonstrated. I employ two case studies of such providential narrative structures: one that coheres around a miraculous reversal of fortunes for those who have endured grievous affliction and another that coheres around a divine threat and a limited time for human beings to repent. Finally, I argue that these providential clusters constitute a sort of typology and even witness to a typological abundance within Chrysostom’s exegesis. The abundant narrative correspondences that Chrysostom finds in Scripture and exploits theologically are central to his exegesis. After thus examining Chrysostom’s exegesis on 3

Young, Biblical Exegesis. Also see Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘Patristic Rhetoric on Allegory: Origen and Eustathius Put 1 Samuel on Trial’, JR 85, no. 3 (2005): 414–45.

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its own terms, I compare Chrysostom’s exegesis with that of Theodore of Mopsuestia, who is otherwise often thought to have a similar exegetical ‘method’ to that of Chrysostom.

 In recent decades, it has become common for studies of Chrysostom’s exegesis to focus on individual biblical characters. While several articles of this sort were published before Margaret Mitchell’s work on the apostle Paul, subsequent publications have often taken their impetus from her work.4 Strangely, none of these studies, including Mitchell’s, recognizes the centrality of narrativity: rather than narrative, character has been the key structural element considered; there is, furthermore, scarcely any reference to the biblical narratives in which these characters are placed. The limitations of such an approach should by now be clear enough from what we have learned of Chrysostom’s attention to narrative. Equally problematic is that these studies discuss individual biblical characters entirely in isolation from one another, when, in fact, Chrysostom continually reads narratives together, side-by-side. To 4

Mitchell, Heavenly Trumpet. Earlier examples are Laurence Brottier, ‘L’actualisation de la figure de Job chez Jean Chrysostome’, in Le livre de Job chez les Pères de l’Église (Strasbourg: Centre d’Analyse et de Documentation Patristiques, 1996), 63–110; Laurence Brottier, ‘“Et la fournaise devint source”: L’épisode des trois jeunes gens dans la fournaise (Dan 3) lu par Jean Chrysostome’, Revue d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses 71, no. 3 (1991): 309–27. Studies that have explicitly followed Mitchell’s are Tonias, Abraham in the Works of John Chrysostom; Lai, ‘Hermeneutics of Exemplar Portraits’; Douglas Finn, ‘Sympathetic Philosophy: The Christian Response to Suffering according to John Chrysostom’s Commentary on Job’, in Suffering and Evil in Early Christian Thought, ed. Nonna Verna Harrison and David G. Hunter (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2016), 97–119; Douglas Finn, ‘Job as Exemplary Father according to John Chrysostom’, JECS 26, no. 2 (2018): 275–305; Douglas Finn, ‘Job and His Wife as Exemplary Figures in the Preaching of John Chrysostom’, ZAC 23, no. 3 (2019): 479–515. Although Wendy Mayer, ‘John Chrysostom’s Use of the Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man (Luke 16:19–31)’, Scrinium 4 (2008): 45–59, follows Mitchell’s chronologically, Mayer does not study Lazarus as an exemplar. Also see Catherine BrocSchmezer, Figures féminines du Nouveau Testament dans l’oeuvre de Jean Chrysostome: Exégèse et pastorale (Paris: Institut d’Études Augustiniennes, 2010). Whereas Tonias, Abraham in the Works of John Chrysostom, attempts to employ De Beato Abraham in a similar way, this work had previously been placed among the spurious works, and recently Sever Voicu has demonstrated that it is in fact a pseudo-Chrysostomicum: Sever J. Voicu, ‘Seconde spigolature pseudocrisostomiche’, Bollettino della Badia Greca di Grottaferrata 14 (2017): 315–17.

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examine Chrysostom’s use of only one character is to skip over the fact that it is exceedingly rare for Chrysostom to read a single narrative or character in isolation. Like all ancient Christian interpreters of Scripture, Chrysostom places all sorts of Scriptures alongside one another, especially narratives. Various scholars have observed that Chrysostom typically clusters scriptural quotations, but the significance of this fact is greater than these scholars have so far appreciated.5 Rudolf Brändle noted some forty years ago: ‘In Chrysostom’s homilies, especially in the paraenetic sections, a [scriptural] quotation rarely stands alone. The quotation which undergirds the main idea of the section . . . is usually surrounded by other quotations, which resound in harmony with the main quotation.’6 In his extensive study of Chrysostom’s use of Matt 25:31–46, Brändle recognizes that Chrysostom’s interpretation can only be fully appreciated in the light of the other Scriptures that are closely associated with it. However, because it lies out of the purview of his study, Brändle does not note that Chrysostom consistently relies upon groupings of narratives in particular.7 Wendy Mayer has briefly noted that biblical passages in Chrysostom’s works are sometimes ‘clustered’, and Laurence Brottier has referred in passing to Chrysostom’s use of ‘catalogues of exempla’.8 However, no study has ever been undertaken on this exegetical phenomenon, which is so prevalent in Chrysostom’s works. Many different kinds of these biblical narrative clusters can be found in Chrysostom’s preaching. Some of them occur very frequently, and others occur only occasionally; some include only two or three narratives, and

5

6

7

8

For example, Hagit Amirav, Rhetoric and Tradition: John Chrysostom on Noah and the Flood (Leuven: Peeters, 2003), also speaks about exegetical clusters but of a different variety and scope. Amirav argues for a common Antiochene exegetical tradition (into which Chrysostom fits) with recourse to a number of biblical verses employed to solve the problem of the ‘sons of God’ (Gen 6:2). Rudolf Brändle, Matth. 25,31-46 im Werk des Johannes Chrysostomos: Ein Beitrag zur Auslegungsgeschichte und zur Erforschung der Ethik der griechischen Kirche um die Wende vom 4. Zum 5. Jahrhundert (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1979), 59: ‘In den Homilien des Chrysostomos, vor allem in den paränetischen Abschnitten, steht ein Zitat selten allein. Das Zitat, das den Hauptgedanken des Abschnitts . . . untermauert, ist in der Regel umgeben von anderen Zitaten, die mit dem Hauptzitat zusammenklingen.’ Chrysostom does not cluster only narratives. See, for example, the cluster of Luke 16:19–31 and Matt 25:35–36, which Mayer, ‘Use of the Parable of Lazarus’, 57, draws attention to. Mayer, ‘Use of the Parable of Lazarus 16’, 57; Brottier, ‘Fournaise devint source’, 324–25: ‘catalogues d’exempla’.

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others include five or more.9 In some cases, Chrysostom’s engagement with the cluster is extensive, whereas in others it is only cursory. Although such variation can make it seem as if there is no significance to the observation that Chrysostom clusters narratives, there is enough consistency in many of these clusters that Chrysostom’s tendencies can be mapped without too much difficulty.10 Furthermore, while biblical narratives are sometimes clustered together for more superficial reasons, Chrysostom often identifies deeper underlying connections between narratives. Before turning to the providential narratives that are the focus of this chapter, I explore several examples of clusters that demonstrate their frequency and importance for Chrysostom’s exegesis. First is the cluster of Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau, and Joseph and his brothers.11 On the face of it, these narratives are clustered together because they are stories of brothers at odds with one another. In each case, though, Chrysostom specifies that envy is what moves the brothers to commit murder – whether real, pretended, or intended – against their brothers who were favoured. Just as Abel was favoured by God for his fitting sacrifice, so Jacob received the blessing from his father; and in turn, their respective brothers, Cain and Esau, were both led by envy to murderous intention.12 Elsewhere, when Joseph and his brothers are added to the cluster, Chrysostom demonstrates that none of the good brothers were harmed by their brothers’ bad intentions but instead became all the more illustrious.13 From this brief example, we can already see how John’s clustering of narratives has significant exegetical force: in this interpretation, deceptive and selfish Jacob joins the ranks of the otherwise blameless characters of the book of Genesis, Abel and Joseph.

9

10 11

12

13

For example, that the Flood narrative and the book of Jonah are clustered in several instances does not preclude either of these narratives from being clustered with other narratives. We have already seen that the Flood narrative could also stand alongside inter alia Abraham’s salvation of Lot from Sodom, inasmuch as these righteous figures preserve the lives of others through their virtue. I make no attempt here to be systematic, or to create a typology of clusters, since Chrysostom himself is not wooden in his use of them. For a simple list of exempla of these three, see Hom. Matt. 16.8 (PG 57, 250,25–26): ‘So Cain became a fratricide, so Esau, so the brothers of Joseph.’ Also see Hom. Rom. 12.8 (PG 60, 505,32–43); Hom. 2 Cor. 15.1 (PG 61, 503,38–47). Hom. Gen. 54.2 (PG 54, 473,14–32); also see Hom. Jo. 37.3 (PG 59, 211,61–212,10). Elsewhere, these characters are all said to disdain God: Hom. 2 Tim. 7.1 (PG 62, 637, 61–638,16). Hom. Matt. 40.4 (PG 57, 443,14–26); also see the surrounding discussion.

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Another cluster, that of Elijah and John the Baptist (and sometimes Elisha), also appears, on the face of it, to be a straightforward association. The connection between John and Elijah is already present in the Gospels themselves (Matt 11:13–14; John 1:19–20; Matt 16:14). While these three are sometimes taken straightforwardly as examples of ascetic discipline and the ‘angelic life’,14 who are illustrious in their poverty, the connection goes much deeper than this. Chrysostom carefully reads the narratives of which the characters form a major part, in 1 and 2 Kings and in the Gospels, and notices that each interacts prophetically with immoral authorities.15 Their voluntary poverty and ascetic practices present a stark contrast with the immoral royals, demonstrating the pitfalls of wealth and the virtue of poverty. In his age, only John, though without a home and without food, though a citizen of the desert, had the courage to speak freely (ἐλευθεροστομεῖν, with παρρησία) to Herod about his unlawful, impious actions.16 Elijah too, who wore a sheepskin, spoke to Ahab with courage.17 If the homilies are at all authentic, Chrysostom also famously understood himself as a prophet akin to these ascetics in his own homilies against the empress Eudoxia and in his defence of himself – homilies that led to his being exiled.18 The cluster of Elijah, Elisha, and John the Baptist thus goes much deeper than it first appears, and, in this case, also paints a picture of how Chrysostom sees his own homiletical task to be in keeping with the greatest among the prophets.19 Other clusters that Chrysostom employs are more straightforward. Paul, David, and Isaiah are Scripture’s authoritative trio of theologians.20 14 15 16 17 18

19 20

Inan. glor. 14 (SC 188, 94,209–10); Fem. reg. 10 (Dumortier 129,16–19); Virginit. 80.1 (SC 125, 378,11–13). Also see Hom. Matt. 68.3 (PG 58, 644,27–31). In addition to the other passages from Chrysostom seen in the footnotes below, see Hom. Matt. 90.4 (PG 58, 791,43–48). Hom. Rom. 16:3 [Prisc. et Aquil. serm.] 2.4 (PG 51, 202,45–59). Also see Hom. 2 Cor. 28.2 (PG 61, 592,53–593,24); Hom. Heb. 15.2 (PG 63, 137,13–29). Hom. Rom. 16:3 [Prisc. et Aquil. serm.] 2.4 (PG 51, 202,59–203,5). See especially Ant. exsil. 4 (PG 52, 431,28–432,8). Also see the sermon that followed next, in which he again invokes such a comparison: Cum exsil. 2 (PG 52, 437,11–27). Although the reference to Elijah and John the Baptist is scarcely out of the place, given what we see of his exegesis of these figures elsewhere throughout his corpus, there is a real question as to whether these homilies are genuine. See Emilio Bonfiglio, ‘John Chrysostom’s Discourses on his First Exile: Prolegomena to a Critical Edition of the Sermo antequam iret in exsilium and of the Sermo cum iret in exsilium’ (PhD diss., University of Oxford, 2012). For quite a different account of Chrysostom’s ‘prophetic preaching’, see Cook, Preaching and Popular Christianity, 105–38. Anom. [De incompr. hom.] 5.182 (SC 28bis, 286); Adv. Iud. 1.1 (PG 48, 843,12–13); Stat. 1.6 (PG 49, 24,26); Stat. 10.4 (PG 49, 117,10–16); Hom. 2 Cor. 4:13 [Hab. eund.

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Another common cluster involves narratives of punishment: the expulsion from Paradise, the flood in the generation of Noah, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the slavery in Egypt, the various exiles, and even Gehenna itself.21 We will also see a cluster of the Gospels’ faithful gentiles in Chapter 4. The cluster that appears most frequently in Chrysostom’s works, however, is associated with the topic of divine providence. This cluster demonstrates the providential plan, characterized by philanthropy, for those who suffer greatly in this life.22 Included in this cluster are some of Chrysostom’s favourite biblical narratives: in roughly canonical order, Abraham’s sojourn to Egypt (Gen 12:10–20) and his sacrifice of Isaac (Gen 22:1–19); the Joseph cycle as a whole (Gen 37–47); the frame narrative of Job (Job 1–2; 42); the three confessors in the furnace (Dan 3; to which Dan 6, Daniel in the lions’ den, is sometimes attached); and the parable of Lazarus and the Rich man (Luke 16:19–31). These narratives are all brought together (with other narratives added from time to time) in each of the three major works of consolation under consideration and in many more besides – especially in those series of homilies devoted to individual narratives in the cluster (On Genesis and On Lazarus and the Rich Man). The narratives of this cluster share a common structure that centres upon an important event: a ‘change of fortunes’ from the worse to the better, which God brings about for his virtuous saints. In addition to the extended exegetical passages that centre on the cluster, which we will discuss below, it also occurs in more cursory exempla lists: ‘Therefore whence was Lazarus crowned but poverty? And whence was Job approved but various and continual afflictions? And whence were the apostles proclaimed victors?’23 ‘Such was Lazarus, such was Job, and such was Timothy [the subject of the homily] distressed by numerous

21

22 23

spir. hom.] 2.1 (PG 51, 282,22–23); Hom. 2 Cor. 4:13 [Hab. eund. spir. hom.] 3.2 (PG 51, 291,38–40); Hom. Gen. 65.3 (PG 54, 562,24–27). In some of these instances, David and Paul are a pair. Inan. glor. 52 (SC 188, 150,697–702); Inan. glor. 58 (SC 188, 156,744–745); Oppugn. 3.8 (PG 47, 361,50–362,3); Exp. Ps. 110.3 (PG 55, 283,60–284,6); Exp. Ps. 110.6 (PG 55, 288,52–58); Hom. Matt. 6.6 (PG 57, 70,41–57); Hom. Matt. 13.1 (PG 57, 209,55–59); Hom. Matt. 75.4 (PG 58, 691,31–32); Hom. Act. 12.4 (PG 60, 104,23–38); Hom. Rom. 12.5 (PG 60, 501,22–24); Hom. Rom. 31.4 (PG 60, 673,23–37). Mayer, ‘Use of the Parable of Lazarus’, 57, notes that this is a ‘soteriological’ cluster. Scand. 4.16–17 (SC 79, 90). Also see Ep. Olymp. 14.1c (SC 13bis, 352,37–38).

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illnesses.’24 Job and the three youths are consistently seen together, as in the fifth Sermon on Genesis and On the Statues 4; Lazarus is added to these in On the Statues 5 and 6. Elsewhere, Job and Lazarus are mentioned together: ‘Remember the misfortunes of Job . . .. Remember Lazarus who contended with sickness and poverty . . .!’25 And it is not uncommon for Joseph and Paul to be added to these.26 Clusters are everywhere in Chrysostom’s exegesis and, as we will go on to see, they do significant theological and ethical work.

 :    Abraham, Joseph, Job, the Three Youths, and Lazarus all endure in virtue despite all the terrors that befall them. But, like the other clusters mentioned so far in this chapter, this one goes much deeper than it first appears. Chrysostom coordinates these narratives because he sees them as cohering around a common narrative structure – a deep structure – that testifies to divine providence. This deep structure or pattern of providence recurs throughout biblical history, and Chrysostom therefore refers to it as God’s habit (ethos). In this section, I focus more on the exegetical side of the ethos – that is, how narratives come to be coordinated – while in the following section, I focus on the theological side of things – that is, how an ethos relates to God’s providential working. However, the exegetical and the theological are at play in both of these clusters. To begin with, when Chrysostom coordinates narratives according to their whole plot-structures, as he does in this cluster and in the following one, it is helpful to think of the narratives of the cluster as sharing a common deep structure. According to formalist or structuralist narratological theory, a narrative’s deep structure is an abstraction of the narrative – including its particular setting, characters, and events – in terms of the series of events’ functions.27 Within narratives, events serve functions, 24 26 27

25 Hom. Phil. 12.3 (PG 62, 274,45–47). Stat. 1.10 (PG 49, 30,42–49). Laz. 1.10 (PG 48, 977,48–59); Laz. 4.5 (PG 48, 1013–14); Hom. Isa. 45:7 [Ego dom.] 7 (PG 56, 152,30–39). Here I draw on my previous study, ‘Healing Despondency with Biblical Narrative in John Chrysostom’s Letters to Olympias’, JECS 28, no. 2 (2020): 203–31. For a brief overview of ‘deep structure’, see Shlomith Rimmon-Kenan, Narrative Fiction, 2nd ed. (London: Routledge, 2002), 9–13. For the most influential (pioneering) theoretical works on this topic, see Algirdas Julien Greimas, ‘Narrative Grammar: Units and Levels’, Modern Language Notes 86 (1971): 793–806; Algirdas Julien Greimas, ‘Elements of a Narrative Grammar’, Diacritics 7 (1977): 23–40; Claude Lévi-Strauss, ‘The Structural Study of Myth’, in Structural Anthropology, vol. 1, trans. Claire Jacobson and Brooke

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which are each consequent upon one another. Events can, in theory, be assigned a limited number of functions, and thus, when two distinct narratives – with different settings, characters and events – have a common set of event-functions, they may be said to share a common deep structure.28 Deep structure differs conceptually from plot (or plot-structure; i.e., Aristotle’s muthos); for example, Daniel 3 and Daniel 6, the narratives of the Three Youths in the fiery furnace and of Daniel in the lions’ den, share a deep structure but not a plot. A plot has specific characters: Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego, Nebuchadnezzar, the king’s advisers, etc. A plot also has specific events: Nebuchadnezzar is manipulated by advisors, the three are thrown in the fire, they are miraculously saved from the furnace, Nebuchadnezzar praises God Most High, etc. These events follow a certain sequence and there is a causal relationship between events. In a deep structure, however, specific persons or events do not exist: only the functions of actions (and their agents) matter. Thus, in this shared deep structure, the characters are reduced to the functions of their actions: in each of these stories in Daniel there is one or more obedient/observant protagonists, deceivers or manipulators, an ignorant ruler; likewise, specific events are reduced to their functions, which are causally consequent:

28

Grundfest Schoepf (New York: Basic Books, 1963), 206–30; Vladimir Propp, Morphology of the Folktale, trans. Laurence Scott (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1968), originally published in 1928. Lévi-Strauss, ‘Structural Study of Myth’, famously theorized that it is the common deep structures that endow myths with meaning. It is hardly necessary to posit that Chrysostom was a narratologist of a formalist or structuralist variety in order to claim that he noticed structural similarities in biblical narratives. As Robert Alter discusses in The Art of Biblical Narrative, rev. ed. (New York: Basic Books, 2011), 111–41, classical biblical narrative – i.e., that compiled at the time of the Deuteronomistic history – has repetition as one of its major literary features. Also see Meir Sternberg, ‘The Structure of Repetition: Strategies of Informational Redundancy’, in The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), 365–440. Others, such as John Van Seters, Abraham in History and Tradition (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1975), 167–91, have identified repetition as a ‘folkloric’ aspect to biblical narrative, especially with respect to the ‘matriarch/patriarch in danger’ narratives of Gen 12:10–20, Gen 20, and Gen 26. Late biblical narrative, such as what we have now seen in Daniel, also shares this literary feature. Chrysostom also would have been familiar with narrative repetition from his education in Greek literature. See, for example, Timothy Long, Repetition and Variation in the Short Stories of Herodotus (Frankfurt am Main: Athenäum, 1987). Whatever his education, however, Chrysostom was interested in reading stories and was a careful reader of them; see him comparing ‘our’ stories in Scripture (during the liturgy) to ‘their’ stories on the stage: Dav. 1.7 (PG 54, 686,40–44).

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manipulation of the king, illicit religious observance, punishment, divine deliverance, praising God, ascending the ranks of the kingdom. Daniel 3 thus shares a deep structure with Daniel 6 even while otherwise importance specifics of plot differ: the time and place of the persecutions, different observances and different punishments for them, and even a different number of protagonists.29 The place where the deep structure of the cluster of Joseph, Job, the Three Youths, Lazarus, etc., is laid out most clearly is in one of Chrysostom’s Letters to Olympias. In this letter, Chrysostom re-narrates at length some of the cluster’s narratives and provides a particularly lucid description of the cluster’s deep structure: Therefore, let none of the things that are happening disturb you, but give up calling upon this or that person and chasing shadows (for this is what a human alliance is), and continually call upon the God whom you serve just to incline his head, and everything will be resolved in a single moment. But if you already did call upon him, and they haven’t been resolved, such is God’s custom (ἔθος): not to bring terrors to an end in the beginning (ἐν προοιμίων) – here I take up my previous discussion – but when it is brought to a head (κορυφωθῇ), when it has increased, when barely anything of the enemies’ evils are left, then, all of a sudden, he changes (μεταβάλλειν) everything to tranquillity, and leads all of these events to unexpected (ἀπροσδοκήτους) conclusions.30

In this deep structure, there are no particulars: no agents – other than God who is constant – no settings, and no particular events. The non-specific events are reduced to functions that apply (more or less) to all the narratives in the cluster: first, the increasing of undisclosed ‘terrors’ to a ‘fever pitch’, then a both sudden and radical change (μεταβολή) for the better, leading to a happy result. As Chrysostom notes in the above passage, he had mentioned the same deep structure earlier in the same letter; in fact, the above quotation is a repetition, almost verbatim, of the letter’s earlier description: But if [God] doesn’t [ease the storm] at the beginning (ἐκ προοιμίων) and immediately (εὐθέως), such is his custom (ἔθος): not to resolve terrors at the beginning (ἐν ἀρχῇ), but when they have increased, and come to completion (τέλος), and most are 29

30

In contrast with a shared deep structure, when stories share a plot (μῦθος), only the narration differs. In Scripture, the best examples of this are ‘re-written Scripture’, especially Chronicles’ rewriting of Samuel and Kings. The events, characters, and settings are mostly identical, but the narration (the manner of the telling) differs. In the case of comparing these writings, resorting to deep structure would be theoretically unnecessary, because these stories share much more than just deep structure. Ep. Olymp. 7.2b (SC 13bis, 138,9–19).

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in despair, then he works wonders and acts contrary to expectation (θαυματουργεῖν καὶ παραδοξοποιεῖν), demonstrating his own power, and training in patience through what has occurred.31

Here again Chrysostom explicitly provides the deep structure, naked of particulars: first, the saint is afflicted; this affliction becomes extreme; at the very point when this affliction has reached its summit and salvation is despaired of, then immediately God intervenes for a radical and positive change of circumstances. In what follows from Chrysostom’s second explanation of the deep structure (which I quoted first), we see that Chrysostom comes to this abstract structure on the basis of particular biblical narratives. He proceeds to re-narrate the story of the three youths in the furnace in keeping with this deep structure:32 For wasn’t he able from the beginning (ἐκ προοιμίων) to keep the three children from falling into this trial? But he didn’t want this, amassing for them abundant riches. Therefore, he allowed them to be handed over to the barbarians, for the furnace to be kindled to an extraordinary heat, for the king’s anger to be kindled more dangerously even than the furnace, for their feet and hands to be bound with great violence, and for them to be thrown into the fire. And when all those who were watching despaired of their salvation from it, then, all of a sudden and against all hope (ἀθρόον καὶ παρ᾽ ἐλπίδα), the wonderworking (ἡ θαυματοποιΐα) of God – the incomparable artist – appeared and shone forth exceedingly. For the fire was bound, and the bound were released; the furnace became a temple of prayer, a fount of pure water more revered than a royal court, and the nature of their hair overcame that all-consuming substance which prevails over iron and stone and overpowers all matter.33

This narration of the three youths clearly follows the deep structure that Chrysostom already laid out abstractly. And, even if not at such length, this deep structure is seen elsewhere in Chrysostom’s letters to Olympias, when Job, Paul and Lazarus are all adduced as examples of patience (ὑπομονή) in the midst of suffering: ‘And that those who have been prosperous gain many great things from [patient suffering] is clear from Job, since from then on [i.e. after his suffering] he was even more illustrious.’34 Although Chrysostom focuses not on the events themselves, but

31 32

33 34

Ep. Olymp. 7.1b (SC 13bis, 134,28–33). On Chrysostom’s various interpretation of this story, see H. F. Stander, ‘Chrysostom’s Interpretation of the Narrative of the Three Confessors in the Fiery Furnace’, Acta Patristica et Byzantina 16 (2005): 91–105; Brottier, ‘Fournaise devint source’. Ep. Olymp. 7.2c (SC 13bis, 138,24–140,38). Ep. Olymp. 17.3c (SC 13bis, 380,53–55).

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on Job’s fame, there is nevertheless a great change. Job’s suffering, like that of the three youths, reaches a point where it is beyond human hope: ‘And when the greatest athlete of endurance encountered bodily sickness, he thought that death would be a release from the terrors that surrounded him. And when he suffered everything else, he did not feel it, and indeed, receiving blow after blow, and finally a deadly one.’35 Because Chrysostom in this letter focuses on human activity rather than divine activity, he emphasizes the benefits that are accrued from suffering. And in these stories, these benefits are the narrative ends of suffering, according to God’s providential ordering of things: the benefits accrue throughout the suffering and are also received upon its completion. This deep structure is neither limited to Job and the three confessors nor is it confined to the Letters to Olympias. In On the Providence of God, Chrysostom narrates another Old Testament story on the basis of the same deep structure: [Consider] that better things will happen after this – and a greater miracle (παραδοξοποιΐα). Thus, just as the beginning was difficult in the time of Joseph, and for a long time things proceeded which seemed to be contrary to the promise (ἀπεναντίας. . . τῇ ὑποσχέσει), later things occurred which were even better than he anticipated (προσδοκηθέντων). So also, in the time of the cross, not immediately, nor at the outset and in the beginning (οὐκ εὐθέως, οὐδὲ ἐν προοιμίοις καὶ ἐν ἀρχῇ), did every perfection shoot forth, but scandal proceeded, and a few signs occurred for the sake of the astonishment (θαύματος) and correction of those who dared to do these things, and immediately (εὐθέως) all these things fled.36

The only substantial difference between the deep structure of the Joseph cycle seen here and the deep structure seen above in the Letters to Olympias is that the suffering is described as ‘contrary to the promises’. Although there is no mention that suffering is contrary to God’s promises in the other narratives that share this deep structure, the idea is perhaps implied in the very idea of suffering of the righteous and questions of theodicy: namely, that such events which befall the saints often appear to be opposed to justice or to God’s providential care for them. When Chrysostom specifically brings events ‘contrary to the promise (s)’ to bear, he often introduces Joseph (as above) and Abraham into the same deep structure of reversal of fortunes. That these characters received promises of good things from God, only to have their hopes dashed, serves to heighten the suffering of the protagonist: not only are the events themselves hard to bear, as in the case of the other figures, but Abraham 35

Ep. Olymp. 17.2b (SC 13bis, 372,20–25).

36

Scand. 20.8 (SC 79, 248).

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and Joseph were both led to believe, through divine promises, that things would turn out otherwise. Afflictions are not only severe but represent a threat to God’s promises. In Abraham’s case, the threat to the promise comes when he and Sarah are forced to go down into Egypt, and Sarah ends up as Pharaoh’s wife (Gen 12:10–20): See how great is God’s longsuffering: how not from the beginning, nor from the outset (οὐκ ἐξ ἀρχῆς, οὐδὲ ἐκ προοιμίων), does he show his own providence, but he allows everything to happen, even for the woman to fall nearly into the throat of the beast, and then (τότε) he makes his power clear to everyone.37

Elsewhere in the same homily, these events are articulated as ‘contrary to the promise’. The same thing is reported with respect to Abraham in the narrative of his sacrifice of Isaac.38 In Joseph’s case, however, this deep structure is spoken of not with respect to individual episodes but with respect to the whole of the Joseph cycle (Gen 38–47). The promises are threatened but in the face of these great threats the events are reversed and the promises miraculously fulfilled.39 The narratives that Chrysostom clusters together according to this deep structure can appear quite different from one another. For example, in the parable of Lazarus and the Rich man, the ends of suffering – and the reversal of fortunes – happen only after death; in Job, and in other Old Testament narratives, they happen in this life. Differences in the specificity and the time of the events, however, do not negate the common deep structure that Chrysostom finds, since the functions of the events are found to be structurally similar: first, suffering beyond human hope, then a great reversal of fortunes, then restoration and reward. This reading of the deep structure, then, represents a careful, if harmonizing, reading of the narratives themselves. First, the character is righteous: Job is ‘true, spotless, righteous, pious, having nothing to do with evil’ (Job 1:1); Abraham obeys God’s call to leave his home and his family; Lazarus – Chrysostom argues from silence – blasphemes not at all despite the extremity of his suffering. Next, the character suffers unexpectedly, threatening his virtue: Job loses everything of value to him, his home, his family, even his own good health; Abraham is forced to give up the land promised to him and the hope of offspring by his wife; Lazarus is impoverished, sick, has no one to comfort him, indeed, he suffers in at

37 39

38 Hom. Gen. 32.6 (PG 53, 301,15–20). Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 438,17–24). In perhaps a less justified employment of this deep structure, Chrysostom speaks about Jacob in the same way in a later homily on Genesis (Hom. Gen. 53.5; PG 54, 470,10–19).

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least nine ways.40 Then, when this suffering reaches its extremity (in length or intensity), God suddenly reverses the protagonist’s fortunes: God speaks to Job from the whirlwind; God plagues Pharaoh until he returns Sarah to Abraham; in his death, Lazarus is rewarded, and the Rich Man suffers. Finally, this reversal leads to a sort of restoration: Job’s family and fortune are restored two-fold; Pharaoh provides Abraham with great riches and sends him back to Canaan; and Lazarus reclines at the bosom of the most hospitable of the saints. So also in the cases of the Three Youths and of Joseph, this series of events and their functions hold. Each narrative shares in the deep structure, according to the causational functions of events. Thus, as different as these narratives are on the surface, the particularity of events does not prevent them from sharing a deep structure. This reading of the reversals of fortunes is grounded in Chrysostom’s classical education but is also transformed according to the preacher’s understanding of providence. In the Poetics, Aristotle famously refers to the reversal of fortune as a peripeteia, defined as ‘the change of events to their opposite’.41 Despite the similarity between Aristotle’s and Chrysostom’s language, Chrysostom insists at one point in the Homilies on Lazarus that these changes are not peripeteiai.42 What lies behind his denial is likely a rejection of a popular determinism (‘chance’) in the alternative form of his usual expression ‘change of circumstances’ – that is, ‘change of fortune’ (metabolē tychēs). Chrysostom is careful never to use this otherwise very common form of the expression.43 Whether he is rejecting this, or Aristotle’s own naturalistic understanding of narrative causation and change,44 he is certainly inserting his particular Christian 40 41

42 43

44

Beginning at Laz. 1.9 (PG 48, 975,42). ἡ εἰς τὸ ἐναντίον τῶν πραττομένων μεταβολή (Poet. 1.11; 52a22). The idea of a ‘change of fortunes’ is so prevalent in Greek literature – including both tragedians and historiographers – that this observation is hardly worth qualifying. Nevertheless, Aristotle’s emphasis on the change to ‘the opposite’ is also very important to Chrysostom. Laz. 4.6 (PG 48, 1014,36–37). See inan. glor. 43 (SC 188, 140,583–585), where he uses the term in a positive sense. See, for example, Polybius, Hist. 1.1.2, where ‘changes of fortunes’ (τὰς τῆς τύχης μεταβολὰς) are central to the telling of history; also see Hist. 6.2.6. Elsewhere Polybius uses metabolē pragmatōn as a synonym (Hist. 3.3.2; 9.23.4; 9.26.6; 30.8.6). Aristotle continues his definition of the peripeteia (as ‘the change of events to the opposite’) with ‘according to necessity’. About this, Stephen Halliwell, Aristotle’s Poetics (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1986), writes, ‘the root causes of the metabasis, the transformation in the status and fortune of the tragic figure, lie in the action itself, and are not the result of an arbitrary impingement of chance or any other irrational force. This much, at any rate, is what the theory ideally prescribes’ (214).

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understanding of changes of circumstances that are caused by divine providence. For Chrysostom, changes of circumstance are neither a result of chance nor (per Aristotle) merely the ‘realization’ of an earlier action in the story. Rather, for Chrysostom the metabolē is caused by God’s miraculous providence.45 In this deep structure, Chrysostom finds a narrative pattern – a habit (ἔθος) – according to which God has providentially intervened in the lives of the saints in the past. As seen in this cluster, God consistently operates according to this pattern throughout history. While it is not the case that we can thereby predict the future, this habit and other habits allow us to interpret our own experiences according to the same narrative structures and therefore to judge concerning God’s providence in our lives. These are not merely narrative patterns; they also demonstrate the way God has worked in the past and how he continues to work.

 :    Whereas many scholars have commented upon Chrysostom’s interpretation of biblical figures as exempla of virtue, few have so much as mentioned the role of divine providence in biblical historia. Apart from a few scholars having briefly noted that Chrysostom holds to both ‘cosmic’ and ‘historical’ dimensions of providence, neither of these topics has been pursued in any detail.46 In this section, therefore, we hear of another of God’s ethē, which coheres around a narrative deep structure and explore more deeply how these ethē relate to God’s providence. We have heard already how God’s providential economy is characterized by love for humanity. Generally speaking, it is God’s habit to work providentially to the end of the salvation, good repute, and honour of the righteous. In Chrysostom’s final work, he writes, ‘the economy looks to one end . . .: our salvation and good repute’.47 Around the same time, he also writes in a letter to Olympias that God is a skilful helmsman (κυβερνήτης), whose habit (ἔθος) is to work wonders on behalf of his saints.48 This ethos – of working time and again for the salvation, honour, and good repute of the righteous – is seen throughout Chrysostom’s 45

46 47

As Halliwell notes, Aristotle’s account of tragedy, unlike the reality of many of the ancient tragedies, does not include any religious component: that is, gods are precluded as actors in the case of a well-written tragedy (Aristotle’s Poetics, 214–15). It is mentioned by Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance; Dragas, ‘Doctrine of God’s Providence’; and others. 48 Scand. 9.5 (SC 79, 146). Ep. Olymp. 7.1a–b (SC 13bis, 134,15–33).

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corpus, especially in relation to his exegesis of history. This is what Chrysostom calls elsewhere the ‘economy of providence’:49 And such is God’s custom (ἔθος τῷ Θεῷ τοιοῦτον), at first and from the beginning, to turn whatever the devil devises against us on its head and to prepare it for our salvation. But look: the devil threw out the man from paradise, and God opened heaven up to him; the devil expelled him at the beginning upon the earth, and God gave him the kingdom of heaven, and on the royal throne he placed our nature.50

Even if this is a typical way for Chrysostom to speak about the Fall specifically, God’s working against evil and for salvation is something Chrysostom identifies all throughout biblical history. Salvation is brought about by many and various means but is directed to this single end. But Chrysostom also speaks with much more specificity about God’s (plural) ethē. Whereas it is God’s ethos, generally, to care for humanity and to bring his saints to salvation, there are many specific habits that God employs to bring about this common end. Chrysostom comes to these specific ethē through his reading of biblical history and, as we have now seen, deep structures common to biblical narratives. Inasmuch as Scripture is a finite, temporally bound revelation of the work of an immeasurable God, the multiplicity of God’s providential ways of working fall into a finite number of patterns. And these patterns are consistent throughout biblical history because God acts consistently. In another of these providential ethē, which is present especially in Homily 25 on Genesis and Homily 3 On the Statues, God threatens humanity with punishment. When God threatens, he also announces the allotted amount of time that will precede the punishment, in order that those whom he threatens might repent. The historiai that Chrysostom relies on for this ethos are that of Noah and the Flood (Gen 6–10) and that of the repentance of Nineveh in response to Jonah’s preaching (Jonah 1–4).51 When Chrysostom makes his usual statements about this particular ethos, he always refers to at least one of these narratives and more often to both. In his twenty-fifth homily on Genesis, Chrysostom describes the ethos: See the Master’s philanthropy, how on various occasions he treats their sicknesses just as the best doctor does. For since their wounds were incurable, he brings about so great an extent of time (τοσοῦτον μῆκος . . . προθεσμίας) for them, wanting,

49 51

50 Stag. 1.7 (PG 47, 441,22). Rom. mart. 1.3 (PG 50, 610,40–49). See Sean Hannan, ‘Nineveh Overturned: Augustine and Chrysostom on the Threat of Jonah’, JECS 28, no. 1 (2020): 61–87.

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by the length of time, to recall them to come to their senses. For, since he cares providentially for our salvation, it is always his habit (ἔθος γὰρ αὐτῷ ἀεὶ, ἐπειδὴ κήδεται τῆς σωτηρίας τῆς ἡμετέρας) to announce beforehand what chastisements he is about to apply (προλέγειν ἃς μέλλει ἐπάγειν τιμωρίας), for this reason only: that he may not apply them . . .. But he announces it beforehand (προλέγει) purposefully, so that we may learn and become prudent by fear, and change his displeasure, and invalidate his decisions. For nothing pleases him as much as our correction and our return from evil to virtue.52

Throughout this homily, Chrysostom focuses on the amount of time that God gave the wicked on earth, in the time of Noah, to repent of their sins: 100 years.53 Because God here provides a specific time frame (μῆκος προθεσμίας) for repentance, Chrysostom is able to relate the story to another narrative that also has a promised, specific span of time preceding a threatened chastisement for wickedness: the sin of the Ninevites in the book of Jonah. In the case of the Ninevites, as Jonah’s brief sermon announces, the impending destruction is only forty days away. But, unlike the human beings in the time of Noah, the Ninevites do repent. Chrysostom finds that these narratives, when they are read together, demonstrate a particular providential ethos – as he notes in the quotation above. Such a reading shows, above all, God’s providential care. But it is not just a proof of the mere fact of God’s providential care; rather, his providence is worked out in specific ways in reference to specific events and righteous persons. Furthermore, Chrysostom’s reading of these narratives highlights that whereas what is up to us is variable, in stark contrast, God’s ethos is consistent. He always exercises his providence in specific ways. Not long after the above passage, Chrysostom writes this: In the case of those who show their own right-mindedness, [God] revokes his sentences on account of his own goodness, and he admits those who change and acquits them of the imposed penalties; so also, when he had promised either to give someone goods, or a limited period for repentance (προθεσμίαν μετανοίας), but saw they were unworthy, in this case he then revoked his promises.54

52 53

54

Hom. Gen. 25.3 (PG 53, 221,47–61). Compare Gen 6:3 and Gen 7:6 LXX. Gen 6:3 LXX reads ‘My spirit will surely not remain in these men forever . . . But their days will be 120 years.’ Chrysostom thus reads this as a warning that the flood will come in 120 years. When it ends up coming in 100 years, Chrysostom must explain why it is twenty years short of the original pronouncement. Hom. Gen. 25.1 (PG 53, 221, 4–11).

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God’s will or plan (βούλησις)55 works consistently to bring sinners to repentance and thus to salvation. Regardless of how the characters in the Jonah narrative and the Flood narrative react to such great or small proclamations, in each case God warns and provides a fixed time for change, for repentance. This is one of God’s great habits of providentially working for the benefit and salvation of humanity. As in the deep structure in the previous section, Chrysostom comes to this providential ethos from his close attention to the biblical histories themselves. He ‘attends with accuracy’ to the age of Noah: when he receives the order and when the flood eventually comes – this interval is 100 years and 7 days (Gen 7:10–11). He attends to the details even more than this, noting that the magnitude of the ark is further evidence of the greatness of the punishment to come upon the whole earth.56 He also reads the Jonah narrative closely, noting not only that the Ninevites fasted but also that God saw that they changed their deeds and turned from their evils ways (Jonah 3:10): their fasting was not merely fasting but was a sign of true repentance. And, as we have now seen, God’s philanthropy and providence bring about both the threat and the destruction. Chrysostom is famous for his homiletical digressions. This is how Bernard de Montfaucon’s ‘Benedictine Edition’ refers to Chrysostom’s use of the Jonah narrative in the Genesis homily from which I have been quoting; Robert C. Hill follows this assessment.57 While I cannot help but agree that Chrysostom often digresses, in this case – as in many others – the digression is instructive for Chrysostom’s way of interpreting the primary text under consideration. While the Flood narrative is the primary text, Chrysostom, as he so often does, reads narratives together in a cluster. Chrysostom brings the Jonah narrative to bear upon the Flood narrative because together they provide a picture of God’s particular and consistent philanthropic providence and the variability of human responses to God’s salutary threats. There is, again, a common deep structure to this ethos: first, human beings are badly behaved; second, they are warned and a fixed time for repentance (προθεσμία μετανοίας) is provided; and the third event depends on the response of the warned party: they receive either pardon (συγγνώμη) or punishment (τιμωρία). Chrysostom’s investigation of this 55 56 57

Part of Nemesius’ of Emesa’s definition of pronoia: see p. 23. Hom. Gen. 25.1 (PG 53, 219,15–18). See Robert C. Hill, Saint John Chrysostom: Homilies on Genesis 18–45, FOTC (Washington, DC: CUA Press, 1990), 126.

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narrative structure and its causes leads him to discover how God’s providence works. Chrysostom’s picture of divine providence – God’s activity – is arrived at through his reading of the narrativity of these historiai. A providential ethos, though, means more than simply that there is a deep structure, but that God has repeatedly worked providentially according to this deep structure. This providential habit is narrative in nature because it has been experienced by the saints in time. Chrysostom’s use of the term ethos denotes a divine action that occurs repeatedly, the pattern of which is appreciated when various instantiations of it, in individual biblical narratives, are read with attention. The narrative character of these ethē means that it is less common for Chrysostom to say something less specific, like, ‘it is God’s habit to show mercy’. Although Chrysostom of course believes that God is merciful, he is concerned more specifically with how God’s mercy is active in the lives of human beings, which is never abstract. God’s mercy, or providence more broadly, is always experienced – or at least reflected upon – in narrative sequence. Sometimes when Chrysostom discusses these ethē, he can hint at their relationship to the longue durée of salvation history or the metanarrative of the divine economy – from creation to new creation. We might expect him, for example, to reflect on the analogy between this narrative structure and the time for repentance given in this age before the final judgement.58 But he makes this move less often than we might expect. Instead, Chrysostom focuses on God’s providential work in the lives of the saints within the confines of this present life. For example, Chrysostom brings this same ethos to bear in the life of the congregation in the third of the Homilies on the Statues. Much of the homily is taken up with a discussion of the continued absence of the bishop Flavian who is appealing to the emperor for clemency on account of the Antiochene populace’s defacing of some of the city’s imperial images;59 it is also concerned with the Great Fast. Both of these contexts lead Chrysostom naturally to an extended reflection upon the Jonah narrative – which is itself concerned with both fasting and repentance in 58

59

Especially in Hom. Gen. 25. Perhaps relatedly, near the concluding doxology of the homily – and seemingly unconnected to the earlier part of the sermon – he writes: ‘Consider, beloved, that even if what befalls you is grievous, it is but temporary. However, the good things awaiting us there are immortal and eternal. “For what is seen”, it says, “is temporary, but what is not seen is eternal”’ (Hom. Gen. 25.7; PG 53, 229,29–32). For a detailed reconstruction of the setting of these homilies, see van de Paverd, Homilies on the Statues, 3–201.

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the hope of divine clemency. Towards the end of this homily, he also briefly alludes to the Flood: ‘he does not . . . command the sea to spread over the land’.60 Shortly after this, he provides a summary of the same ethos under discussion: For it is God’s habit to do this (ἔθος τῷ Θεῷ τοῦτο ποιεῖν): whenever we sin, he does not immediately prosecute [our] trespasses, but he lets it go, giving us a limited time for repentance (προθεσμίαν μετανοίας), in order for us to be corrected and changed. But should we, by not paying the price, think that the sin has been passed over and thus think little of it, we will always be conquered where we do not suspect. This happens so that whenever we sin and are not punished, we will not have courage if we aren’t changed, knowing that where we do not expect, we will always fall.61

As in the Homily on Genesis, Chrysostom again comes to the providential ethos of the ‘limited period for repentance’ (προθεσμία μετανοίας) through his attention to the common narrative structure of the Flood narrative and the Jonah narrative. But in this case, Chrysostom applies it directly to the life of the congregation, even of the individual: If you sin and are not punished, do not disregard [it], beloved. But for this very reason be all the more afraid: knowing that it is an easy thing for God, when he wants, to pay you back again. For he did not punish you at that time for this reason: that you might receive a limited period for repentance (προθεσμίαν μετανοίας).62

Thus, while the divine economy of providence can occasionally be spoken of in reference to the whole plan that culminates in the first and second comings of Christ, much more often Chrysostom speaks of divine providence with reference to one’s immediate context – how God cares for the individual in one’s immediate circumstances. Divine providence is, on God’s part, the way in which the relationship between humanity and the triune God is maintained and the practical historical means whereby he benefits and preserves the faithful. The relationship between history and providence is thus of the utmost importance for Chrysostom because as we read about divine providence and human virtue and vice in history, we learn also about how God is working now in human history and in the lives of communities and individuals. This is just one of the ethē that Chrysostom speaks of time and again: God announces beforehand that a punishment will come after a limited

60 62

Stat. 3 (PG 49, 57,4–5). Stat. 3 (PG 49, 58,13–17).

61

Stat. 3 (PG 49, 58,3–12).

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amount of time for repentance. He comes to this and other ethē through his careful attention to common sets of biblical narratives, which might otherwise appear to be episodic and so, unrelated. However, far from being disconnected, they represent God’s habits of continually working providentially to benefit the righteous, according to set narrative patterns.

   ? Although we will discuss virtue and biblical narratives more fully in Chapter 6, here we pause briefly to note that Chrysostom can also make use of narrative structures to provide ethical – and not just theological – teaching. Chrysostom very often demonstrates what human virtue is, and how it is to be achieved, through scriptural stories. However, common ethē, united through a variety of scriptural stories, are not as readily forthcoming in the cases of the righteous as they are in the case of God’s providence, since human beings are, in comparison, not terribly consistent in their behaviour. Nevertheless, when Chrysostom does find common narrative patterns of virtue, the commonalities between characters often has more to do with how human activity relates to established patterns of God’s providential activity – such as we saw in Chapter 2.63 In this section, we examine one example in which virtue is understood with recourse to a narrative structure – and even that John arrives at an understanding of virtue from his close attention to the biblical narrative. In the thirty-second Homily on Genesis, Chrysostom interprets the whole of Genesis 12, from the divine command and promise of Gen 12:1–3, to the end of Abraham and Sarah’s sojourn in Egypt: when Abraham has his wife returned to him and is sent back to Canaan, the land promised to him. But between these two events, as Chrysostom interprets it, Abraham is forced to relinquish the land promised to him (due to famine), and then is forced to give up on the promise of a people (when he gives his wife to Pharaoh’s household). In the midst of all of this, Chrysostom interprets Abraham’s actions (which are ‘up to him’) as exemplifying some sort of virtue. He does not defend Abraham’s action of giving up his wife; rather, he works hard to find some virtue of mindset (γνώμη) οf which Abraham’s actions are exemplary. In this homily, Abraham is exemplary of very many virtues: he is, for example, wise, prudent, sagacious; longsuffering, patient, tolerant; 63

See the section ‘The Exegetical Relationship between Providence and “What Is Up to Us”’ in Chapter 2 (pp. 51–52).

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yielding, obedient, pious, god-fearing, courageous; and even frugal.64 However, as Chrysostom attends closely to the narrativity of this historia, he finds that what most of these individual virtues have reference to is Abraham’s overarching virtue of obedience and faithfulness to God’s promises. Obedience to divine promises is central precisely because Chrysostom focuses on the narrative structure of the story, just as we have seen him do as he discusses divine activity. The shape of the narrative determines Chrysostom’s interpretation of God’s providential work and Abraham’s virtue in the light of this same providential care. Note especially the temporal markers: Therefore, showing his exceeding power, he prepares here these two things: he makes clear to all both the endurance (ὑπομονὴν) and courage (ἀνδρείαν) of his servants, and the inventiveness of his providence (τῆς προνοίας αὐτοῦ τὸ εὐμήχανον) – both in the midst (μεταξὺ) of their terrors, and after nearly (μετὰ . . . σχεδὸν) despairing of the events, then (τότε) he changes [the events] to what he wants, and is not impeded by being in the midst of difficulty.65

And later in the same homily: ‘Whenever (ὅταν) the events are despaired of by human beings, then (τότε) [God] himself shows his invincible power in everything.’66 Thus Abraham’s virtue – in this case ‘endurance’ and ‘courage’ – is made clear by the narrative structure of Genesis 12: first, the promises of land and offspring are given; then Abraham is forced to give up on them when he goes to another land and his wife is taken away; and yet, just when things were considered hopeless by human beings, God intervenes miraculously for a great reversal of fortunes not unlike what we have seen above: Abraham’s virtue is demonstrated, and – according to the promises – his wife is returned and he returns to his land. Thus, Chrysostom reads the whole of the sojourn in Egypt as a sort of challenge to the promises made, according to the sequence of events. So he summarizes: ‘When, in the meantime, [Abraham] saw events coming about which were opposed to the promises, the blessed man was neither distressed nor disturbed, but he kept his thought immovable, because he was convinced that the things once promised to him by God were indeed firm

64

65

Hom. Gen. 32, throughout: adjectives: δίκαιος, φιλόθεος, ἀκίνητος, βέβαιος; εὐγνώμων, ἀπέριττος, εὔζωνος, φιλόσοφος, εὐχάριστος, φιλάγαθος; nouns / substantives: ἀνδρεία, τὸ στερρόν, ὑπακοή, ἀρετή, ὑπομονή, εὐγνωμοσύνη, φιλοσοφία, πραότητος, εὐσέβεια, σύνεσις, σωφροσύνη (with reference only to Sarah), καρτερία. 66 Hom. Gen. 32.2 (PG 53, 295, 39–46). Hom. Gen. 32.7 (PG 53, 303, 6–8).

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and secure.’67 Appreciating the narrative structure of the history under consideration is central for Chrysostom’s careful examination not only of providence but also of the patriarch’s virtue. Chrysostom describes Abraham’s virtue according to a traditional Greek discourse of virtues: for example, we hear him speak of both aretē and andreia in these passages. But, at the same time, a foreign philosophical definition of aretē or of andreia is far from being projected onto the text;68 rather, the biblical narrative, attended to with accuracy, dictates the content of these terms. So, when Chrysostom does speak of Abraham’s andreia, this is paired with endurance (ὑπομονή), which has a long distinctly Christian pedigree as a virtue.69 This courage is further understood in neither a Stoic nor even an Aristotelian sense70 but, as we have now seen, as an enduring faithfulness to specific divine promises in the face of opposing events. Therefore, Chrysostom’s command for his audience to emulate the patriarch is not generally to be courageous nor to be steadfast but to remember the promises: ‘Recall accurately the promises which come from God, so that when you see the righteous man falling into various circumstances, you may learn the excess of his philosophy, and the steadfastness of his courage (τῆς ἀνδρείας τὸ στεῤῥὸν), and his firm and immovable love for God.’71 The way that Chrysostom defines virtue is dependent on the very narrative structure of the story in which Abraham figures. What Abraham is exemplary of is not some Stoic virtue – in keeping with a Stoic physics – but is a virtue that is gleaned from the biblical historia itself.

  The above vision of the relationship between Chrysostom’s interpretation of biblical narrative and the course of God’s providential work in history 67 68 69

70

71

Hom. Gen 32.2 (PG 53, 295,1–5). Pace the claim by Tonias, Abraham in the Works of John Chrysostom, that Stoic virtues are projected upon Abraham, and other characters. See Francesca Prometea Barone, ‘Le vocabulaire de la patience chez Jean Chrysostome: Les mots ἀνεξικακία et ὑπομονή’, Revue de philologie, de littérature et d’histoire anciennes 81, no. 1 (2007): 5–12. For a Stoic understanding of the virtues, see Malcolm Schofield, ‘Cardinal Virtues: A Contested Socratic Inheritance’, in Plato and the Stoics, ed. A. G. Long (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 11–28. For Aristotle’s understanding of courage, see especially Eth. nic. 3.6–9, on which, also see (amongst many other accounts of Aristotle’s understanding of courage), Howard J. Curzer, Aristotle and the Virtues (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 19–64. Hom. Gen. 32.2 (PG 53, 295,16–20).

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demands a reconsideration of what constitutes typology for this interpreter. When I use the term ‘typology’, I do not refer to properly christological tupoi: those interpretations that correlate salutary events and characters from the Old Testament with those from the New, with the former as a kind of foreshadowing of the latter. Although Chrysostom can certainly employ such types (especially in his homilies on the Gospels), these are not his usual way of bringing out correspondences among biblical episodes. Furthermore, when he does employ this kind of typological reading, it is rarely extensive and often relies on interpretations already present in the New Testament or by his time long established in the Christian tradition.72 Instead, when I refer to Chrysostom’s typology, I mean his typical way of bringing biblical episodes together and discovering correspondences between them, as they relate to providence and salvation. Rather than cohering in terms of an Old Testament foreshadowing or prophecy and a New Testament fulfilment, biblical narratives cohere in terms of providential ethē, which can recur any number of times throughout the whole course of history and, thus, in all of Scripture. In this understanding of typology, I follow Frances Young. In her reconsideration of early Christian typology,73 Young employs Michael 72

73

When he does engage in more typical Christological interpretations, it is often because he is prompted to by the text itself. See Kannengiesser, ‘Clothed with Spiritual Fire’, 79–81, with especial reference to interpretation of Melchizedek in Hom. Heb. 12–15. Chrysostom also employs what are by his time traditional tupoi, themselves usually dependent upon ones found in the New Testament. See Chris L. De Wet, ‘Human Birth and Spiritual Rebirth in the Theological Thought of John Chrysostom’, In die Skriflig 51, no. 3 (2017): 1–9; Ashish J. Naidu, ‘The First Adam–Second Adam Typology in John Chrysostom and Cyril of Alexandria’, Perichoresis 12, no. 2 (2014): 153–62. However, in Chrysostom’s corpus there are always exceptions to the rule, such as the extended typological interpretation in Hom. Eph. 23. Typology has been the topic of considerable debate over the last century. In recent decades, much of the earlier work (especially that of Jean Daniélou) has been heavily criticized as being an artificial, modern construct employed to justify some allegorical readings over others. Especially problematic are those that attempt to define typology over and against allegory while relying on modern ideas of history and historicity. This became popular in the 1950s with Jean Daniélou, Sacramentum futuri: études sur les origines de la typologie biblique (Paris: Beauchesne, 1950) (English translation: From Shadows to Reality: Studies in Biblical Typology of the Fathers [London: Burns & Oates, 1960]); and Lampe and Woollcombe, Essays on Typology. However, a relationship between history and typology was earlier argued for (in 1938) by Erich Auerbach, ‘Figura’, in Scenes from the Drama of European Literature (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984), 11–76. Many others, including Northrop Frye, The Great Code: The Bible and Literature (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1982), follow these scholars in their emphasis on the necessity of modern conceptions of history for an

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Fishbane’s work on inner-biblical exegesis. She suggests that typology should be redefined more loosely as a ‘production of correspondences’ among biblical narratives. This broader definition can be further broken down into smaller categories of interpretation in a ‘typology of typologies’,74 according to which narrative elements are correlated (character, event, setting, etc.).75 In turn, the shared elements among the biblical episodes indicate the theological or moral significance of the correspondence. When typology is defined in this way, Chrysostom’s clustering of biblical narratives undoubtedly qualifies as such. As we have now seen, in Chrysostom’s case, typological exegesis often occurs by way of the coordination of narrative structures. While character is a part of this correspondence, it is more accurate to say that series of actions – narratives – are at the centre of Chrysostom’s typological readings. Furthermore, the typological correspondences in the two main ethosclusters highlighted in this chapter turn on God’s salutary actions – that is, his providence. Whatever the problems with the modern invention of typology, scholars have often noted that it is concerned with the continuity of divine activity in time.76 As we will see especially in Chapter 4, Chrysostom’s correspondences are deeply concerned with the continuity of providence and philanthrōpia. Although Chrysostom can glean moral types from narratives,77 salutary activity is at the centre of his typological readings. In Chrysostom’s scheme, however, the continuity of divine activity generally does not follow the traditional pattern of Old Testament – New Testament correspondence, in the form of shadow and body or prophecy

74

75

76

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interpretation to be considered typological. Much of this is discussed by Frances Young, ‘Typology’, in Crossing the Boundaries: Essays in Biblical Interpretation in Honour of Michael D. Goulder, ed. Stanley E. Porter, Paul Joyce, and David E. Orton (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 29–48. Around the same time as Young’s work, also see Dawson, Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision; and, more recently, Martens, Revisiting the Allegory/ Typology Distinction’. Young, Biblical Exegesis, 198. The longer discussion takes place at Young, Biblical Exegesis, 192–201. See Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 350–79; Young, ‘Typology’, 39–41. Fishbane classifies them as (1) cosmological-historical correlations, (2) historical correlations, (3) spatial correlations, and (4) biographical correlations (Biblical Interpretation, 353); earlier he speaks about correspondences between ‘events, persons, or places’ (351). Lampe writes of ‘the recurring rhythm of the divine activity’, and the ‘pattern of God’s activity towards man [sic]’ (Typology, 29); Woollcombe writes of ‘the consistency of God’s redemptive activity in the Old and in the New Israel’ (Typology, 75). See especially Young, Biblical Exegesis, 248–57.

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and fulfilment; rather, the continuity of providence is discovered in a variety of correspondences of any number of Old Testament and New Testament narratives. The timing (καιρός) of each episode is largely irrelevant, insofar as there has never been a time – whether recorded in the narratives of Scripture or not – when God has neglected to work providentially according to the same narrative patterns. For Chrysostom, the importance of corresponding biblical narratives lies not in the continuity between the Old and New Covenants but in the continuity among all scriptural episodes, as they demonstrate God’s providential, philanthropic activity. Although studies now abound on the topic of Chrysostom’s exegesis, few of these provide a broader perspective on his exegesis. Instead, they often focus on his interpretation of individual passages or, alternatively, lump Chrysostom in with an ‘Antiochene school’ – despite sustained scholarly misgivings about such categorization. Chrysostom is, for example, taken to be a more ‘moderate’ Antiochene or of a ‘milder’ variety.78 One wonders, however, whether this is the way Chrysostom, or Chrysostom’s contemporaries, would describe him or his exegesis! Such a statement could perhaps be made with respect to Chrysostom’s reluctance to use extended traditional typological interpretation: like Theodore of Mopsuestia, he prefers other modes of interpretation to Christological tupoi. However, Chrysostom appears to have a much more developed understanding of his own typological interpretation than the usual assessments of his Antiochenism would lead us to believe. Here I offer something of a reassessment by way of comparison with other Antiochenes. Unfortunately, much less of Theodore’s and especially Diodore’s exegesis remains than that of Chrysostom. Furthermore, of what remains, very little concerns directly the exegesis of narrative sections of Scripture. Nevertheless, even in Theodore’s Commentary on John – the only 78

Even Foerster, whose work is an attempt to place Chrysostom in the school, concedes that Chrysostom is not paradigmatic of the school: ‘Ist so der antiochenische Standpunkt bei Chrysostomus in etwas modifiert und gemildert, so wird doch erhellen, dass er mit den Grundgedanken der antiochenischen Theologie übereinstimmt’ (Chrysostomus in seinem Verhältniss, 17). Adam M. Schor, ‘Theodoret on the “School of Antioch”: A Network Approach’, JECS 15, no. 4 (2007): 517–62, argues that in a ‘social-doctrinal sense’ the school did cohere as a whole, but, in a footnote remarks that Chrysostom has never fit neatly into the ‘Antiochene’ fold (523, note 21). Mitchell, ‘Patristic Rhetoric on Allegory’, though, is sceptical of speaking of an Antiochene school as if it is differentiated according to exegetical methods from an Alexandrian school; she holds that the polemics as such between Alexandria and Antioch are merely rhetorical.

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commentary on biblical narrative to survive from either Diodore or Theodore – we see significant contrast with Chrysostom’s own production of correspondences among scriptural texts. As we compare Theodore’s and Chrysostom’s works on the Gospel of John, especially striking is Theodore’s typological reticence in opposition to Chrysostom’s typological abundance (περιουσία).79 As both Christoph Schäublin and Frances Young have observed independently, Theodore’s reticent approach to commentary comes in large part from his rhetorical training.80 Theodore’s Commentary on John is consumed with paraphrase, especially in his interpretation of Jesus’ words. This is, presumably, because Jesus’ sayings in the Gospel of John are particularly obscure. Although much of his interpretation is mostly straightforward paraphrase, Theodore also elaborates on which person – that is, whether the Word or the assumed man – is speaking, and so the paraphrases become extended expositions of his christology. On the rare occasions that other Scriptures are cited, or even alluded to, these usually include verses from the other Gospels, with the discussion assuming a sort of ‘historical’ vein, in which conflicting events are explained or explained away.81 Another common way for Theodore to bring other Scriptures to bear is by using Paul’s theology to explain the theology of John’s Jesus.82 When Theodore does produce correspondences between the text of the Gospel and other biblical narratives, it is usually because the Gospel passage in question virtually forces it upon him. This occurs, for example, in the allusion to the serpent that was ‘lifted up’ in the wilderness (John 3:14). After paraphrasing Jesus’ saying in John 3:14–15, Theodore writes: ‘And as at that time [the bronze serpent] which did not possess life, through the power of another, delivered from death those who perished

79

80 81 82

On the Commentary on John being representative of Theodore’s exegesis, see Rowan A. Greer, Theodore of Mopsuestia: Exegete and Theologian (London: The Faith Press, 1961), 112–31. For a fuller comparison of Theodore’s and Chrysostom’s exegesis and Christology, see my article, ‘Antiochene Christology and the Gospel of John: The Diverging Cases of Theodore of Mopsuestia and John Chrysostom’, SJT 74, no. 4 (2021): 333–45. Schäublin, Untersuchungen zu Methode; Young, ‘Rhetorical Schools’. This occurs throughout the Commentary on John but especially in Theodore’s interpretation of the passion narrative. For example, in his interpretation of John 3, Theodore uses Rom 8:15 and Gal 4:5–6 to explain Christ’s saying about being born again and 1 Cor 2:8 with reference to the Son of Man being ‘lifted up’. See Comm. Jo. 2 (Vosté 67 and 73; Marco Conti, trans. Theodore of Mopsuestia: Commentary on the Gospel of John [Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2010], 31 and 34).

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because of the bite of serpents – as long as they turned and looked at it – in a similar way, even though he appears to be mortal and suffers, [Christ] through the power dwelling in him gives life to those who believe in him.’83 Even this reference to Numbers, though, is a sort of paraphrase according to Theodore’s particular christology: Christ ‘appears to be mortal and suffers’. However, on other occasions, when the Evangelist explicitly refers to the fulfilment of Old Testament prophecy – something Theodore is otherwise interested in – Theodore provides little to no explanation of it. For example, Theodore does not comment on the use of Psalm 22 in the passion narrative, except briefly to say, ‘therefore since [Jesus] knew that something was missing for the complete fulfilment of the words of the prophets, he asked for a drink of water’.84 Theodore makes no comment regarding which Psalm, Psalms, or other prophets the idea that Jesus must drink sour wine comes from. Instead, Theodore’s comment appears simply to refer to the earlier verse that speaks generally about the fulfilment of Scripture in Christ’s passion (John 19:24). This significant lack of associative readings85 (i.e., of Young’s sense of typology) appears to be part of Theodore’s commentarial ‘method’ as spelled out in the preface of the commentary: In any of our commentaries on the Scriptures, we are quite attentive that we not include superfluous words in our exposition . . .. Indeed we think that the duty of the interpreter is to explain those words which are difficult to many, while the duty of the preacher is to speak about those topics which are already clear enough. Even superfluous topics can sometimes be useful to a preacher, but the interpreter must explain and say things concisely. However, when it is the case that an explanation cannot be clear unless we use many words – and this happen when we come upon verses which have been corrupted by the deceit of the heretics . . . then we will not avoid discussing them in detail.86

What ‘superfluity’ here refers to, and what homiletical interpretation he excises from his scholarly enterprise, is not immediately apparent from the preface itself. Throughout the commentary, Theodore does present, according to his rhetorical tradition, a ‘sober’ paraphrase and 83

84 85

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Comm. Jo. 2 (Vosté 72–73; trans. Conti, 34). This interpretation clearly does the work of demonstrating Theodore’s particular Christology. On Theodore’s typological reticence in the Commentary, see Greer, Theodore, 119–22. Comm. Jo. 7 (Vosté 337; trans. Conti, 156). This phrase is found in John J. O’Keefe and R. R. Reno, Sanctified Vision: An Introduction to Early Christian Interpretation of the Bible (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005), 48–50. Theodore, Comm. Jo. prol. (Vosté 4–5; trans. Conti, 2).

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grammatical explanation especially of Jesus’ speeches. Certainly, in comparison with Chrysostom – whose work is nothing if not homiletical – Theodore neither attends to the Gospel’s narrativity nor to other Scriptures besides the ones he is directly commenting upon. Instead, he focuses on the historical facta – what actually happened – as can be gleaned from the Gospel text itself.87 He is also, strikingly, quite restrained in bringing other parts of the Gospel of John to bear when interpreting specific Johannine texts. The same impulse against ‘superfluity’ – or, put positively, abundance – appears more famously in his Commentary on the Psalms: despite ecclesiastical precedent or even the way in which the Gospels make use of particular Psalms, Theodore rejects typological interpretations of Psalms 22, 31, and 69 (which perhaps explains him ignoring Psalm 22 in the Commentary on John).88 Theodore’s reluctance to provide typological interpretations of the Psalms is generally chalked up to his adherence to historia – a typological or allegorical reading of so many of the Psalms would go against the historical events conveyed by the Psalmist. But also at play is his understanding of what biblical commentary is – and what his task is as a commentator. Undoubtedly his sense of the historia of a text and his job as a commentator are related. But, judging from above, Theodore’s convictions concerning biblical interpretation require that he do away not only with allegorical superfluity but even with associative readings entirely. Theodore’s exegesis is typological neither according to a usual understanding of the term (for example, per Lampe and Woollcombe), nor according to Frances Young’s broader sense. Theodore’s reluctance to associate biblical stories with one another is decidedly at odds with Chrysostom’s proliferation – his abondance89 – of associations of biblical narratives. Whereas Theodore looks down his nose at superfluity, Chrysostom’s homilies are a celebration of Scripture’s abundance – so much so that, despite Theodore’s targeting of the ‘Arian’ Asterius, it is tempting to think that Theodore is reacting to his old school-mate’s homilies.90 In Chrysostom’s estimation, Scripture itself is abundant. As Chrysostom 87 88 89

90

This is seen especially throughout Book 7, as Theodore attempts to navigate the differences among the four Gospels. See Hill, Reading the Old Testament, 156, 161. Cyrille Crépey, ‘Le vrai sens de la littéralité de l’exégèse dans les Homélies sur la Genèse de Jean Chrysostome: illustration à partir de l’exégèse de Gn 1:1’, StPatr 47 (2010): 249–54. See the comment on Asterius in Theodore, Comm. Jo. prol. (Vosté 4).

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highlights in so many of the prefaces of his sermons, Scripture is a treasury or, in an even more striking metaphor, a vine: ‘When the whole vine has been harvested, the vinedresser does not leave off until he has cut off the grapes. And even now I see thoughts still hidden in the letters, as if under the leaves! Come now, and let’s again harvest these with accuracy, using this sermon in place of a pruning hook.’91 The sermon is an exegetical instrument whereby the abundant fruit of the scriptural vine is harvested. And there are always more grapes hidden away! This is virtually the inverse of Theodore’s understanding of the exegetical task. Although this does represent a difference between commentator and preacher, both of these interpreters understand their chosen exegetical media to be inseparable from their messages. Thus, even when Chrysostom is not preaching, but commenting, his exegesis retains its abundant ‘homiletical’ tendencies. To illustrate Chrysostom’s typological abundance in comparison to Theodore’s typological reticence, I introduce a few short examples from Chrysostom’s exegesis of the Gospel of John. First, in Jesus’ discussion with Nicodemus, when the Lord speaks of being ‘born again’ (John 3:3), Chrysostom not only speaks of baptism – something Theodore also does – but he also claims that Nicodemus should have understood the referent of the ‘birth from above’, since there were so many precedents in the Old Testament: And someone may say, ‘What does this birth have in common with anything Jewish?’ You tell me, what isn’t in common? For the first-created man, and the woman formed from his side, and the barren women, and the things accomplished through water – I am talking about the fountain from which Elisha lifted up the iron tool, the Red Sea which the Jews crossed, the pool which the angel stirred up, and Naaman the Syrian who was cleansed in Jordan – all these predicted as in a figure (ὡς ἐν τύπῳ προανεφώνει) the birth and the purification which would come.92

Chrysostom explicitly refers to this as a tupos, and, though identified as a prediction, is certainly not straightforwardly ‘prophetic’ in the sense we see (albeit only occasionally) in Theodore. In addition to God’s gratuitous creation of Adam and Eve, and the miraculous births through barren women (Sarah, Hannah, etc.), water is also one of those things that God has used throughout history to create and to save. For the latter Chrysostom adduces scriptural proofs from both the Old Testament and the New Testament to prove it: the exodus, the cleansing of

91

Laz. 4.1 (PG 48, 1005,53–1006,54).

92

Hom. Jo. 26.2 (PG 59, 155,31–43).

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Naaman (2 Kings 5), and the healing waters of the pool of Bethesda (John 5:1–14). Chrysostom continually finds patterns in which God works miraculously and providentially. This is the sort of typological abundance that Chrysostom sees in Scripture itself, in contrast with Theodore’s more restricted vision: except for Theodore’s above mention of the serpent lifted up in the wilderness (and again, the correspondence is already present in the text), he brings no other Scriptures to bear on his exegesis of John 3:1–21, except, as is his tendency, to include several brief New Testament passages for his theological paraphrase of Christ’s enigmatic saying. A much more compelling example of an abundant correspondence of characters and their narratives in Chrysostom’s Homilies on John comes in the form of an extended comparison of the Samaritan woman (the ‘woman at the well’; John 4:1–42), Nathanael (of John 1:43–51), and Nicodemus (of John 3:1–21), in what appears to be a continuous series of at least four sermons: the Homilies on John 31–34.93 Chrysostom begins in Homilies on John 31 by showing that neither Nicodemus nor the Samaritan woman perceives that Jesus is the Christ right away.94 In the following two homilies, this comparison is then further exploited: in contrast to Nicodemus, ‘the teacher of Israel’ (John 3:10), the Samaritan woman begins to appreciate who Jesus is, repents, is zealous for doctrine, and does the work of an evangelist:95 And the woman believed immediately, appearing much more discerning than Nicodemus – and not only more discerning but also more courageous (ἀνδρειοτέρα). For when he heard myriad such things, he neither summoned anyone else to [hear] it, nor himself spoke freely. But she displayed apostolic deeds: preaching the Gospel and calling everyone to Jesus, and drawing the whole city out to him. When he heard, he said, ‘How can these things be?’ (John 3:9). And when Christ gave the clear example of the wind, he didn’t thus receive the

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94 95

The appearance of a series does not mean that it was originally preached in a series. See Wendy Mayer, The Homilies of St John Chrysostom: Provenance, Reshaping the Foundations (Rome: Orientalium, 2005); and the earlier series of articles by Pauline Allen and Wendy Mayer: ‘Chrysostom and the Preaching of Homilies in Series: A New Approach to the Twelve Homilies “In epistulam ad Colossenses” (CPG 4433)’, OCP 60, no. 1 (1994): 21–39; ‘Chrysostom and the Preaching of Homilies in Series: A Reexamination of the Fifteen Homilies “In epistulam ad Philippenses” (CPG 4432)’, VC 49, no. 3 (1995): 270–89; ‘The Thirty-Four Homilies on Hebrews: The Last Series Delivered by Chrysostom in Constantinople?’, Byzantion 65, no. 2 (1995): 309–48. Also see the response by Cook, Preaching and Popular Christianity, 201–10. Hom. Jo. 31 (PG 59, 181,28–29). On her work as an apostle or evangelist, see also Hom. Jo. 34 (PG 59, 193,28–30).

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word. But not so with the woman! Although she was at first confused, afterwards she received the word without explanation, but in the form of an assertion, and she immediately was driven to receive it.96

In this same homily, Christ’s pedagogy of the Samaritan woman is compared with his gradual pedagogy – his self-disclosure – to Nathanael.97 And then, in the following Homily (Hom. Jo. 33), we see that Christ ‘revealed a very great doctrine to her, which he didn’t even say to Nicodemus or Nathanael’98 – namely, that there will be no geographical centre to cultic worship, whether Jerusalem or Mount Gerizim. Then, a little later in the homily, Chrysostom demonstrates that whereas Jesus had used other Old Testament means to convince Nathanael and Nicodemus of the truth of his teaching, he does not do so in the case of this woman ‘because they were men, and were always engaged in these things, but she was a poor, uneducated woman, unacquainted with the Scriptures’.99 These homilies therefore represent Chrysostom’s use of a sustained cluster of narratives from within the Gospel of John. Moreover, it is characteristic of Chrysostom, in opposition to Theodore, to do such work of adducing scriptural correspondences throughout his works. As I noted above, Theodore hardly even makes such intra-Gospel references within his Commentary. Thus, Chrysostom, in contrast to Theodore, evinces a typological abundance – a superfluity of biblical correspondences. To anticipate briefly the discussion in Chapter 4, different ways of typological reading correspond with different understandings of the coherence or continuity of God’s work in history – or in ‘salvation history’. Theodore’s typological reticence corresponds to his doctrine of progressive revelation, which maintains a severe disjuncture between the Old and New Testaments.100 Therefore, on those rare occasions when Theodore does find correspondences between Old and New Testament episodes, the agreement comes by way of prophecy rather than allegory.101 That is, the facta of the Old Testament text predict the New Testament fulfilment. This is decidedly not a narrative way of typological reading.102 For Theodore, the Old Testament – and even New Testament predictions – are reduced to the prophetic referents, while for 96 98 100 101

102

97 Hom. Jo. 32.1 (PG 59, 184,38–51). Hom. Jo. 32.2 (PG 59, 186,1–2). 99 Hom. Jo. 33.1 (PG 59, 188,50–51). Hom. Jo. 33.2 (PG 59, 190,57–63). See Ondrey, Minor Prophets as Christian Scripture, esp. 82–91. See Greer, Theodore of Mopsuestia, 93–98. And very recently Ondrey’s comment that Theodore’s approach to the Old Testament is ‘first and foremost predictive’ (Minor Prophets as Christian Scripture, 75). See Ondrey, Minor Prophets as Christian Scripture, 78–79.

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Chrysostom, as we have seen so thoroughly in this chapter, the biblical narration of events (rather than the bare events themselves) bears the brunt of uncovering typological correspondences, allowing for deep continuity throughout the whole history of God’s providential actions. It is to the coherence of God’s providential and salutary activity in a providential economy, or salvation history, that we turn in Chapter 4.

 John Chrysostom discovers God’s providence in every moment of sacred history: no single story could contain a moral unrelated to the rest of Scripture; biblical narratives must be read together. Only when narratives are read together do we really learn about God’s working – providence – which operates according to consistent patterns. Chrysostom refers to these narrative patterns as habits (ἔθη): God’s usual ways of working to the end of salvation in the lives of his saints. Therefore, we have seen, in Chapter 2, that narrativity is central to Chrysostom’s reading of history; and now, in this chapter, we have found that narrative structure – in particular, deep structure – is one of the central ways that Chrysostom locates God’s providential habits. In addition to saying something about his theology of providence, this examination of Chrysostom’s reading of biblical narrative demonstrates some of his more strictly exegetical tendencies. Following Frances Young, I have argued that Chrysostom’s reading of divine providential habits in history operates as a sort of typological reading. Chrysostom’s typological interpretation, however, does not cohere primarily around New Testament – Old Testament correspondences of promise and fulfilment or shadow and body. Instead, Chrysostom brings narratives together, which, when they are so coordinated, demonstrate God’s continual, recurring salutary activity. Thus, Chrysostom’s exegetical focus is not on the movement of history from the Old Covenant to the New but on the continuity of history located in God’s consistent, continuous, and recurrent providence in the lives of the saints. This is something we will discuss in much more detail in Chapter 4. Finally, in Chrysostom’s typological exegesis and his conception of God’s activity in history, we have found that he is rather far from Theodore of Mopsuestia. Although there are undoubtedly commonalities between the two exegetes – such as their common debt to rhetorical schools – these similarities have been demonstrated so frequently by scholars, and with such over-harmonization, that I have here chosen to

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highlight their divergent interpretative modes. I do not mean to say that Chrysostom is no ‘Antiochene’ but that an Antiochene interest in historia can take on very different forms. Because we have so little of Diodore’s work it is hard to say where precisely Chrysostom’s and Theodore’s common teacher would fit. However, given the contrast seen between Theodore and Chrysostom, Theodore’s exegesis on its own should not be considered representative of an Antiochene ‘school’ of exegesis, as it is so often taken to be. Instead, within the school of Antioch, we see considerable diversity in understandings of providence and historia, of which Chrysostom’s teaching and preaching constitutes a central part.

4 Proofs of Providence and God’s Philanthropic Character

The amazing history of the Scriptures . . . describes the lives of ancients, extending the narration from Adam until the coming of Christ. Laed. 12 (PG 52, 472–473) Having so many proofs of his providence – those in the New [Testament] and those in the Old . . . and seeing flurries of demonstrations being carried everywhere, proclaiming his providence, are you still uncertain? You are not uncertain, but you believe and have persuaded yourself of this: that God provides. Scand. 8.10–11 (PG 52, 498)

Early Christian writers devised various ways of bringing coherence to history’s seemingly disordered course of events. Beginning with Julius Africanus and Hippolytus in the early third century, we see a sustained early Christian tradition of chronography, including Eusebius of Caesarea’s Chronicon, Epiphanius of Salamis’ On Weights and Measures, the Chronicon Paschale, which also continues through the centuries. These chronologies provide a ‘scientific’ sort of coherence to ‘world history’, each in its own way.1 A similar effort to bring coherence 1

On this tradition, see R. W. Burgess and Michael Kulikowski, Mosaics of Time: The Latin Chronicle Traditions from the First Century BC to the Sixth Century AD (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013); Martin Wallraff, ‘The Beginnings of Christian Universal History from Tatian to Julius Africanus’, ZAC 14, no. 3 (2011): 540–55; William Adler, ‘The Chronographiae of Julius Africanus and Its Jewish Antecedents’, ZAC 14, no. 3 (2011): 496–524.

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to history can be found in Eusebius of Caesarea’s Ecclesiastical History (and the accompanying volume, Preparation for the Gospel), as well as those Ecclesiastical Histories that take their cue from Eusebius. While we have now discussed the conceptual framework for Chrysostom’s understanding of history – especially historical episodes – in this chapter, we turn to the question of how he conceived of the unity or coherence of all history. Here we will again see the significance of the observation that for Chrysostom historia most often refers to the narratives of Scripture, usually located in a real past. He turns to this scriptural historia to formulate a coherent framework for the past, in terms of both God’s saving work and human virtue. He is far from the first to do so: Irenaeus of Lyon proved influential for later generations of Christians in his biblicizing approach to history. Unlike some of the other writers above who were concerned with a coherent world history, Irenaeus and others who follow him are concerned with a coherent biblical history. For Irenaeus, the coherence of the biblical past is located in a series of covenants that God makes with his chosen people. Centuries before Irenaeus – and before distinctly Christian ways of periodization – the Book of Jubilees had also conceived of a series of covenants with Israel. The apostle Paul also did this, though less explicitly. However, for Irenaeus, who is largely responsible for an enduring Greek Christian mode of periodization, there is a fourfold system that comprises the covenants of Adam (or Abraham), Noah, Moses, and the ‘new covenant in [Jesus’] blood’: the gospel.2 Although there are alternative ways that Christians conceive of the coherence of the Old and New Testaments – for example, Theodore of Mopsuestia’s idea of prophecy and fulfilment seen in Chapter 3 – Irenaeus’ scheme is the dominant one until Augustine’s sevenfold scheme gains influence in the Latin church.3 I will argue, however, that Chrysostom has a distinctive way of thinking about the continuity of history, and God’s activity therein, which is not related to either of these schemes. God’s providential oikonomia, as

2

3

Strangely, there is little secondary scholarship on the covenants in Irenaeus. See Susan L. Graham, ‘Irenaeus and the Covenants: “Immortal Diamond”’, StPatr 40 (2006): 393– 98; Ben C. Blackwell, ‘The Covenant of Promise: Abraham in Irenaeus’, in Irenaeus and Paul, ed. David E. Wilhite and Todd D. Still (London: T&T Clark/Bloomsbury, 2020), 147–67. See Auguste Luneau, L’histoire du salut chez les Pères de l’Église: la doctrine des âges du monde (Paris: Beauchesne, 1964).

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witnessed to in Scripture, comprises Scripture as a series of proofs or demonstrations of divine providence. This series of providential proofs does not cohere as a narrative properly speaking: it is not significant for Chrysostom’s theology that Scripture’s stories, laws, and letters are causally or temporally linked to one another in a series of consecutive ages or covenants. Instead, Scripture coheres in that it presents recurring demonstrations of God’s providence and love for humanity in history. Chrysostom emphasizes the continuity and consistency of God’s providential work and love for humanity, rather than separating history into discrete stages. We have already seen a fair number of these proofs of providence in Chapter 3 and that these cohere more than simply in the fact that they demonstrate God’s providence: there is real continuity – typology – among proofs of providence. However, as much as Chrysostom favours the narratives of Abraham, Joseph, Job, the Three Youths, Lazarus, Paul, etc., these are nevertheless lesser proofs of divine providence. The greater proofs are the creation of the cosmos and the coming of Christ, the ‘economy of the flesh’. These two parts of the economy, found in Scripture, serve as particularly vivid demonstrations of God’s providence and love for humankind. Because creation and the incarnation are the clearest demonstrations of God’s providential activity, they are also the most revealing of his philanthropic character. This is because God always exercises his providence according to his sunkatabasis: providence always condescends to human weaknesses and limitations. Robert C. Hill noted this in passing in an article on sunkatabasis: ‘For [Chrysostom] sunkatabasis is always a manifestation of the goodness (philanthrōpia) and providential care (kēdemonia, pronoia) of God.’4 As the greatest proofs of providence, creation and the incarnation are the greatest expressions, and therefore also the clearest demonstrations, of God’s condescending love for humanity. In these two events, God gives to humanity freely and generously, not for his own sake but for ours. Nothing can touch closer to the heart of God’s character, at least as it can now be seen ‘as in a mirror dimly’. In order to elucidate Chrysostom’s distinctive approach to the course of providence in history, we begin by discussing in more detail the nature of that continuity. Expositions of God’s two greatest proofs of providence – creation and the incarnation – then follow.

4

Robert C. Hill, ‘On Looking again at Sunkatabasis’, Prudentia 13 (1981): 5, emphasis in original.

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      In Scripture, Chrysostom discovers God’s providential habits, seen in Chapter 3, because he is committed to discovering in everything an abundance of God’s love for humanity. Auguste Luneau, whose work I follow on this point, argues that Chrysostom is the first to emphasize the consistency of divine philanthrōpia throughout history to such an extent. Rather than emphasizing the number of discrete ages or covenants that serve as divisions of history, John is much more interested in the simple contrast between this present life and the life to come – both of which are characterized by God’s love for humanity.5 Although Luneau refers to such perspectives as reflections of salvation history (Heilsgeschichte), I refrain from employing the term for two reasons. First, from its inception in the eighteenth century, Heilsgeschichte was both conceptually vague and, in some quarters, theologically problematic.6 Second, salvation history, perhaps beginning with Oscar Cullmann’s ‘ascending line’ and ‘mid-point’,7 has strong narrative associations: as if the mounting action of the Old Testament led to the climax of the ‘new covenant in Christ’s blood’ and finally to the denouement of the Church, as it awaits the Parousia. Therefore, while in many accounts of Antiochene exegesis salvation history is put centrestage, it is neither helpful nor appropriate for speaking about

5

6

7

Auguste Luneau, ‘Jean Chrysostome: les étapes de l’amour divin’, in L’histoire du salut, 189–206. Regarding the emphasis on the great contrast between this life and the life to come, also see Leduc, ‘Eschatologie’, 109–14. Heilsgeschichte was first mentioned by Johannes von Hofmann in the middle of the nineteenth century. See Matthew L. Becker, The Self-Giving God and Salvation History: The Trinitarian Theology of Johannes von Hofmann (New York: T&T Clark, 2004). On the history of the term in German scholarship, see Martin Hengel, ‘Heilsgeschichte’, in Heil und Geschichte: Die Geschichtsbezogenheit des Heils und das Problem der Heilsgeschichte in der biblischen Tradition und in der theologischen Deutung, ed. Jörg Frey, Stefan Krauter, and Hermann Lichtenberg (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 3–34. In anglophone circles, the term became popular following the publication and translation of Oscar Cullmann, Christus und die Zeit: Die urchristliche Zeit- und Geschichtsauffassung (Zollikon-Zürich: Evangelischer, 1946), translated as Christ and Time: The Primitive Christian Conception of Time and History (London: SCM, 1951). Also see his later influential work: Oscar Cullmann, Heil als Geschichte: Heilsgeschichtliche Existenz im Neuen Testament (Tübingen: Mohr, 1965), translated as Salvation in History (New York: Harper & Row, 1967). This is how Cullmann refers to salvation history in both Christ and Time and Salvation in History.

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Chrysostom’s exegesis.8 Chrysostom prizes the continuity of God’s characteristic actions, rather than their diversity according to covenants. Admittedly, Chrysostom does from time to time distinguish between, for example, the ways of life before and after the giving of the Law. And we can find brief discussions of progress in, or the pedagogy of, divine revelation (if not salvation) in his works.9 However, he does not often employ these distinctions for their own sake. Instead, when he does refer to them, it is often for the sake of moral teaching – even shaming.10 He employs the example of Job most often in this regard, who, according to the colophon to the Greek book of Job is an Edomite in the ‘fifth [generation] from Abraham’ and so in the generation of Moses’ father, Amram.11 According to the tradition seen in the Testament of Job (which tradition Chrysostom seems to be familiar with), Job was an Edomite from one whole generation earlier than that.12 Both genealogies indicate that Job was in a position to benefit nothing from the Law, for which reason Chrysostom can write: But if you say, ‘That was Job, and therefore he bore it, but I am not like him’, you are lodging a greater accusation against yourself, and again a praise for the righteous man. For it is more likely that you would bear it than that he would. Why? Because he was before grace and before the Law, when there was not much accuracy with respect to the way of life, when there was not such great grace of the Spirit, when sin was hard to overcome, when the curse held sway, and when death was fearful. But now the contests have become easier, after the coming of Christ when all these things have been done away with. Therefore, after so long a time and such great generosity and so many gifts given to us from God, this is no defence at all for us that we are not able to attain the same measure as him!13

Chrysostom here shows familiarity with the ages ‘under the Law’ and ‘under grace’ – something he may have simply learned from the apostle Paul (e.g., Rom 6:14). However, when he is less concerned with such

8

9 10 11 13

For statements about Chrysostom specifically, see Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance, 101, 132, 146; Hill, Reading the Old Testament in Antioch, 38. Hidal, ‘Exegesis of the Old Testament’, 562, states that Antiochenes are interested in ‘God’s action in history’. It is especially present, though, in Bradley Nassif, ‘John Chrysostom on the Nature of Revelation and Task of Exegesis’, in What Is the Bible? The Patristic Doctrine of Scripture, ed. Matthew Baker and Mark Mourachian (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress, 2016), 49–66; Bradley Nassif, ‘Antiochene Θεωρία in John Chrysostom’s Exegesis’ (PhD diss., Fordham University, 1991), 171–72, and throughout. See, for example, Serm. Gen. 1.2 (PG 54, 583,7–46). See, for example, Scand. 13 (SC 79, 188–200). 12 See the colophon at Job (LXX) 42:17c–d. See T.Job 1:5. Diab. 3.7 (PG 49, 273/274,16–275/276,11).

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moral exhortation and reflects instead upon the relationship between history and providence, or salvation, he is intent on emphasizing the continuity of God’s love for humanity through time. For from beginning to end God has willed the salvation of all human beings out of his love for them: his love and care continue from the creation of world to the final judgement and unto eternity. Because of John’s understanding of God’s providential work in history, scriptural events that we might expect to be significant, as markers of salvation-historical ages, are downplayed. Given Chrysostom’s preference for the apostle Paul, we are surprised to find that Law is much less significant for Chrysostom than it is for the apostle’s understanding of salvation history. For example, in an important passage in On the Providence of God, when Chrysostom lays out a great series of proofs of providence, Moses is spoken of, but not in his capacity as lawgiver.14 Instead, the giving of the Law is akin to the sending of the prophets and is simply one in a long series of events that prove God’s providence for his saints. The Mosaic Law, specifically, is subordinated to the natural instruction (‘law’) of creation and is simply continuous with it, while also accounting for the Jews’ hardness of heart.15 Things such as the giving of the Law – which in other patristic schemes of salvation history would be indicative of another stage in the great narrative leading to the coming of Christ – are thus, in a way, lesser proofs of divine providence, insofar as they remain largely undifferentiated from one another. Thus, when Chrysostom presents a picture of the whole scope of human history, he does not usually portray the incarnation as a climax or ‘mid-point’ in history. Rather, on the rare occasions when he does speak of the whole of human history, he notes that it is full of examples of providence enacted out of God’s philanthropic love. We have already seen a similar sentiment of continuity with respect to human virtue in Scripture in the treatise No One Can Be Harmed: For this reason, the amazing history of the Scriptures (ἡ θαυμασία τῶν γραφῶν ἱστορία), just as in some exalted and great image which has much breadth, describes the lives of ancients, extending the narration from Adam until the coming of Christ (τῶν παλαιῶν ἀνεγράψετο τοὺς βίους, ἀπὸ τοῦ Ἀδὰμ μέχρι τῆς τοῦ Χριστοῦ παρουσίας ἐκτείνασα τὴν διήγησιν).16

14 16

Scand. 8.4 (SC 79, 134). Laed. 12 (PG 52, 472–473).

15

See Scand. 8.1–5 (SC 79, 132–34).

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Here, with respect to human virtue, Scripture comprises a number of examples; although it does extend from Adam to Christ, there is no sense of narrative continuity among the various ‘lives of the ancients’. As we hear in On the Providence of God, a work written shortly after No One Can Be Harmed, the same holds true in the case of God’s work. In the same passage of this treatise as I mentioned above, Chrysostom begins by providing a roughly chronological list of what he refers to as ‘proofs of [God’s] providence’ (δείγματα αὐτοῦ τῆς προνοίας).17 Although this list is chronological, it is not a narrative per se because the events do not cohere in terms of causation. As Chrysostom concludes this series of proofs, he writes: Having so many proofs of his providence – those in the New [Testament] and those in the Old, those in the future, the present and the past, those accomplished every day, those in the beginning, those in the middle, those in the end, and those continually, those concerning the body and those concerning the soul – seeing flurries of demonstrations being carried everywhere, proclaiming his providence, are you still uncertain? You are not uncertain, but you believe and have persuaded yourself of this: that God provides.18

In Scripture is found a series of proofs that coheres not around a plot but instead in the fact that they all together demonstrate God’s providence. Occasionally, Chrysostom refers to these proofs as ‘parts’ of the providential economy. In On the Providence of God, this is seen especially when Chrysostom considers the election of Jew and Gentile in Romans 9–11.19 This is not an unusual exegetical context for Chrysostom to reflect on the economy of providence.20 Indeed, he often emphasizes the ineffability of God’s providential plan, with respect to who is saved and when and why God saves them: Nevertheless, [Paul], who was so great and wise and strong and spiritual, who enjoyed the benefit of such great things, when he fell into the examination of God’s providence – and not all of providence, but only into one part (μέρος) of it – hear how he was perplexed, how he became dizzy, how he quickly turned away, yielding to incomprehensibility.21

Whereas the whole of the providential economy is philanthropically ordered towards salvation, there are ‘parts’ of the economy that are 17 18 19 20 21

Scand. 8.10 (SC 79, 138). Also see Exp. Ps. 49.4 (PG 55, 246,20–32). Scand. 8.10–11 (PG 52, 498). This is also seen throughout in Anom. [De incompr. hom.] 1. On this topic, see Peter Gorday, Principles of Patristic Exegesis: Romans 9–11 in Origen, John Chrysostom, and Augustine (New York: Mellen, 1983), 103–35. Scand. 2.3 (SC 79, 60–62).

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especially demonstrative of God’s economy. In this case, the rejection of the Jews and the salvation of the Gentiles is a part that is useful for demonstrating less the fact of God’s providence than its ineffability. Thus, the oikonomia is conceived of as a unified whole into which ‘parts’ fit – even if they are at times incomprehensible to human beings.22 Beginnings and ends play especially important roles in Chrysostom’s understanding of the economy and its parts.23 In his treatise On the Providence of God, we hear, ‘not only is one unable to grasp [the depth of God’s judgements], but even to make a beginning of the inquiry. Such that not only can one not come to the end, but even trace out the beginning, of his economies’.24 Whereas ‘beginning’ and ‘end’ are metaphorical of the journey that it would take to search out God’s providence, beginnings and ends are also those things into which humans are especially prone to pry; insolent individuals are not content only to know that God is source, cause, and creator – that he does provide – but also tend to inquire into how he began things. Thus, Chrysostom especially spends his time explicating these two proofs of providence to demonstrate that God cares providentially for humanity: the beginning (creation) and the end (the first and second Parousia). For these are parts of the oikonomia that are especially forceful in their testimony to the simple fact of God’s providential love for humanity, while also having to account for intense human suffering: creation comes with the Fall and the incarnation, with the passion. Thus, while there are very many lesser demonstrations of God’s providential care that intervene, such as those episodes included among God’s habits in Chapter 3, the greatest proofs of God’s love and providence are creation and the incarnation. In On the Providence of God and

22

23

24

He speaks in the language of ‘parts’ of God’s providence again in the same chapter: ‘Taking aside one part of God’s providence, for the Jews and the Greeks” (Scand. 2.5; SC 79, 62). See ‘Incomprehensible Providence’ in Chapter 5 (pp. 144–49). Chrysostom’s attention to beginnings and ends has been discussed a number of times. Though scholars often treat beginnings and ends separately, Laurence Brottier, L’appel des ‘demi-chrétiens’ à la ‘vie angélique’. Jean Chrysostome prédicateur: entre idéal monastique et réalité mondaine (Paris: Cerf, 2005), has emphasized that the shared importance of protology and eschatology is appreciated in the practical dimension of his preaching (265). She argues that Chrysostom does this because human beings who have attained to the angelic life are seen before the Fall and in the world to come, allowing for Chrysostom’s audience to aspire to the same (267). These parts of the providential economy are thus those places where both divine providence and human virtue can be seen most clearly. Scand. 2.7 (SC 79, 64).

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throughout Chrysostom’s works, the incarnation is the greater of the two; and thus, Chrysostom’s account of the incarnation as a proof of providence is much more extended than that on creation. However, Chrysostom makes it clear that, before the incarnation, God’s most substantial gift to humanity was creation. In addition to the fact of God’s freedom and gratuity in simply creating humanity at all, creation benefits humanity primarily by way of natural instruction, which Chrysostom thinks the story of Cain and Abel especially demonstrates: even without a sacrificial law, both brothers are aware of fitting service and sacrifice to the Lord.25 The Mosaic Law is thus simply an extension of creation as God’s original act of beneficence. The same goes for the proclamations of the prophets. Thus, as Chrysostom turns to a discussion of the incarnation, he reminds us that the previous great divine gift to humankind, given out of God’s love and providence is neither the Law, nor the covenants with Abraham and David, nor the prophetic utterances but creation: ‘He was not satisfied with instruction from creation alone for bringing us to knowledge of God; rather, since many from their own insolence received no benefit from it, he made other ways of teaching, and at last . . . he sent his own Son.’26 Therefore, the incarnation takes centre-stage among all these proofs. All these events narrated in Scripture indicate God’s providence and goodness, but the incarnation is the chief proof of God’s providence and love for humanity. Indeed, some three decades before his statements about the incarnation in On the Providence of God, Chrysostom wrote something very similar in the Consolation to Stagirius: ‘While it is possible neither to learn nor to relate all the goodness of the Lord towards us, yet we do know its main point (τὸ κεφάλαιον)’ – the incarnation, culminating in the passion and crucifixion, for our reconciliation to God.27 Christ’s incarnation is not discontinuous with the rest of God’s providential work in history. It is the greatest demonstration of God’s providence and love for us but also one that is entirely in keeping with what God has always done for his saints and that he will continue to do in the age to come.

25

26

Scand. 8.3–4 (SC 79, 134); Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 431). On Chrysostom’s high view of natural instruction, see especially Stat. 12 & 13. Also see the recent essay, Constantine Bozinis, ‘The Natural Law in John Chrysostom’, in Revisioning John Chrysostom: New Approaches, New Perspectives, ed. Chris L. De Wet and Wendy Mayer (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 493–524. 27 Scand. 8.5 (SC 79, 134). Stag. 1.5 (PG 47, 436,30–33).

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While creation and the incarnation are the two greatest proofs of God’s providence, the continuity between the greater and lesser proofs is seen in Chrysostom’s repetition of the claim that all this is done ‘for us’. Just as the creation was undertaken ‘on behalf of our race’, so also Christ ‘submitted to all these things for you and for your providential care’.28 All these proofs together demonstrate God’s providence and how God orders (οἰκονομέω) everything for us, for ‘from the beginning until the end he did not cease to do and to undertake everything for our race’.29 God’s providence is characterized by philanthrōpia. And, while all of Scripture contains demonstrations of God’s philanthropic providence, not all proofs are created equal. Chrysostom prioritizes creation and the incarnation as greater proofs of God’s continual providence. Although Chrysostom does not distinguish between parts of Scripture in terms of causal or narrative relationships, he does distinguish between proofs as different parts that find their unity in God’s philanthropic providence. In what follows, we explore Chrysostom’s exegesis of the two greatest proofs of providence. Although they do not cohere according to some grand narrative, the clearest moments of God’s providence and love for humanity are seen when God most radically condescends: when God walks with Adam and Eve in the garden and when the Word becomes incarnate. Although these episodes, which present God’s providence and human suffering in stark contrast, might lead one to question divine providence, they paradoxically become even greater demonstrations of God’s providence and love. Here, God more clearly and lovingly enters into a relationship with lowly humanity.

   Catherine Broc-Schmezer has noted just how often Chrysostom interpreted the account of creation from Genesis 1 and 2,30 a fact that is 28 30

29 Scand. 8.7 (SC 79, 136). Scand. 8.4 (SC 79, 134). Catherine Broc-Schmezer, ‘Lectures et récritures chrysostomiennes des premiers chapitres de Genèse’, Graphè 17 (2008): 95–125 (95). I expand the discussion to Genesis 1–4, as creation and Fall are often discussed together, and the sin of Adam and Eve is often paired with the sin of Cain. When we consider these four chapters as a unit, there are twenty-one homilies devoted to the topic in Hom. Gen., eight in Serm. Gen., and (if discussion of natural law, and exposition of Ps 19:1 and Rom 1:20 should be included) seven in Stat. (7–13). We also see extensive discussion of these topics in Stag. 1.2–3 and Scand. 4–7. This is in addition to his references to these passages peppered throughout his works, for example, in Diab. 1.

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confirmed by the multitude of scholarly treatments of Chrysostom’s interpretation of the same passage.31 This text was clearly of central importance to him, not least because the creation of the whole cosmos was a great work of love for, and benevolence towards, humanity. Interpretations of the creation accounts are thus seen throughout all of the works of consolation under consideration and many more besides. Chrysostom is far from unique in his emphasis on this passage in the early Church, as Paul Blowers has recently shown.32 But we nevertheless take this occasion to see what is theologically unique to Chrysostom’s interpretation of creation with respect to his reading of the providential economy.

31

32

Almost none of these speak about God’s providence: Walter A. Markowicz, ‘Chrysostom’s Sermons on Genesis: A Problem’, TS 24, no. 4 (1963): 652–64; Elaine H. Pagels, ‘The Politics of Paradise: Augustine’s Exegesis of Genesis 1–3 versus that of John Chrysostom’, HTR 78, nos. 1/2 (1985): 67–99; Nonna Verna Harrison, ‘Women and the Image of God according to St. John Chrysostom’, in In Dominico Eloquio – In Lordly Eloquence: Essays on Patristic Exegesis in Honor of Robert Louis Wilken, ed. Paul M. Blowers, Angela Russell Christman, David G. Hunter, and Robin Darling Young (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002), 259–79; Robert E. Carter, ‘The Image of God in Man and Woman according to Severian of Gabala and the Antiochene Tradition’, OCP 69, no. 1 (2003): 163–78; Hanneke Reuling, ‘The Christian and the Rabbinic Adam: Genesis Rabbah and Patristic Exegesis of Gen 3:17–19’, in The Exegetical Encounter between Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity, ed. Emmanouela Grypeou and Helen Spurling (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 63–74; Crépey, ‘Vrai sens’; Isabella Sandwell, ‘How to Teach Genesis 1:1–19: John Chrysostom and Basil of Caesarea on the Creation of the World’, JECS 19, no. 4 (2011): 539–64; Pak-Wah Lai, ‘The Imago Dei and Salvation among the Antiochenes: A Comparison of John Chrysostom with Theodore of Mopsuestia’, StPatr 67 (2013): 393–402; George Kalantzis, ‘Creatio ex Terrae: Immortality and the Fall in Theodore, Chrysostom, and Theodoret’, StPatr 67 (2013): 403–13; Naidu, ‘The First Adam–Second Adam Typology’; Wolf Liebeschuetz, ‘How God Made the World in Seven Days: The Commentaries on Genesis of John Chrysostom (Homilies 1–12) and of Eusebius of Emesa (1–10), Two Distinct Representatives of the School of Antioch’, Antiquité tardive 22 (2014): 243–53; Benjamin Dunning, ‘Chrysostom’s Serpent: Animality and Gender in the Homilies on Genesis’, JECS 23, no. 1 (2015): 71–95; Samuel Pomeroy, ‘Numbering the Heaven(s): John Chrysostom’s Use of Greek Exegetical Traditions for Interpreting Gen 1,6-8 (Hom. Gen. IV)’, ETL 92, no. 2 (2016): 203–28; Samuel Pomeroy, ‘Representing the Jews: John Chrysostom’s Use of Exegetical and Theological Traditions for Gen 1:26a (In Gen. hom. 8)’, in Light on Creation: Ancient Commentators in Dialogue and Debate on the Origin of the World, ed. Geert Roskam and Joseph Verheyden (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 105–25; De Wet, ‘Human Birth and Spiritual Rebirth’. This list does not include a number of articles that are concerned with John Chrysostom’s place in the Pelagian controversy. Paul M. Blowers, Drama of the Divine Economy: Creator and Creation in Early Christian Theology and Piety (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 101–38.

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Almost all of the scholarship on Chrysostom’s interpretation of the opening chapters of Genesis discusses human nature and action.33 For example, Catherine Broc-Schmezer, who otherwise recognizes what an interesting interpreter Chrysostom is, focuses only upon human activity: namely, how Chrysostom re-narrates the Fall in order to show that it is possible for human beings in the present to choose a path other than that of Adam and Eve.34 While for Chrysostom the early chapters of Genesis are ripe for interpretations about human actions – vice, virtue, and the human ability to overcome sin – they are (at least) equally as productive for learning about providence and divine activity. However, scholars have almost never commented upon this aspect of his exegesis of the creation accounts.35 This is a strange and remarkable lacuna, given that creation is presumably about a divine act. While Chrysostom does from time to time discuss the continuing providential benefits of creation in terms of natural instruction,36 he commonly treats creation and what follows in Genesis 1–4 as a series of events that takes place in time – at the very beginning of time. For, as often as not, Chrysostom thinks of the opening chapters of the Bible, as he says in On the Statues, as a ‘historical narrative’.37 Chrysostom treats both the event of creation and those disastrous human events that take place just after the creation – of Adam and Eve and of their offspring – as historical narrations. In the case of these biblical narratives, especially, Chrysostom makes a great effort to establish the continuity of God’s philanthropic providence between events that appear to be ‘opposed to each other’. He finds that the creation and the Fall are not at odds with one another with respect to God’s providence; it is not that one is

33

34 35

36 37

I refer especially to discussions of Chrysostom’s exegesis in the light of the later Pelagian debate: for Chrysostom as representative of an ‘Eastern’ theological anthropology, see Raymond J. Laird, Mindset, Moral Choice and Sin in the Anthropology of John Chrysostom (Strathfield, NSW: St Pauls, 2012), 221–56; Douglas Finn and Anthony Dupont, ‘Preaching Adam in John Chrysostom and Augustine of Hippo’, VC 73, no. 2 (2019): 190–217. Broc-Schmezer, ‘Lectures et récritures’. As far as I have been able to discover, only Cyrille Crépey has identified that divine activity is central to Chrysostom’s reading of the creation account: ‘Ce sont les actes qui l’intéressent, les actes de Dieu comme manifestation de son plan sur l’univers et en faveur de l’homme, les actes de l’homme comme devant contribuer à la réalisation du plan de Dieu’ (Crépey, ‘Vrai sens’, 253). Especially in Stat. 12 & 13. For a recent scholarly treatment of this topic, see Bozinis, ‘Natural Law in John Chrysostom’. Stat. 8.1 (PG 49, 97,26–29).

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providential and the other without providence, but they are, if read with accuracy, ‘harmonious and in agreement’.38 In On the Providence of God, Chrysostom discusses at length the goodness of the created order. He invokes Gen 1:31 as a summary of the goodness of God’s creation: ‘God saw all that he made and, behold, it was exceedingly good.’39 This verse constitutes the starting point for his discussion of the goodness – the providential givenness – of creation and therefore also God’s gratuitous love for humanity. Throughout the many scriptural proofs and descriptions (ἐκφράσεις) of created goods that follow, Chrysostom makes it clear that these are goods not only because they come from God (their source) but also because God creates out of love for, and for the benefit of, humanity (their end).40 ‘All, O Human, are for you.’41 Chrysostom takes pains to show that creation is directed not vaguely at the harmony of all things for its own sake, but for humanity’s good: For indeed this is the marvel of his goodness: that he created while having no need of our service. For even before we and the angels and the powers above existed, he was, and he had his own glory and blessedness. But for love of humanity alone did he create us, and for us did he make all these things and many more besides.42

Such statements are typical of Chrysostom’s discussion of creation from Genesis 1–2: creation is God’s gratuitous, freely given gift instituted at the beginning, which providentially continues to benefit all of humanity, just as it was designed to do. Also, in the Consolation to Stagirius, as he begins his exegesis of the creation, he writes: When God made the angels – or, rather, let’s bring the discussion earlier: before the angels and the other heavenly powers came to be, God existed, having taken the source of his being from nowhere else. But always being self-sufficient (for such is the Divinity), he created angels, archangels, and the other incorporeal beings; and he created for no other reason than for goodness alone. For he neither had need of their ministration, nor would he have become the creator of these things, unless he was exceedingly good. But after the creation of these things, he made the human being – and the whole world – for the very same reason.43

For Chrysostom, the most significant demonstration that God’s providence is directed towards human beings in particular comes from Gen 1:26–27: humanity is created in the image and likeness of God and given 38 40 41 42

39 Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 428,50–51). Scand. 4.1 (SC 79, 82). Scand. 5–6 (SC 79, 92–106). Scand. 7.22 (SC 79, 120). Also see Scand. 7.2 (SC 79, 108). 43 Scand. 7.39 (SC 79, 130). Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 427,42–53).

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dominion over the rest of the creatures.44 Being made in the image of God is given to the man not as a ‘recompense for labours . . . but [as] a free gift of [God’s] love for humanity’.45 Chrysostom interprets this passage – itself central to many early Christian and Jewish understandings of what constitutes humanity – to mean that God instituted Adam as the authority over the earth, as God is in the heavens: ‘And he filled it with countless good things and he established that small and worthless one (τὸν μικρὸν . . . καὶ εὐτελῆ) for such great works, showing the human being to be the same upon the earth as God is in the heavens.’46 God can be demonstrated to have created everything, in a general sense, for the honour of humanity: When you hear that God made . . . all visible things simply for you and for your salvation and honour, do you not immediately take sufficient comfort and receive this as the greatest demonstration of God’s love, when you consider that he created so great and so vast a world – so good and great and amazing – for you who are small?47

But Chrysostom is also able to demonstrate that within this whole there are various specific gifts which he gives to humanity. Being made ‘according to the image and likeness of God’ is only one of the many honours that God bestows upon Adam. Chrysostom provides very similar lists of these specific benefits in both the Consolation to Stagirius and On the Statues 7. Two specific benefits derive from the ‘dominion’ given to the man: he rules over both the animals and over the woman who was ‘taken from him’ (1 Cor 11:9), and God ‘set apart the noblest paradise upon earth as if a kingdom for a king’.48 In addition to these are the following benefits: Τo him alone did [God] give the gift of speech [and reason: λόγος]; and God esteemed the human being worthy of knowledge of him, and he granted him to enjoy the benefit of discourse with him – as much as he was able to enjoy that benefit – and he promised to furnish [him] with immortality, and he filled him with much wisdom, and he placed in him a spiritual grace, so that he might even prophesy.49

44 45 46

47 49

For the many aspects of God’s special care for humanity in creation, see Hom. Gen. 8.2 (PG 53, 71,12–19); Serm. Gen. 2.1 (PG 54, 587,53–58). Stat. 7.2 (PG 49, 93,35–37). Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 427,53–56). This interpretation has been well surveyed in scholarship, though there is debate as to how representative it is of an Antiochene school of interpretation. See Carter, ‘Image of God according to Severian of Gabala’; Lai, ‘Imago Dei and Salvation’; Pomeroy, ‘Representing the Jews’. 48 Stat. 7.2 (PG 49, 93,10–20). Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 428,4–5). Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 428,17–23).

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A list that includes the more significant items among these (i.e., those earlier in the list) is also provided in On the Statues 7, which are likewise considered to be honours bestowed upon the man: (1) dominion, (2) paradise, (3) logos, and (4) an immortal soul. Thus, God provides for both the general good and specific benefits of humanity. And the latter are abundant. Why did God do this? As Chrysostom makes clear in a Homily on Genesis, it is because of his ‘great and ineffable love for humanity (φιλανθρωπία)’ that ‘he employed much condescension (συγκαταβάσει) for our salvation, and he considered worthy of much honour this creature – I mean the human being – and showing by words and deeds that he demonstrated more providential care for him than everything [else] visible’.50 God’s creation is good both because of its source as God’s gift and because of its end in benefitting humanity; such an idea fits with Chrysostom’s understanding of the goodness of externals and that God’s providence extends in particular to human beings and, above all, to the righteous. Indeed, Chrysostom’s teaching on the goodness of externals, as divine gifts, is in large part developed from his interpretation of the creation narratives in Genesis 1–2.51 For in the Bible’s opening pages, it is clear to all (as Chrysostom writes in his Consolation to Stagirius)52 that the event of creation is good and beneficial to humanity: creation truly is one of the parts of Scripture in which God’s philanthropic and condescending providence is clearest.53 Although the creation of the cosmos is indeed central to Chrysostom’s understanding of divine providence, his emphasis on the continuity of God’s providential love for humanity is especially striking. Chrysostom recognizes that the narrative sequence from Genesis 2 to Genesis 3 – from creation to Fall and punishment – might provide occasion for a mistaken reading in which God’s actions appear discontinuous or inconsistent, 50 51

52 53

Hom. Gen. 13 (PG 53, 105,50–106,1). In the opening chapter of Genesis, Chrysostom is able to find God’s providence in every jot and tittle: the command not to eat of the tree is a gift (Serm. Gen. 8.1; PG 54, 617,42–45); God prevents Adam from being afraid of the animals by showing him that he has given them their own food (i.e., Adam is not their meal! Hom. Gen. 10.5; PG 53, 86,46–87,5). Dunning, ‘Chrysostom’s Serpent’, has commented on the goodness of the creation of the animals (80–81). Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 428,56–429,2). That God’s creation, and his command not to eat of one tree, is from God’s providential care is evident even in the serpent’s pretense of providential care, on analogy with that of God. Had it not been for this pretence of care, Eve would not have been deceived (throughout Hom. Gen. 16).

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leading to a questioning of God’s providence.54 But Chrysostom impressively interprets this apparent disjuncture by allowing God’s providential economy, ordered to love for humanity, to provide coherence between the episodes. In the Consolation to Stagirius, as Chrysostom reflects on the apparent change in God’s treatment of humanity from provision to punishment, he outlines a hermeneutical principle that is instructive of his approach to such apparent inconsistences. This principle is also articulated almost verbatim in On the Statues 7, and it is from this longer, and probably later version from which I quote: The threat of Gehenna shows [God’s] goodness no less than does the Kingdom. And how? I will tell you. Unless he threatened Gehenna, unless he prepared a punishment, many would not attain to the Kingdom. For the promise of good things does not summon to virtue as much as the threat of evil propels with fear and rouses to concern for the soul. Thus, even if Gehenna is opposed to the Kingdom of Heaven, nevertheless, each looks to one end: the salvation of human beings. For whereas [the Kingdom] draws to itself, [Gehenna] propels to its opposite and with fear corrects those who are more carelessly disposed.55

Such a statement on the apparent inconsistencies of Scripture is not only applicable to the case of Genesis 1–4. It is also relevant to other parts of Scripture as a key for understanding how God can so quickly move from punishing to rewarding, and vice versa. The claim that ‘opposing’ (ἐναντίος) events ‘look to one end’ occurs a number of times throughout Chrysostom’s works; and although it does not always apply to a discussion of providence, it is always a way to reconcile apparently opposing statements.56 In this case, it is a way of reconciling God’s behaviour before and after the Fall. Whereas some may question God’s providence in his punishment of Adam and Eve (and then Cain), Chrysostom argues on the basis of the ‘single end’ of salvation – that is, on the basis of God’s 54 55

56

See Stat. 7.3 (PG 49, 94,21–24). Stat. 7.2 (PG 49, 94,7–18): The parallel passage in Ad Stagirium is as follows (with verbatim and near verbatim agreements underlined): The threat of Gehenna establishes his love of humanity no less than the kingdom of heaven. For unless he threatened Gehenna, no one would have been able quickly to obtain the goods of heaven. For the promise of goods alone does not suffice to change to virtue, unless also the fear of terrors pushes those who are disposed to it more carelessly (Stag. 1.3; PG 47, 429,58–430,7). See Hom. Matt. 35.4 (PG 57, 411,4); Hom. Matt. 37.4 (PG 57, 424,17); Exp. Ps. 44.8 (PG 55, 195,8–18). Several of these discuss the contradiction of behaviour seen in Matt 11:18–19: ‘John [the Baptist] came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, “He has a demon!” The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, “Look at this glutton and drunkard.”’

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goodness – that ‘he does this from love for humanity and much providential care’.57 That punishment comes from God’s love for humanity is not simply asserted; it is also demonstrated in great exegetical detail.58 Divine providence is seen not only in the leniency of the punishments but also in the fact that the punishments are themselves ordered to the benefit of salvation.59 Each individual punishment is shown to be beneficial both to the individual being punished and to those who follow after; the latter includes both those in the generations immediately following the events who heard of the punishments and those in Chrysostom’s own day who read the Scriptures.60 The punishments are so good that they benefit not only the individual, but also the entire human race in perpetuity, through the testimony of Scripture. In the case of God’s punishment of Adam and Eve, Chrysostom thinks that anything less than total annihilation should be considered lenient. And he provides good reason for such a view, on the exegetical basis of the grievousness of the sin: Did God, therefore, utterly destroy him who showed such insolence from the beginning and, so to speak, from the first letter? For it would have been in accord with justice to destroy and to throw out from his midst the one who experienced myriad goods and who, in exchange for these, immediately made the beginning of his life from disobedience and ingratitude.61

The sin is so grievous because Adam treats God in exactly the opposite way that he ought to be treated following such great goods given to him – which benefits we have just heard about. What is more, Adam also gives to Satan the trust and dignity that are due to God. Whereas Satan gave Adam and Eve only words, God gave them every good thing, and yet Adam trusted in the mere word of Satan. Cain’s sin is strikingly similar to that of Adam: like his father, Cain did not give God what was due to him. His disposition was not as it should have been in reaction to God’s beneficence. In turn, however, God gives to humanity more generously

57 58

59 60 61

Stat. 7.3 (PG 49, 94,26–27). Indeed, Crépey, ‘Vrai sens’, argues that although Chrysostom interprets in these instances the ‘literal sense’, he is nevertheless intent on demonstrating a multitude of meaning. Chrysostom’s interpretation of Gen 3 and 4 especially is one of abondance. Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 431,22–28). See, for example, Hom. Gen. 20.2 (PG 53, 168,60–169,12); Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 431,22–35). Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 428,32–38).

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than deserved, in stark contrast to Adam’s and Cain’s tightfistedness and neglect of God’s command. In the midst of human sin and its aftermath, God continually condescends by speaking to the offender. When Cain becomes angry at his brother – and sins according to his disposition against his brother – God speaks to him: ‘While the sins demanded a very great punishment, God furnished the one who had sinned with a much lighter punishment than was deserved, and he attempted to restrain Cain’s enflamed soul . . .. Therefore, he said to him, “Be silent” (Gen 4:7).’62 Likewise, the divine speech to Adam in the aftermath of his disobedience is a sign of God’s tender affection for Adam.63 When he asks Adam, ‘Where are you?’, God is offering the human being a chance to confess and repent. For, ‘when [God] finds that someone is a sinner, he does not look to how he might make him pay the price, but how he might correct him, and make him better and impregnable for the future’.64 God acts through his speech as the good physician, applying the appropriate remedies.65 Even the individual punishments that God pronounces upon these characters are signs of God’s leniency. For example, the ‘sweat and toil’ assigned to Adam is made lighter by allowing human beings to retain dominion over useful animals.66 This is all the more apparent in the case of Cain’s punishment: ‘You will groan and tremble upon the earth’ (Gen 4:12). Chrysostom notes that while the punishment ‘seems bitter’, the chastisement is meagre compared to the magnitude of the sin, in its many dimensions: Cain provided a bad sacrifice, insulted God after God had warned him, and was the first in human history to commit murder – ‘or rather a defilement much viler than any murder’; he also grieved his parents and lied to God (‘I am not my brother’s keeper’). And yet, ‘in exchange for all this he was only punished with fear and trembling!’67 Although Cain is unhappy with the punishment (Gen 4:13), Chrysostom demonstrates exegetically that he is not right to be so and that Cain’s attitude is merely in keeping with the dissatisfaction that he has already shown throughout the course of the story. God has in fact shown mercy

62 63 65 66 67

Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 430,40–45). Also see Hom. Gen. 18.6 (PG 53, 156,52–157,4). 64 Stat. 7.3 (PG 49, 95,55–61). Stat. 7.4 (PG 49, 96,19–22). Stat. 7.3 (PG 49, 94,42–52). Serm. Gen. 3.2 (PG 54, 592,51–593,5). Also see Hom. Gen. 9.5 (PG 53, 79,47–80,12). Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 431,12–22).

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to him out of his love and providence both in his original warning and in his later punishment. Chrysostom works hard to demonstrate the leniency of God’s punishments because they are signs of God’s love of humanity, for God is intent not on condemning but on reforming, saving: Therefore, it seems that being expelled from paradise, and being kept from the tree of life, and being given over to death are done out of chastisement and punishment; but, as we have already seen, it is by no means inferior to before . . .. For, while the events are contrary to one another, the ends of both are harmonious and in agreement. What I am saying is this: excluding them from paradise, settling them in another place, turning them away from the tree of life, punishing them, making them mortal, showing them that up to now they had been higher than revelation – indeed, all these things, both the former and the latter – occurred for the same salvation and honour.68

Creation and punishment share the same end of the salvation and honour of humanity; however, Chrysostom is much more specific than this. He considers, for example, what life would have been like for Adam had he not been punished. Adam would have both continued to believe false things about God and about the devil, and he would have kept sinning indefinitely.69 God adds the punishment of ‘sweat and toil’ to keep human beings from the evil of idleness.70 Cain’s punishment, further, holds benefit not only for Cain himself but also in perpetuity for those who read of the punishment: it instructs those who read the story to ‘become better through the rebuke given to him’;71 and it is a good for him, and for those around him, since, ‘had he remained unpunished . . . he might have perpetrated a worse evil against someone else’.72 Cain further benefits from God giving him time – that is, the rest of his life – for repentance and improvement73 and as a mitigation of future punishments.74 God’s punishments are not only lenient out of his tenderness towards human beings but are also directed towards the ultimate salvation of humanity out of God’s love and care for them. Chrysostom’s interpretation of Genesis 1–4 encapsulates the way divine providence continues to work throughout history, not just in the beginning. Punishments and threats of punishments, including Gehenna itself, appear to be evil but are in fact providentially given for the

68 69 71 73

Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 428,44–56). Also see Hom. Gen. 18.3 (PG 53, 151,45–152,2). 70 Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 429,12–13). Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 429,17–22). 72 Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 431,26–27). Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 431,2–4). 74 Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 431,40–42). Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 431,44–46).

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salvation of humanity. These apparent evils thus share in the same providence that is seen more obviously in God’s free and gratuitous gift of creation and in the many individual gifts he bestows upon humanity.

  Many events occur between creation and the incarnation, and in Scripture all of these are proofs of providence. We have seen many of these proofs in the patterns of God’s providential activity in Chapter 3. Moreover, there are real continuities between these providential ethē and Chrysostom’s exegetical treatment of the Creation and Fall: threatened chastisements in the cases of the Flood and of Jonah and the Ninevites demonstrate God’s providential care, as do God’s miraculous moments of saving Joseph, the Three Youths, Lazarus, etc. Just as in his reading of the Creation and Fall narratives, so also in these lesser, intervening proofs of providence, Chrysostom attends closely to narrative-historical nuances. The narrative thrust of the story is of the utmost importance for determining God’s way of providentially caring, and every detail can be seen to point towards God’s love for humanity. The incarnation is, in some ways, no different. For Chrysostom, the incarnation, along with creation, is a great proof of divine providence. And although he does speak at great length about creation, it is the incarnation – from the Son’s condescension to his passion and death – which is the ‘chief good’ (τὸ κεφάλαιον τῶν ἀγαθῶν).75 The ‘economy of the flesh’ (οἰκονομία κατὰ σάρκα),76 embracing the incarnation and the cross, is associated with a whole complex of ideas, which Chrysostom can also call the ‘chief good’: love, almsgiving, philanthrōpia, the Eucharist, becoming like God.77 And these ideas all rely on the concept that the salvation brought to humanity by the Son’s assumption of the flesh, including his suffering and death, is the greatest good that God gives to humanity. In 75 76

77

In addition to the quotations from Scand. and Stag. below, see Hom. Matt. 54.4 (PG 58, 538,25–27); Scand. 15.5 (SC 79, 216). This is commonly how Chrysostom refers to the whole of the incarnation, including the passion and death, that is, everything having to do with the Son’s assumption of the flesh. See Exp. Ps. 44.8 (PG 55, 195,49–50); Exp. Ps. 109.7 (PG 55, 275,61); Hom. 1 Cor. 8.3 (PG 61, 71,11); Comm. Gal. 1.2 (PG 61, 615,38–39); Hom. 1 Thess. 8.1 (PG 62, 441,7–8); Hom. Heb. 1.2 (PG 63, 16,53); Hom. Heb. 5.2 (PG 63, 48,22–23). See Oppugn. 3.15 (PG 47, 373,34–35); Anom. [De incompr. hom.] 1.32–36 (SC 28bis, 96); Adv. Jud. 4.5 (PG 48, 879,11–14); Rom. mart. 1 (PG 50, 607,49–58); Hom. 2 Cor 14 [Hab. eund. spir. hom.] 2.7 (PG 51, 287,45–60); Hom. Matt. 50.3 (PG 58, 508,20–32); Hom. Matt. 82.2 (PG 58, 739,35–50).

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On the Providence of God, Chrysostom provides a characteristic rhetorical exposition of the salvation that Christ has brought about: And, finally, he brought about the chief good (τὸ κεφάλαιον τῶν ἀγαθῶν), and he sent his own Son. He who is of the same nature as [God] became what I am and, walking upon the earth, lived among men . . .. Who wouldn’t be amazed, who wouldn’t tremble, at his ineffable providential care, when he considers how, for unfeeling servants, he gave up his only begotten Son to death – an accursed, shameful death, a death for the condemned? And he was fixed upon a high pole, spat upon, beaten, struck on the jaw, and mocked. He was buried out of charity, and seals were placed upon his tomb. And he submitted to all these things for you and your providential care, in order to abolish the tyranny of sin, to raze to the ground the citadel of the devil, to cut through the cords of death, to open for us the gates of heaven, to make the curse disappear, and to annul the former condemnation.78

In this passage, Chrysostom emphasizes the providential character of the incarnation and demonstrates once more how bound up are the ideas of providence and salvation. Christ’s death ‘for our sake’ is also ‘out of care for us’; the apostles also suffered in order to spread the proclamation of the crucified Saviour, ‘for you and for your providential care’.79 And the good (τὸ ἀγαθόν) of salvation through the first Parousia is tied to the second, the kingdom of heaven and the life to come: ‘For you, O man, he also prepared a kingdom, for you indescribable goods: that dwelling place in the heavens, the various and manifold mansions, the blessedness which cannot be translated into speech.’80 That the incarnation is the greatest proof of providence is echoed elsewhere throughout his works. In his seventh Letter to Olympias, Chrysostom is consumed with relating various sufferings that have led to people being scandalized (stumbling); the latter half of the letter includes a long description of Christ’s sufferings and a brief reference to the sufferings of the apostles.81 He concludes this passage by writing, ‘if you now wish to reckon up the good things with the painful, you will see many things that have happened, which, even if not signs and wonders, are nevertheless events approximating signs: ineffable proofs of God’s great providence and succour’.82 Elsewhere, referencing one of his favourite Scriptures on the incarnation and crucifixion (Phil 2:5–11), Chrysostom refers to this as the ‘greatest good’ (τὸ μέγιστον τῶν

78 80 82

79 Scand. 8.5–7 (SC 79, 134–36). Scand. 8.9 (SC 79, 138). 81 Scand. 8.9 (SC 79, 138). Ep. Olymp. 7.3c–5c (SC 13bis, 142–54). Ep. Olymp. 7.5d (SC 13bis, 154).

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ἀγαθῶν).83 And yet again, he writes that ‘the incarnation of the Only Begotten, his condescension, is the crown (κεφάλαιον) of our salvation’.84 Because divine providence is ordered to salvation, we are not surprised to find that for Chrysostom the greatest act of God’s care for humankind is seen in the salvation effected through the economy of the flesh. How the Son’s assumption of the flesh, suffering, and death are providential is clearly set forward in Chrysostom’s exposition of Rom 14:7–9, in which Paul writes, ‘whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s; for this Christ died [and was raised] and lived: so that he might be Lord of the dead and the living’. Chrysostom comments that Christ’s willingness to die is evidence that ‘he cares (κήδεται) for us more than we care for ourselves’,85 insofar as he is concerned to oversee both our life and our death – something human beings are incapable of effectively doing. Above all, however, it is Christ’s own death that is capable of convincing us of God’s great care and providence: namely, because ‘he always cares for our salvation and correction (ἀεὶ φροντίζει τῆς σωτηρίας ἡμῶν καὶ διορθώσεως)’.86 Chrysostom continues in a stirring passage so typical of his reflection on the economy of the flesh: Apart from exercising such great providence for us, what need was there for the incarnation (οἰκονομίας)? Will the one who has taken such great pains for us to become his, that he even took the form of a servant and died, despise us after we have become his? This is not the case – not at all! He wouldn’t have chosen to go to so much trouble. ‘For to this end’, it says, ‘he even died’ (Rom 14:9).87

This, Chrysostom goes on to say, is a providence with precision (πρόνοιαν ἠκριβωμένην),88 because it shows precisely how far God’s care for humankind extends – that it reaches even into the grave. This is indeed why the economy of the flesh, culminating in Christ’s willing self-sacrifice, is the greatest demonstration of divine providence: because it extends beyond the realm of the living and gives life – eternal life – to the dead. The benefits that accrue from such salutary providential care are manifold, almost innumerable. Rather than relying upon biblical narratives, and attending carefully to their structures and details, when it comes to the economy of the flesh, Chrysostom instead provides rich and overflowing catenae of its benefits. Such catenae are everywhere throughout

83 84 85 87

For the longer passage, see Hom. Jo. 38.4 (PG 59, 216,27–49). Hom. Jo. 5:19 [Fil. ex se nihil fac.] 3 (PG 56, 251,33–35). 86 Hom. Rom. 25.3 (PG 60, 631,23–24). Hom. Rom. 25.3 (PG 60, 631,38–39). 88 Hom. Rom. 25.3 (PG 60, 631,39–46). Hom. Rom. 25.3 (PG 60, 631,58).

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Chrysostom’s works, and one is included in the treatise On the Providence of God: For the cross of Christ, which sets straight the whole world, releases from deception, makes the earth into heaven, cuts the cords of death, makes Hades useless, destroys the stronghold of the devil, bridles the demons, makes men angels, destroys altars and overturns temples, implants this new and foreign philosophy into the earth, and causes myriad goods – these awesome and great and exalted things – is it not a scandal to many?89

Chrysostom is of course here putting this rich array of benefits into the context of his discussion of scandal; but this list, which is lengthier than most, includes a number of the central benefits of the cross seen throughout his works: transport from earth to heaven or the intermingling of earth and heaven; expelling deception; toppling the stronghold of the devil and expelling the demons; introducing a new way of life (φιλοσοφία); and making men into angels. Often included alongside these lists is that death is not – or is no longer – death.90 Thus, from Christ’s economy of the flesh come about the greatest changes for humanity or, more specifically, for those who take upon themselves the life of the angels which was introduced by Christ’s coming. This change is in some ways very much like what we have seen in the deep structure of the reversal of fortunes in Chapter 3. At one point in the Consolation to Stagirius, having narrated the Joseph cycle and Abraham’s near-sacrifice of Isaac, Chrysostom does indeed narrate the incarnation and crucifixion in a way that invokes this deep structure: Therefore, while it is possible neither to learn nor to relate all the goodness of the Lord towards us, yet, I may say, we do know its main point (τὸ κεφάλαιον). For after so great a disobedience, after such great sins, when the tyranny of sin held fast the whole world, when, finally, it was necessary to pay the greatest price, and to be ruined completely, and for the race of men to become nameless, then did he make a display of his kindness around us, slaughtering what is his own for enemies, for those who have been estranged, and for those who hate him and who turn their backs on the Only Begotten; and by this he brought about, for us, reconciliation to him, having promised to give the kingdom of heaven, and eternal

89 90

Scand. 15.1 (SC 79, 214). Chrysostom can in fact speak about these benefits coming from, alternatively, the incarnation, the cross, and even the giving of the Holy Spirit. See Hom. Matt. 26:9 [Pater, si poss.] (PG 51, 35,8–16); Hom. 2 Tim. 3:1 [Hoc scit. quod in nov. dieb.] 5 (PG 56, 276,20–30); Hom. Matt. 11.6 (PG 57, 199,32–36); Hom. Matt. 25.3 (PG 57, 331,41–43); Hom. Matt. 54.5 (PG 58, 538,2–9); Hom. 1 Cor. 4.3 (PG 61, 35,4–10); Hom. 2 Cor. 30.2 (PG 61, 606,31–36); Hom. 2 Tim. 2.1 (PG 62, 607,31–37).

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life, and myriad good things, which ‘no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the human heart’ (1 Cor 2:9). What could be equal to this providential care, love of humanity, and goodness?91

Because the incarnation – encompassing Christ’s life, passion, death, and resurrection – was the greatest in a series of proofs of God’s providence, it is in part unsurprising to find that it can be narrated according to the pattern of other providential narratives. When things can get no worse upon the face of the earth, then God descends ([συγ]καταβαίνω), and comes and reconciles himself to humanity, out of love for us. It is hard to see how the incarnation is not the climax of a whole long narrative from creation to new creation – and thus a change of fortunes. Despite the fact that we do find such a narration of the incarnation and the salvation it brings, this is not typical of Chrysostom’s descriptions of the economy of the flesh. Instead, we have seen that his usual exposition of this salutary, providential event is in the form of a catena of benefits. Furthermore, as we saw in Chapter 3, the incarnation is not usually incorporated into prominent providential-salvific clusters – whether of Job, the Three Youths, Lazarus, etc., or of Noah and Jonah. In addition to this, Chrysostom’s way of discovering the providence in the incarnation is very unlike his way of reading the providence of creation. Thus, whereas there is a deep continuity among the various scriptural proofs of providence, there is also a discontinuity between the incarnation and the rest, stemming from the novelty of the event itself. The problem with such novelty is obvious when we consider Chrysostom’s larger vision of the unity or coherence of the divine economy throughout history: the coming of Christ, his suffering, death, and resurrection, are not changes to the whole providential plan but ought to be structurally congruent and consistent with the whole. Chrysostom is careful to guard the divine economy as one continuous work of love, in which individual events are simply variations on the theme. In the above passage from the Consolation to Stagirius, he is the closest he will get to calling the incarnation a change, for he does not want it to seem as if God’s love for humanity is without precedent: from the beginning to the end, human beings are presented with demonstrations of God’s love for us. There are other narrative reasons that Chrysostom is reluctant to bring the incarnation as another structurally coordinated narrative into the particular providential clusters we have discussed: narrating the

91

Stag. 1.4 (PG 47, 436,30–46).

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incarnation as a change – of any kind – is precisely what he does not want to do.92 The uniqueness of the incarnation is not that God condescends lovingly to act out of care for human creatures. God always acts this way. Instead, the uniqueness of the incarnation stems, of course, from the union of the divine and the human in the person of Christ. This union remains, for Chrysostom, an ineffable mystery, and he is eager to keep himself from prying into the mysterious economies of God. Chrysostom’s reticence – both to include Christ in typological clusters and to elaborate on the nature of Christ’s person – is seen not least in his homilies On the Incomprehensibility of God. Not only is the divine essence ineffable but so are the economies: Paul stops the mouths of those who sought to pry into the economies. If he did not permit them [to pry] into these, but you meddle in this blessed essence which governs all things, aren’t you to be considered worthy of myriad thunderbolts? And how is this not the height of madness?93

Here Chrysostom seems especially to be speaking about the nature of the incarnation (as the oikonomia) but also, as indicated by the plural, about the variegated whole of the salutary providential economy. God’s providential care is particularly incomprehensible in the suffering of the Son. It is so great – indeed, boundless – in the cross, that it is ineffable: What is the boast of the cross? That Christ, for me, assumed the form of a slave, and suffered what he suffered, for me, a slave, an enemy, and a brute. But he loved me so much that he even offered himself. What could be equal to this? . . . How is it not necessary to boast, when the Master, the true God, is not ashamed of the cross for us? Therefore, let’s not be ashamed of his unspeakable providential care!

92

93

See, for example, Hom. Jo. 11.1 (PG 59, 79,13–16); Hom. Jo. 11.2 (PG 59, 79,32–55); Exp. Ps. 44.1 (PG 55, 183,22–26); Exp. Ps. 45.4 (PG 55, 189,5–7); Anom. 8 [Pet. Mat. fil. Zeb.] (PG 48, 777,19–778,10). Though his homilies do not always focus on speculative theology and anti-Arian polemics, Chrysostom was capable of such polemical arguments and appears to have been well-apprised of the theological controversies of the day. Several works have recently been published on this aspect of Chrysostom’s preaching: Karmann, ‘Johannes Chrysostomus und der Neunizänismus’; Laird, ‘John Chrysostom and the Anomoeans’; Pak-Wah Lai, ‘The Eusebian and Meletian Roots of John Chrysostom’s Trinitarian Theology’, Scrinium 14, no. 1 (2018): 37–62. These scholars demonstrate that a fair number of Chrysostom’s works are in fact dedicated to dogmatic topics, albeit always in a pastoral/therapeutic context: especially his various series Contra Anomoeos, the Homilies on John, Homilies on Hebrews, and his Catechetical Lectures. Anom. [De incompr. hom.] 2.370–374 (SC 28bis, 172).

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He was not ashamed to be crucified for you. Should you be ashamed to confess his boundless providential care?94

Whereas the whole economy of providence is in some sense ineffable, the economy of the flesh is especially so because it is in a class of its own: it entails saying something about God’s essence and so is a topic not to be delved into as if it can be grasped intellectually but to be entered into as a mystery. This does not, however, stop it from being a proof of providence and love: ‘“He assumed our flesh”, through love of humanity alone, so that he might show mercy to us. For there is no other reason for the incarnation (αἰτία τῆς οἰκονομίας) than this only.’95 God providentially acts from his philanthropic character. Therefore, Chrysostom’s reluctance at this point to rely on biblical narratives does not derive from a conviction that the incarnation is different than the rest of the providential economy but that it is so superlative an example that it can hardly be uttered. He may concatenate various biblical and traditional statements about Christ’s efficacious union with humanity, suffering, death, and resurrection; he may speak of the incarnation as a glorious display of God’s providence and love for his saints; but to say more could easily lead to impiety or even to a distrust of God’s providence. Chrysostom is worried not only that the incarnation be seen as a deviation from God’s continual providential ordering of things but that it might be seen to be a change in God himself. Therefore, whatever difference there is between the incarnation and the many other demonstrations of divine providence in history comes from the nature of the event itself rather than the providence demonstrated in it. All of God’s providence is characterized by his love for humanity and therefore his adaptation (συγκατάβασις) to our weakness. Insofar as God is always lovingly condescending to humanity, it holds true most of all in the event of the incarnation. Furthermore, providence, which is always ordered to salvation, is especially so in the incarnation. Although the incarnation is not unique in providing salvation, it is superlative in its application thereof. In all of the other discussions of providence we have heard in this chapter and in Chapter 3, providence is effected to bring about a change – a salutary correction (διόρθωσις) – either in one’s circumstances or in one’s character: God’s announcement of destruction to the Ninevites and the generation of Noah, the miraculous salvation of the Three Youths, the reward of Lazarus, the prophetic warnings of Elijah 94

Comm. Gal. 6 (PG 61, 679,2–13).

95

Hom. Heb. 5.1 (PG 63, 47,34–37).

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and John the Baptist: these are all instances in God’s salutary and corrective providence. And the incarnation is the most extreme example. The change (μεταβολή) brought about to humanity is so great it cannot be narrated. Not only is it impious and impossible to speak about the mingling of divine and human natures in the person of Christ, but it is likewise impossible to narrate how men might become angels, how earth is translated into heaven, how death becomes merely a sleep. Due to this ineffability, Chrysostom relies, as he always does, upon scriptural formulations of the economy of the flesh: that the one who was ‘in the form of God’ assumed the ‘form of a slave’ (Phil 2:5–11), that ‘the Word became flesh’ (John 1:14). Thus, while still deeply tied to the other great instances of God’s providential care, the providence demonstrated in the incarnation is so exalted that it is ineffable.

’     Although Chrysostom does not often re-narrate the incarnation or passion, he does interpret the Gospels’ narration of the oikonomia, having extended series of homilies on both John and Matthew. And Christ’s activity narrated therein is analogous to the providence seen enacted by God in the narratives laid out in this and previous chapters. However, the Gospels are not straightforward proofs of providence or philanthrōpia because Christ is, and therefore operates as, both human and divine. While fully and properly retaining his divinity, the Word incarnate adapts himself, entering into the contingencies, causes, and characters of creaturely existence and its history. Therefore, Christ’s providence and philanthrōpia take on a different quality than the other salutary, providential acts seen so far. Given the particular subject matter of the Gospels, we are not surprised to find that it is especially Christ’s miracles and prophetic utterances that demonstrate divine providence. Divine providence in Christ is therefore analogous with what we have seen in the two great providential ethē in Chapter 3: his speech mirrors the prophetic proclamation of coming judgement (with Noah and the Ninevites) and his miracles the miraculous reversal of fortunes (the Three Youths, Job, Lazarus, etc.). Before turning to Chrysostom’s interpretations of Christ’s saving power in the Gospels, we pause for a moment to consider Chrysostom’s Christology. Especially in the light of the so-called Antiochene ‘two natures/persons’ Christology, seen in Diodore of Tarsus and Theodore of Mopsuestia, we might expect Chrysostom to interpret some of Christ’s

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acts as those of the divine Word – and therefore providential – and some as those of the assumed man – and therefore virtuous.96 Given the neat delineations of human and divine activities heard in Chrysostom’s statements, ‘See God’s love and the righteous man’s virtue’ (discussed in Chapter 3), we could imagine Chrysostom making this delineation within Christ’s two (human and divine) subjects, as someone like Theodore does. Chrysostom’s Christology, however, is decidedly not of this Antiochene tradition.97 His ‘partitive exegesis’ does not differentiate between the Word and the Assumed Man but hearkens back to the slightly earlier Nicene and pro-Nicene differentiation between ‘the divinity’ and ‘the humanity’ seen in Athanasius and Gregory of Nazianzus. Alternatively, Chrysostom can claim that humbler statements predicated of Christ are spoken ‘according to the economy’ – that is, not of the divine essence but due to his adaptation (συγκατάβασις) to human weakness (ἀσθένεια).98 Chrysostom therefore maintains the economic distinction between the divine and the human in Christ, while maintaining the ontological integrity of the subject. The subject who acts in the Gospels is truly God, exercising condescending providence. Christ, as God, is truly philanthrōpos. Christ’s divinity is especially seen in a number of statements in the Homilies on Matthew. For, just as we saw statements of God’s providence and human virtue in Chapter 2, in his exegesis of the Gospel Chrysostom differentiates between Christ’s activity and the activity of the persons with whom he interacts: Therefore, when they [human beings] show so much faith, [Christ] himself also shows his power, forgiving sins with all authority, and showing through all things, that he is of equal authority to the one who begot him.99 Just as you are perplexed at Christ’s power, so also marvel at his disciple’s faith, that he so obeyed with a difficult deed.100

96

97 98 99

On Theodore’s Christology, see Kevin McNamara, ‘Theodore of Mopsuestia and the Nestorian Heresy’, ITQ 19, no. 3 (1952): 254–78; Kevin McNamara, ‘Theodore of Mopsuestia and the Nestorian Heresy II’, ITQ 20, no. 2 (1953): 172–91; Francis Aloysius Sullivan, The Christology of Theodore of Mopsuestia (Rome: Gregoriana, 1956); Richard A. Norris, Manhood and Christ: A Study in the Christology of Theodore of Mopsuestia (Oxford: Clarendon, 1963); and, more recently, Frederick G. McLeod, The Roles of Christ’s Humanity in Salvation: Insights from Theodore of Mopsuestia (Washington, DC: CUA Press, 2005). Hay, ‘Integrity of the Human Nature’. See Anom. [De incompr. hom.] 1.280–81 (SC 28bis, 124); Hom. Heb. 1.2 (PG 63, 16,52–56); Hom. Eph. 7 (PG 62, 54,52–55); Hom. 1 Cor. 39.4 (PG 61, 338,27–339,2). 100 Hom. Matt. 29.1 (PG 57, 358,52–359,1). Hom. Matt. 58.2 (PG 58, 568,13–16).

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Do you see how the healing of the servant proclaimed both the power of Christ and the faith of the centurion . . .?101 From these things most of all should one be amazed at Christ’s power and their courage.102

Whereas such comments can seem off-hand, I have shown in the previous chapters that these statements are instructive for the way that Chrysostom thinks about the relationship between divine and human activity. Here Chrysostom shifts his discourse from thinking about God’s philanthrōpia or pronoia and human aretē (or specific aretai) and instead thinks of God’s (Christ’s) dunamis and human pistis. The discussion of human activity shifts from virtue to faith because the Gospels, on Chrysostom’s reading, speak of faith as the ideal human activity. Likewise, in the Gospels, divine activity is represented in Christ’s miraculous power, at least prior to the passion. With the differences between Old Testament narratives and the Gospel narratives taken into account, we find that the actions of Christ in the Gospels are identical with the actions of God. Christ’s power (δύναμις), however, is not an end unto itself but is an expression of his love for humankind (φιλανθρωπία). In the Homilies on Matthew, Chrysostom finds that two stories especially manifest Christ’s power and love for humanity: the healing of the centurion’s servant (Matt 8:5–13) and the healing of the daughter of the Canaanite woman (15:21–28). In each of the homilies, devoted respectively to these pericopes (Hom. Matt. 26 & 52), these two stories are read together – in what we have now seen is a typical associative reading for Chrysostom – as indicating Christ’s extension of his saving mission to the Gentiles. In the twenty-sixth Homily on Matthew especially, both of these healings and the events leading up to them are expressions of Christ’s philanthropy. However, as Chrysostom notes, the two narratives are very different – and even appear to be at odds – despite sharing in Christ’s healing of gentiles. In the case of the centurion’s servant, Jesus appears eager to help, while he seems to have no interest in helping the Canaanite woman’s daughter. Although Christ’s actions differ in appearance (as also, say, the creation of Adam and the punishment of Adam, as described above), both are performed out of the same philanthropy, to the end of salvation, and for the purpose of demonstrating of the faith of gentiles. And in both of these cases, Christ’s philanthropy is identical with God’s 101

Hom. Matt. 26.4 (PG 57, 339,20–22).

102

Hom. Matt. 75.3 (PG 58, 689,36–37).

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philanthropy. This is demonstrated not least in Chrysostom’s comparison of the centurion’s story to that of the Lord’s visitation of Abraham in Genesis 19. In both cases, God is eager to show himself to the centurion and to Abraham respectively, because he plans to demonstrate to the world the faith of the former and the hospitality of the latter. Importantly, in Chrysostom’s discussion of these two events, there is no change of subject from Christ (‘the physician’) to the  / the Angels (‘the physician’).103 The ’s philanthropy is Christ’s philanthropy. In both of these Gospel pericopes, Christ puts on display his power and philanthropy and demonstrates the faith of the gentile involved. In these miraculous healings, this dual demonstration occurs within a complex set of interactions between Christ and the believing gentile, mired as the Word of God is in and among humanity. Christ lovingly works in manifold ways – through conversations and through wonders – to elicit and to prove the faith of those to whom he speaks. With the Canaanite woman, his apparent reluctance to heal her comes from his philanthropic desire to make her great faith known. A reading of the pericope in which Christ demonstrates anything less than his usual philanthropy would be a faulty one; we must interpret this story too in relation to Christ’s philanthropy, since we know him to be loving on every other occasion. Chrysostom writes, ‘persecuting those who approached him was unworthy of his love for humanity (ἀνάξιον αὐτοῦ τῆς φιλανθρωπίας)’.104 Therefore, Chrysostom interprets the episode in such a way that Christ’s very rebuke of the woman – calling her a ‘dog’ – is spoken for the purpose of proving the persistence of her faith all the more. Also a sign of Christ’s love is that, in his interactions with those in need of healing or cleansing, he sees their faith – human and feeble as it is – and confirms it with his actions: for the leper whose healing occurs in Matthew just before the healing of the centurion’s servant (Matt 8:1–4), Christ shows that ‘he will’ make the leper clean, per the leper’s request; for the centurion, he shows that he does indeed have authority ‘merely to say the word’ and thereby to heal the centurion’s servant; for the Canaanite woman, he shows that he does indeed care even for ‘dogs’. In his philanthropy, Christ confirms the faith of those who believe truly. Although Chrysostom is intent on showing how great is the faith of these gentiles, he also makes clear that it is not human faith or worthiness that works the miracles, but Christ’s power and philanthropy:

103

Hom. Matt. 26.1 (PG 57, 333,18–56).

104

Hom. Matt. 52.1 (PG 58, 518,57–519,2).

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Look at the folly of the Jews who say, ‘The one to whom you would show the favour is worthy’ (Luke 7:4). For while it was necessary to appeal to Jesus’ love of humanity (τὴν φιλανθρωπίαν . . . τοῦ Ἰησοῦ), they instead cite the centurion’s worthiness – and they don’t even know why they need to cite it! But not so the centurion. Rather, he said that he was exceedingly unworthy, not just of the benefit, but even of receiving the Lord into his house.105

The healing of the centurion’s servant is not merely for the sake of showing his power and the gentile centurion’s faith – though it certainly does this: ‘Do you see how the healing of the servant proclaimed both the power of Christ and the faith of the centurion . . .?’106 Christ’s miracles, along with his teaching and human interaction, are all done out of his love to save those who are lost: ‘For he showed his power not by the healing, but also by doing it miraculously and in the blink of an eye. And he benefits [us] not only with this, but also, in the midst of his demonstration of miracles, with his continually opening the sayings about the kingdom, and drawing everyone towards it.’107 There are many more examples of Christ’s philanthropy in the Homilies on Matthew, and elsewhere, since ‘[Jesus] shows that everything is from his philanthropy’.108 As we see in both the Homilies on Matthew and the Homilies on John, Chrysostom sees the Gospels themselves as records of Christ’s philanthropic economy of the flesh, in which he works persuasively to elicit faith and to offer entry into God’s kingdom. The Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of John both concern God’s – that is, Christ’s – interaction with all variety of persons to save in word and deed. The consistently good, saving work that is properly God’s throughout all the rest of the divine economy is here seen in Christ’s work, while what is ‘up to us’ – in this case faith – continues to be seen, of course, in the work of human beings. Thus, all throughout the Gospels, as narrations of the economy of the flesh, we continually see the greatest proof of God’s condescending love for humankind. It is above all in God’s condescension in Christ that God’s philanthropic character is seen; for he works everything from his love for humanity, for our salvation.

 According to Chrysostom, the providential economy, which spans all of Scripture from Adam to Christ, is a series of proofs of divine providence. 105 107

Hom. Matt. 26.3 (PG 57, 337,12–18). Hom. Matt. 26.4 (PG 57, 339,31–36).

106

Hom. Matt. 26.4 (PG 57, 339,20–22). Hom. Matt. 64.4 (PG 58, 614,6–7).

108

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Because from the beginning to the end of human history God is loving towards humankind and exercises his providence continually and consistently, there is little sense in Chrysostom’s thought that there is a narrative arc, or ‘ascending line’, of which Christ’s coming is the climax. Instead, the incarnation and the crucifixion are the greatest in a non-narrative series of proofs of God’s salutary providence. Although the economy of the flesh is the greatest proof, it is not unique insofar as God has continually been working for the salvation and good repute of humanity from the beginning. There are therefore many and various lesser proofs of providence found all throughout Scripture. Although the incarnation is the greatest proof of providence among a great series of the same, it is unique insofar as the human and the divine ineffably come together. It is the very summit of providential events in its being ordered to salvation and a change for the better. The benefits of the incarnation are so great that they are ineffable – often unnarratable – and yet can still be articulated in terms of God’s good and salutary purposes. Christ’s incarnation is not at all a change of the Son, nor out of character for God, who is continually philanthropic; but it brings about the greatest of changes for humanity: heaven is brought to earth, humans become angels, and death is made merely a sleep. Thus, while the incarnation is unique in the singular instance of the Word assuming flesh, it remains one in a series of demonstrations of divine providence. Nevertheless, where the incarnation is narrated – in the Gospels – the love and providence of God is seen in the love and power of Christ. In the narratives of the Gospels, Christ occupies the place that God alone does in the Old Testament narratives discussed in previous chapters. According to Chrysostom’s not-quite-Antiochene christology, it is not that virtue and providence meet in the person of Christ but that Christ himself works the salutary miracles that God works in the Old Testament. Those human beings who mirror the righteous and virtuous in the Old Testament are the ones who respond to Christ’s power and philanthropy with faith. In the Gospels, the economy of the flesh is narrated in such a way that Christ himself is proved to be God who exercises providence over all. Chrysostom’s view of the economy of providence, which prizes continuity more than discrete stages, offers some explanation for Chrysostom’s typological reading of Scripture seen in Chapter 3. He is not as concerned with the times in human history when events took place – whether in the Old or New Covenant, before or after the Law, etc. – as much as he is to discern patterns common throughout the entire history of God’s providential working; these include especially the

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patterns we saw in Chapter 3. Because of Chrysostom’s view of the coherence and unity of biblical history, his typological interpretation is concerned with continuity and multiple recurrence rather than correspondences of type and anti-type between the Old and New Testaments. We have now seen, too, what scholars must mean when they state that Chrysostom is interested in salvation history. What appears to be salvation history is more accurately referred to, in Chrysostom’s vocabulary, as providence or the divine economy. Rather than stating simply and imprecisely that Chrysostom is interested in salvation history, we may now say that Chrysostom’s perspective on ‘salvation history’ is distinctive, valuing the consistency of God’s philanthrōpia over gradually unfolding covenants, historical ages, or stages of revelation. Only as we observe his particular conception of salvation history – really the providential economy – do we come to appreciate what is really valuable about Chrysostom’s approach: that God’s providential activity, in all things, is characterized by his love for humanity.

5 True Judgements and Consolation

Afflictions in themselves are a good thing. Hom. Rom. 9.2 (PG 60, 469,31) Do you see that the wrong-minded and the negligent do not gain from the benefits, but the right-minded and vigilant . . . gain the greatest things from the same [events]? Scand. 14.13 (PG 52, 514) In everything by which we may be perplexed, we choose this: ‘Your judgments are a great abyss’. Stag. 1.7 (PG 47, 441,45–46)

As we have pursued Chrysostom’s exegetical teaching on providence over the course of the last three chapters, we left his pastoral care – his therapy – far behind. Now, in the remaining two chapters, we return to ask what therapeutic force John’s teaching on providence has. How does John envision providence being consolatory for Stagirius, for the Antiochene populace, and for Olympias, all of whom suffer so grievously? We end on this note because Chrysostom’s preaching and teaching on providence cannot be removed from its pastoral context. The context of human suffering is not bark that can be peeled away: Chrysostom’s teaching on providence not only has a pastoral context but is pastoral. In these last two chapters, then, we identify two primary ways that the narratives of providence, which we have already surveyed, work together to console and to build virtue. These two 126

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aspects of Chrysostom’s therapy – its consolation and virtue-building – are inextricable: to heal the passions is to lead to virtue, while the cultivation of virtue also drives off the more destructive emotions. The bulk of this chapter, then, is taken up with the first part of John Chrysostom’s definition of virtue, already encountered in Chapter 2 (‘the accuracy of true teachings’), while Chapter 6 will be taken up with the second (‘rectitude of life’).1 Specifically, in this chapter we look into which doctrines Chrysostom finds contained in the providential narratives that we have seen in the previous chapters. These judgements concern divine action as well as human action and experience. For John, the theological sine qua non is that all of God’s creation is good and providentially given – including occasions of suffering. One must judge suffering – or as he calls it, ‘affliction’ – to be given by God’s good providence, even while acknowledging its difficulty. The ethical corollary of the providentially given goodness of ‘externals’ is that evil comes only from the human will. Suffering itself is not evil but one can choose to respond evilly to circumstances of suffering by accusing God’s providential plans; if this blasphemy is left unchecked, it may lead to the true ‘harm’ of condemnation in the final judgement. Another doctrine that Chrysostom finds in these narratives is that divine providence, or the divine oikonomia, is incomprehensible: we can be sure that God cares, but we do not always know to what end or in what manner he is arranging things ‘for the good of those who love him’ (Rom 8:28). We examine these doctrines that Chrysostom finds to be contained in Scripture’s providential narratives not for their own sake but to discover what is particularly consoling about the narratives that contain these theological and ethical judgements. To this end, the first part of this chapter considers the place of therapeia in Chrysostom’s preaching and teaching. The chapter also closes by demonstrating Chrysostom’s distinctiveness in relation to the longer Christian tradition of consolation: in comparison with his consoling contemporaries, the Cappadocians, we find that both his use of narrative, and the judgements he thinks these narratives contain, are distinctive to his own brand of consolation.

    Throughout this study, I have described Chrysostom’s discussions of suffering and providence as consolatory. But what precisely is 1

Laed. 3 (SC 103, 70,25–30). Also see Hom. Act. 47.3 (PG 60, 332,33–34); Hom. Heb. 34.2 (PG 63, 234,34–36).

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consolation? And how does it help us understand the relationship between providence, Scripture, and Chrysostom’s project of forming souls? Scholars have often found it difficult to classify the genres of Chrysostom’s various works. Those genres with which his works are typically associated – diatribes, homilies, laliai – are so broad and variegated (they all mean something like ‘talking’!) that they rarely prove useful for understanding what sort of literary or rhetorical tradition a certain work is an heir to, whether intentionally or not.2 In contrast, the genre of consolation does help us appreciate Chrysostom’s work. Ancient consolation, especially when viewed together with the therapeutic tradition of healing the passions, is intent on stimulating a change to true

2

For example, Margaret Mitchell, following Harry Hubbell, has argued that even the discourses In Praise of St. Paul, which have sometimes been taken as straightforward encomia, more resemble laliai, which is a rather amorphous literary form. Mitchell, Heavenly Trumpet, 378–79; Harry Hubbell, ‘Chrysostom and Rhetoric’, CP 19 (1924): 261–76 (268). There has also been debate on the genre of On the Providence of God that has reached no compelling outcome. Margaret Schatkin, John Chrysostom as Apologist: With Special Reference to De Incomprehensibili, Quod Nemo Laeditur, Ad Eos Qui Scandalizati Sunt, and Adversus Oppugnatores Vitae Monasticae (Thessaloniki: Patriarchikon Hidryma Paterikōn Meletōn, 1987), 107–9, outlines some possibilities, and then, in keeping with her project, labels the work ‘apologetic’. Scholars often claim that Chrysostom’s sermons have affinities with the diatribe. Arnold Uleyn, ‘La doctrine morale de saint Jean Chrysostome dans le Commentaire sur saint Matthieu et ses affinités avec la diatribe’, Revue de l’Université d’Ottawa 27, no. 1–2 (1957): 6–25, 99–140, concludes that it is really only the latter ‘moral’ section of his exegetical homilies that can be considered akin to the diatribe (25). Most who write after Uleyn follow his observations. However, the idea that there is a distinct diatribe form is not even agreed upon: see the debate between Gottschalk and Jocelyn: H. D. Jocelyn, ‘Diatribes and Sermons’, Liverpool Classical Monthly 7 (1982): 3–7; H. B. Gottschalk, ‘Diatribe Again’, Liverpool Classical Monthly 7 (1982): 91–92; H. D. Jocelyn, ‘“Diatribes” and the Greek Book-Title Διατριβαί’, Liverpool Classical Monthly 8 (1983): 89–91; H. B. Gottschalk, ‘More on DIATRIBAI’, Liverpool Classical Monthly 8 (1983): 91–92. Also see Cook, Preaching and Popular Christianity, 74–75. In contrast, there is a long, largely successful scholarly tradition of identifying rhetorical devices in Chrysostom’s homilies and treatises. On Chrysostom’s Atticizing rhetorical style, Thomas Edward Ameringer, The Stylistic Influence of the Second Sophistic on the Panegyrical Sermons of St. John Chrysostom: A Study in Greek Rhetoric (Washington, DC: CUA Press, 1921); Heinrich Degen, Die Tropen der Vergleichung bei Johannes Chrysostomus: Beitrag zur Geschichte von Metapher, Allegorie und Gleichnis in der griechischen Prosaliteratur (Olten: Otto Walter, 1921); Mary Albania Burns, Saint John Chrysostom’s Homilies on the Statues: A Study of Their Rhetorical Qualities and Form (Washington, DC: CUA Press, 1930); William Anthony Maat, A Rhetorical Study of St. John Chrysostom’s De Sacerdotio (Washington, DC: CUA Press, 1944). Also see Anton Naegele, ‘Johannes Chrysostomos und sein Verhältnis zum Hellenismus’, ByzZ 13, no. 1 (1904): 73–113; and, a little more recently, Jean Dumortier, ‘La culture profane de Saint Jean Chrysostome’, MScRel 10 (1953): 53–62.

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judgements and bringing about a life of virtue. Thus, although consolation, as often conceived, is in part about assuaging the emotions – grief and distress – it is also an exhortation to reorient one’s judgements and one’s way of life in the midst of loss. David Scourfield, who has worked extensively on ancient consolatory works, sees consolation as both a psychological comfort and a cognitive and behavioural ‘adjustment’ that allows the consoland to move forward even in the face of grievous events.3 This is precisely what Chrysostom has in mind when he refers to his Consolation to Stagirius and the Homilies on the Statues as ‘consolatory’ and ‘comforting’.4 In the former, Chrysostom provides Stagirius with a series of value judgements: about God, the kingdom of heaven, good repute, sin, virtue, etc. These judgements are intended to assuage Stagirius’ grief and to disperse the cloud of despondency; at the same time, they are meant to aid him in living a virtuous life as he goes forward. The consolatory Homilies on the Statues are largely the same: Chrysostom makes use of his audience’s grief and fear as goads to the virtuous life, while also supplying judgements about the nature of sin (as the only evil) and about God’s clemency and providence. Furthermore, this understanding of consolation is not unlike what we see in No One Can Be Harmed and On the Providence of God. Although the treatises are not explicitly consolatory, they do share with consolation the attempt to change emotions and to lead to the virtuous life through a change of fundamental judgements about the order of things. Wendy Mayer, however, has identified all these treatises not as consolations but as philosophical therapeutic discourses.5 In recent years, it has increasingly been recognized that Chrysostom’s work can be fruitfully read in conversation with the ancient medical-therapeutic tradition of cognitively treating the passions.6 In this therapeutic tradition, as Christopher Gill has described it, passions are treated as intellectual illnesses that require intellectual cures.7 Gill’s distinctly medical 3 4

5 6 7

Scourfield, ‘Genre of Consolation’, 7 (but see also 5–7). Stat. 7.1 (PG 49, 92,57): specifically, παραμυθητικούς . . . λόγους; also see Stag. 1.1 (PG 47, 425,5); Stag. 1.8 (PG 47, 443,7); Stag. 3.1 (PG 47, 471,26). He also twice calls the Consolation to Stagirius ‘comforting’ (τὸ παρακαλεῖν): Stag. 1.1 (PG 47, 425,22); Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 427,36). Wendy Mayer, ‘The Persistence in Late Antiquity of Medico-Philosophical Psychic Therapy’, JLA 8, no. 2 (2015): 337–51. As seen, for example, in Chrysippus’ On the Affections and Galen’s On Freedom from Pain. Gill, ‘Philosophical Therapy’. Also see his earlier work in which he was interested in similar questions: Christopher Gill, ‘Ancient Psychotherapy’, Journal of the History of Ideas 46, no. 3 (1985): 307–25.

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contribution rests upon previous scholars’ observations that for ancient philosophers cognitive judgements were integral to any discussion of emotions and that, in order to change one’s passions, one’s judgements must be changed; this change can occur through a variety of therapeutic interventions.8 In this therapeutic tradition, the work of changing judgements is central to working towards a life free from passions, in which one is free to pursue virtue. There is a real distinction to be drawn between consolation and the therapeutic tradition that Gill describes: a consolation is directed to a particular audience in reaction to a concrete event, most often bereavement, while a therapeutic treatise advises more generally about how to overcome, or eradicate, unhelpful emotions. Nevertheless, the two traditions are closely related such that, as Scourfield notes, the distinction cannot always be rigidly maintained; the line between the two blurs.9 In our case, this fuzziness is seen not least in the fact that although No One Can Be Harmed and On the Providence of God appear to be therapeutic treatises according to Gill’s and Mayer’s definitions, we know that in their historical contexts they, like the consolatory Letters to Olympias, were also addressed on the occasion of a ‘social death’: exile from Constantinople, New Rome.10 An occasion for consolation if ever there were one! Therefore, even if some of the works that we are treating cannot properly be classed as consolations, they are nevertheless closely related to the task of consolation: namely, assuaging grievous emotions and leading to the virtuous life by changing one’s judgements. Blake Leyerle has argued that grief figures so centrally in Chrysostom’s therapy because it ‘clearly exposes a person’s deepest commitments’.11 8

9 10

11

As demonstrated, in quite different ways, in Martha Craven Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994); Sorabji, Emotion and Peace of Mind. Scourfield, ‘Genre of Consolation’, 11–14, specifically referring to Galen’s On Freedom from Pain. See Julia Hillner, ‘Confined Exiles: An Aspect of the Late Antique Prison System’, Millennium 10 (2013): 385–433. Wilcoxson, ‘Machinery of Consolation’, demonstrates how in the Letters to Olympias, the roles are reversed: it is the exile who writes to the one still in Constantinople. Blake Leyerle, The Narrative Shape of Emotion in the Preaching of John Chrysostom (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2020), 64. Also see Blake Leyerle, ‘The Etiology of Sorrow and Its Therapeutic Benefits in the Preaching of John Chrysostom’, JLA 8, no. 2 (2015): 368–85. On athumia, see M.-A. Bardolle, ‘Tristesse (athumia) et thérapeutique spirituelle dans l’Exhortation à Stagire de Chrysostome’, Lettre de Ligugé 241, no. 3 (1987): 6–19. On the relationship between thumos and athumia, see Laurence Brottier, ‘Un jeu de mots intraduisible: Le combat entre thumos et athumia dans

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This exposure allows Chrysostom, as a therapist, to employ ‘a process of cognitive restructuring’ through the provision of ‘rational arguments’.12 Jessica Wright has shown one aspect of this therapy in the Consolation to Stagirius: in this treatise, Chrysostom works to change Stagirius’ judgement with respect to the value of his reputation (δόξα), which Stagirius thinks is diminished when he has seizures in the presence of other monks.13 I would add that Chrysostom not only reconfigures Stagirius’ judgements concerning what is not up to him (his reputation) but that he also – especially – focuses on correcting Stagirius’ judgements concerning what is up to God, that is, providence. We have seen throughout this study that the larger part of Book 1 of the Consolation to Stagirius contains Chrysostom’s attempt to demonstrate how adverse events, which appear harmful, are in fact given to Stagirius for his benefit, out of God’s providential care. Therefore, consolation, as a part of Chrysostom’s larger therapeutic project, is primarily about changing judgements – specifically, those concerning what is up to us and what is up to God – such that, as one goes forward, one is able to interpret events truly and virtuously, in thought, word, and deed. In order to console, Chrysostom makes use of a variety of behavioural and cognitive techniques. Leyerle lists maxims, a variety of practices, medical treatments, and, especially, narratives.14 Most of these, including narratives, are cognitively directed, to the end of changing judgements. But narratives operate as especially powerful vehicles of right judgements, most of which concern the truth about what is in our power and what is left to God’s providence. In what follows, we consider what particular judgements about providence these scriptural narratives contain and, in Chapter 6, how the virtue of these narratives’ exemplary characters – who hold to such true judgements – ought to be imitated.

     Above all, the consolatory power of providence comes from the fact that suffering – what Chrysostom so often labels ‘affliction’ (θλῖψις) – is a

12 13

14

des homélies de Jean Chrysostome’, Revue de Philologie, de Littérature et d’Histoire Anciennes 72, no. 2 (1998): 189–204. Leyerle, Narrative Shape of Emotion, 67. Jessica Wright, ‘Between Despondency and the Demon: Diagnosing and Treating Spiritual Disorders in John Chrysostom’s Letter to Stageirios’, JLA 8, no. 2 (2015): 354, 360–62. Leyerle, Narrative Shape of Emotion, 64.

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providentially given good. While we will see below that Chrysostom can at times describe affliction as evil (κακός), it is much more common for him to refer to it as the opposite (καλός, ἀγαθός, κτλ). Edward Nowak, for example, points to a number of places, especially in the Homilies on Acts, where Chrysostom calls affliction ‘a truly great good’ (μέγα ὄντως ἀγαθὸν ἡ θλῖψις).15 Elsewhere, Chrysostom writes that ‘these afflictions are in themselves a good thing’16 and that ‘trials are a very great good; afflictions such a good’.17 Though one could amass many such pithy quotations, the very idea of the goodness and benefit of suffering – in all its varied vocabulary – is found throughout Chrysostom’s corpus.18 Affliction is a good because it is ordered and administered by God’s providence. God, who is good, pronounces all creation to be so: ‘And God looked upon all that he had made, and it was very good’ (Gen 1:31).19 Just as God established creation in goodness, so also he continues to sustain it. While we expect creaturely goodness to endure up until humanity’s Fall, Chrysostom sets out to prove a less obvious point: that the providence and philanthropy of God – which pronounces all things good – is equally evident after the Fall as before. The same benefaction of God is present both before and after Adam’s disobedience and punishment. In the Consolation to Stagirius, after having related the good of the original act of creation and of the gifts given specifically to humanity, Chrysostom then brings up the topic of Adam’s rebellion. After the Fall, God brought about nothing less than his earlier benefaction, showing that, even if we sin ten thousand times, and even if we turn from him, he does not cease to arrange (οἰκονομῶν) what is for our salvation, so that we may turn again and be saved. But should we persist in evil, it nevertheless comes about from this that [God] does his own part. Therefore, it seems that being expelled from paradise, and being kept from the tree of life, and being given over to death are done out of chastisement and punishment; but, as we have already seen, [what follows] is by no means inferior to before. If what I am saying seems incredible, it is nevertheless true. For, while the events are contrary to one another, the ends of both are harmonious and in agreement. What I am saying is this: excluding them from

15 16 18

19

Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance, 142, notes 20 and 21. 17 Hom. Rom. 9.2 (PG 60, 469,31). Hom. Act. 3.1 (PG 60, 34,38–39). Again, see Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance, 139–220; Bruno H. Vandenberghe, ‘Les raisons de souffrir d’après saint Jean Chrysostome’, La vie spirituelle 100 (1959): 187–206; Bruno H. Vandenberghe, Saint Jean Chrysostome et la parole de Dieu (Paris: Cerf, 1961), 191–214. For his expositions of Gen 1, see especially Stat. 7; Scand. 4; Stag 1.2. On the broad early Christian tendency to rely on Gen 1 in their expositions of the goodness of creation, see Blowers, Drama of the Divine Economy, 101–38.

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paradise, settling them in another place, turning them away from the tree of life, punishing them, making them mortal, showing them that up to now they had been higher than revelation – indeed, all these things, both the former and the latter – occurred for the same salvation and honour.20

As a species of God’s (albeit now fallen) created order, affliction is good, since it is administered by God’s good providence. Affliction is thus included within Chrysostom’s larger vision of the goodness of all externals. For example, as much as John would prefer that his flock keep away from wine altogether, he recognizes that it is not in itself a source of evil, since it was made by God. Thus, in his sermon On the Resurrection and Against Drunkenness, Chrysostom can say to his congregation: ‘Let’s keep away from drunkenness! I am not saying let’s stay away from wine, but let’s stay away from drunkenness. Wine does not cause drunkenness, for it is a creation of God and God does not make any evil creation, but an evil will creates drunkenness.’21 While we will return below to the idea that the only true evils are moral evils – a concept that is widely known to belong to Chrysostom’s moral teaching – the corollary theological teaching is equally important: all creatures of God are good by God’s providential ordering of things, and they retain their goodness even when they are misused or abused. This idea is not unique to Chrysostom and is by his time a long-standing Christian position on providence. However, what is unique to Chrysostom, or at least typical of him, is his veritable enthusiasm for God’s providential gift of affliction. In addition to its ontological status, affliction is also spoken of as a teleological good – that is, because of the great benefit (κέρδος, ὄφελος, ὠφέλεια, κτλ.) that it can confer upon individuals. The most thoroughgoing example of Chrysostom’s zeal for suffering is found in the first homily On the Statues. Chrysostom lays out ‘eight [possible] reasons (αἰτίας) for the various and diverse suffering (κακώσεως) of the saints’.22 All the reasons he provides demonstrate that these afflictions are in fact goods that God bestows upon his saints. Although Chrysostom originally mentions only eight reasons, after discussing these at length, he proceeds to add three more, bringing the benefits of suffering to eleven – a further demonstration of his enthusiasm for suffering’s benefits. These eleven benefits are (1) that the righteous may not become arrogant, (2) that others may not view righteous people as any greater than humans ought to be (i.e., as God 20 22

21 Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 428,39–56). Res. Chr. 1 (SC 561, 186,55–58). Stat. 1.6 (PG 49, 23,35–36). Just before this he refers to these same ‘evils’ as ‘afflictions’ (θλίψεις; Stat. 1.5; PG 49, 23,30).

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alone ought to be), (3) that the power of God may be demonstrated, (4) that the virtue and right-mindedness of the righteous sufferer may be demonstrated, (5) that the preaching of the resurrection may be believed, (6) that those who have suffered may look to others who have previously suffered for consolation, (7) that one may not shrink from emulating the saints because of their surpassing virtue (a corollary of [2]), (8) that we may learn whom we ought to call blessed, (9) that the righteous be proved all the more so, (10) that our sins may be put away from us, and finally (11) that our crowns and rewards may be increased, since greater tribulations lead to greater rewards.23 This list is representative of Chrysostom’s general attitude towards suffering: that it can bring great benefit (κέρδος) to the saints. And it is particularly the final item on the list – that affliction provides one with eschatological reward – which the preacher emphasizes time and again. We have seen in ample measure in the previous chapters many of these explanations of the good of suffering, as well as many mentions of the general good of God’s providential ordering of things. God’s providence makes Cain’s suffering a sign to those who follow that they must ‘put aside their sins’; the sufferings of Abraham and Joseph prove both God’s providence and the saints’ virtue; Job’s sufferings prove his own righteousness and lead him to ‘greater reward’; the story of Adam and Eve shows, among other things, that God’s providence is good even when human beings are corrupt. The consistent goodness of God’s providence – both ontologically and teleologically (in its specific ‘goods’) – is contained in all the narratives of Scripture. In this way, the narratives of Scripture contain a consolatory doctrine of providence.

     But even while Chrysostom extols the good of affliction, he is all too aware of the horrors of human suffering: his varied vocabulary on this topic indicates his appreciation of its great complexity.24 And he takes the severity of suffering in the lives of his audience seriously. Borrowing a term that occurs frequently throughout the Gospels and the Pauline corpus, Chrysostom often refers to the suffering brought about from 23

24

The first eight are laid out in brief at Stat. 1.6 (PG 49, 23,35–24,17) and then elaborated throughout the rest of the homily. Reasons nine through eleven follow these long explanations and are discussed briefly at the end of the homily (Stat 1.9; PG 49, 28,44–29,10). See Mathieu-Gauché, ‘Consolation à Stagire’, 92–93.

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external circumstances as affliction (θλῖψις). Especially formative of his understanding of this affliction are John 16:33 – ‘in this world you will have affliction’25 – and Paul’s use of the term in Romans and 2 Corinthians.26 The former gives a good picture of the externality of affliction: that it is around us, ‘in the world’. Chrysostom also uses more generic terms for this external suffering, such as ‘terrors’ (τὰ δεινά), ‘misfortunes’ (αἱ συμφοραί), trials (οἱ πειρασμοί), and the more specific terms anxiety (ἡ φρόντις), pain/distress (ἡ ὀδύνη), toil (ὁ πόνος27). From time to time, Chrysostom also describes this suffering, which comes from without, as evil (κακός).28 In this vocabulary, we already see how John recognizes both the variety of affliction and its unifying terror. Affliction’s variety and terror are also seen in the impressive lists of sufferings that Chrysostom provides throughout his works. In the first homily On the Statues, as Chrysostom questions the reasons for Timothy’s physical suffering (for which he is to ‘take a little wine’; 1 Tim 5:23), he expands the question to include a number of other trials which Christians in the present and in the past have undergone: ‘sickness and disease . . . poverty and hunger, bonds and torments, abuses and slanders, and all the terrors of the present life’.29 In the form of the diatribe that he assumes in this homily, he goes on to speak in the voice of the accuser, asking about the saints who are slandered in court by wicked men – and, worse, executed on the basis of this false judgement. A similar, very lengthy list of afflictions is also provided in On the Statues 5: ‘Therefore, let’s recount each of those terrors (δεινῶν) which fall upon us. . . .’30 After discussing them at length, he summarizes: ‘The discussion clearly shows that excessive grief is able to amend neither loss of wealth,

25

26 27 28

29

Scand. 14.7 (SC 79, 206); Stag. 1.3 (PG 47, 429,54–55); Stag. 2.4 (PG 47, 453,42). He also relies on this passage throughout many of his other works. On his use of John 16:20, see Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 439,36–38); 2 Tim 3:12 and Matt 5:10 also play a role in Chrysostom’s discussion of the inevitability of this affliction: see Stag. 2.4 (PG 47, 453,43–44); Scand. 13.18 (SC 79, 198). This observation is based on Chrysostom’s association of thlipsis with stenochōria, an association that is found in Rom 2:9; Rom 8:35; 2 Cor 6:4. Often associated with ὁ ἱδρώς through God’s curse of Adam in Gen 3:17–19. Or substantively (τὸ κακόν, τὰ κακά). For example, in the Consolation to Stagirius alone: Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 439,41); Stag. 1.8 (PG 47, 443,14); Stag. 1.8 (PG 47, 443,22); Stag. 1.8 (PG 47, 444,34); Stag. 2.5 (PG 47, 454,50); Stag. 2.5 (PG 47, 455,40); Stag. 2.7 (PG 47, 459,36); etc. 30 Stat. 1.5 (PG 49, 23,15–18). Stat. 5.4 (PG 49, 74,46–47).

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nor insult, nor abuse, nor torture, nor sickness, nor death, nor anything else like these, but [is able] only to remove sin . . ..’31 Chrysostom also takes pains to describe for Stagirius the many and various afflictions of the saints, taking two opposing approaches: first, demonstrating how great is the extent of Stagirius’ suffering and, later in the treatise, demonstrating that, in comparison to those who suffer horrifically, Stagirius’ affliction isn’t really so bad.32 Both of these comparisons indicate that external sufferings are truly difficult and painful for those who undergo them, whether for Stagirius or for others. As Chrysostom attempts to explain to his friend the benefits of his particular sufferings, he writes: For even many who are sick with the same illness are not in need of the same medicines, but these, of one, and those, of another. For this reason, manifold and various are the ways of torment: one is tested with a long sickness, another in heaviest poverty, another in violence and injustice, another seeing constant and successive deaths of children and relatives. And this one is exiled from everyone and worthy of no converse, that one is reproached for he knows not what and endures the burden of a bad reputation, and another otherwise. For it is not possible at this time to enumerate everything with accuracy.33

While John spends much time in Book 1 of the Consolation to Stagirius attempting to convince Stagirius of the truth of God’s loving providence in affliction, he also spends the following two books enumerating the sufferings of the saints of Scripture. And most of the saints whose stories of suffering he relates are those we have already seen Chrysostom focus on in previous chapters: Abraham, Joseph, Paul – but he also includes all variety of biblical figures from Moses to David to Jeremiah. And although in Books 2 and 3 Chrysostom does occasionally speak about the providential care that God showed for these saints, his discussion is almost entirely taken up with discussing the severity of the saints’ sufferings. They are not to be taken lightly. Many and various are the ways of affliction, including not only physical and material suffering but also the kind of suffering brought about by loss – we might say psychological suffering, or grief.34 Chrysostom takes seriously the horrors of psychological affliction throughout his works,

31 32 33 34

Stat. 5.4 (PG 49, 75,3–7). The former throughout Books 2 and 3 and the latter especially in Stag. 3.12–13. Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 440,38–51). Also see Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 440,22–23). Beginning at Laz. 1.9 (PG 48, 975,42), Chrysostom enumerates Lazarus’ sufferings which include both more obvious ‘externals’ and psychological sufferings.

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especially in the Consolation to Stagirius and the Letters to Olympias. In the opening of the Consolation to Stagirius, Chrysostom, in a rhetorical way common to works of consolation, demonstrates to Stagirius his sympatheia – his common suffering: ‘For if I have been freed, by the grace of God, from being rent in pieces and being thrown down by the evil demon, I still bear the same amount of the despondency and misery (ὀδύνης) because of these things as you do.’35 Despondency is here conflated with the other physical forms of suffering seen above and is even equal to it: Chrysostom’s own despondency on behalf of Stagirius’ suffering is no less painful than Stagirius’ physical illness. Psychological affliction, which Chrysostom focuses on in so many of his works, is not different in kind from physical affliction, or from having one’s reputation suffer. Although emotions seem to be internal, and can ‘touch’ or ‘move’ the soul, they do so only as much as other external sufferings.36 In addition to these various ways in which Chrysostom speaks of the severity of suffering – of affliction – the preacher’s sensitivity to affliction is also seen in the fact that, like other Christians of his generation, he was concerned to work to alleviate the suffering of the sick and impoverished. Injunctions to give alms, which come from Chrysostom’s apparent awareness of the plight of the poor in Antioch and Constantinople, are found everywhere throughout his sermons. Matthew 25 stands at the very heart of Chrysostom’s spirituality, where to help the poor is truly to love Christ.37 Thus, although all those who suffer from poverty and other grievous afflictions are not really being harmed thereby (and in this respect are ‘light and airy’),38 Chrysostom nevertheless sees material care for the suffering to be an obligation for the church. Affliction, although merely external, is nevertheless a real problem with real depth, which Chrysostom discusses at length, takes seriously, and treats sensitively. In sum, despite Chrysostom’s enthusiasm for the benefits of suffering, at no point does he call his audiences to downplay 35 36

37 38

Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 427,15–19). Despondency sometimes falls into the category of ‘affliction’, as an ‘external’, as in those saints who are seen to despond but nevertheless trust in God’s promises in Stag. 2 & 3. Elsewhere, it is one of the pathē and is therefore cognitively based: faulty intellectual judgements accompany and are the causes of this emotions. It is possible that the external form of athumia has is some analogy with Stoic propatheiai; see Margaret Graver, ‘Philo of Alexandria and the Origin of the Stoic προπάθειαι’, Phronesis 44, no. 4 (1999): 300–25. See especially Brändle, Matth. 25,31-46 im Werk des Johannes Chrysostomos; Leyerle, ‘John Chrysostom on Almsgiving’. Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 440,50–51).

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the severity of human suffering, instead at every point drawing out the difficulties that the saints of Scripture experienced. This is of course in part a rhetorical tactic: the depth of suffering is unmatched by the heights of God’s providence and rewards. This does not, however, negate Chrysostom’s commitment to maintaining the judgement that sufferings truly are difficult and grievous.

        Now we come to the ethical teaching that is the corollary of the goodness of God’s providence: that the only true evil comes from a will other than God’s – the human will. While Chrysostom does describe affliction on occasion as ‘evil’ (κακός), when he does so, he is operating according to human convention.39 Affliction is not truly evil, for no real harm (βλαβή) comes from it. Harm can only come, as Chrysostom says time and again, from our own sin – ‘what is up to us’ (τὸ παρ᾽ ἡμῶν)40 – because personal sin is what leads to condemnation. Just as virtue leads to the Kingdom, so sin leads to Gehenna. When mere affliction is compared to the true harm of enduring punishment, it can be seen for what it really is. Whereas the teaching that suffering is a providential good is obviously meant to be consolatory, this is less obviously the case with its moral corollary. In both cases, however, what is so heartening about these doctrines is that there is only one malevolent force that can do any lasting harm: one’s own will. There are no capricious deities; the whims of emperors and governors – or any other wealthy person – cannot harm. One can thus be thankful for God’s providence, and gladly accept it, while also taking responsibility for one’s own actions; if this is done, all spheres are covered. In other words, while yielding to God’s providence, the individual is really in the ‘driver’s seat’. This is something that the one who suffers from any of the afflictions listed above rarely feels. It very often seems to the sufferer that the evils of the world are closing in around us, and we are in control of nothing. Yet, these doctrines, contained in Scripture’s narratives, show that this is not at all the case. God is in control of much, and I am in control of the little that is left. No one else – nothing else – can harm me. Nevertheless, in Chrysostom’s estimation, there is sometimes an intimate relationship between these two ‘evils’: significant affliction (not a true evil) is capable of disturbing (θορυβέω) the soul and leading it to moral 39 40

Diab. 1.4–5 (PG 49, 251,10–36). See, for example, Stat. 5.2 (PG 49, 70,46–47); Stat. 5.3 (PG 49, 73, 47–49).

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error (the only true evil: σκάνδαλον), which, if left unchecked, ends in harm. Therefore, while Chrysostom is indeed enthusiastic about the benefits that affliction brings, he is also aware that affliction is not inevitably beneficial for individuals. Benefits only accrue when one judges them rightly, as goods that are providentially given by God. If one does not attend closely to this right perspective, and act accordingly, not only will there be no personal benefit, but these misfortunes may contribute to one’s fall. For this reason, in On the Statues 1, before enumerating the extensive list of affliction’s benefits seen above, Chrysostom warns his audience: ‘direct your attention to me with all accuracy, knowing that, in the end, there will be no pardon or defence for those who stumble (σκανδαλιζομένοις) at these misfortunes if indeed . . . we will be disturbed (θορυβεῖσθαι) and agitated (ταράττεσθαι) as much as if there were no [reasons for the misfortunes]’.41 Even in this homily in which he enumerates the many benefits of suffering, Chrysostom recognizes that affliction, which is providentially arranged for the benefit of humanity, can also lead to stumbling. Although this latter point might hardly seem consoling, as already noted, the interpretation (λογισμός) of the causes of externals is always a matter of the individual’s free choice.42 Moral failings, resulting in true harm, are entirely ‘up to us’. In an especially striking passage in the Consolation to Stagirius, Chrysostom argues that the devil is not ultimately responsible for our sin and scandal but that even the afflictions and trials that Satan brings upon us can be for our benefit and salvation: ‘For the devil is evil to himself, not to us. For if we wish, we may even bear much good fruit on account of him, which he neither wills nor desires.’43 If we reason falsely – and act accordingly – about the causes of externals, it is not because we are compelled, but because we have chosen to welcome deceit: ‘the devil doesn’t push us to anything; rather, on the one hand, he causes many evil things (κακὰ), and, on the other, we also cause many to ourselves with slothfulness (ῥᾳθυμία) and neglect alone’.44 Even in the case of the most difficult temptations and the most grievous 41 42

43

Stat. 1.6 (PG 49, 23,37–42). In no way is Chrysostom’s use of logismos here similar to Evagrius of Pontus’ more famous use of the term; on which, see Columba Stewart, ‘Evagrius Ponticus and the Eight Generic Logismoi’, in In the Garden of Evil: The Vices and Culture in the Middle Ages, ed. Richard Newhauser (Toronto: PIMS, 2005), 3–34; William Harmless and Raymond R. Fitzgerald, ‘The Sapphire Light of the Mind: The Skemmata of Evagrius Ponticus’, TS 62, no. 3 (2001): 498–529, especially 507–12. 44 Stag. 1.4 (PG 47, 433,25–27). Stag. 1.4 (PG 47, 434,18–20).

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sins, the individual has no one to blame but himself. Although events constantly impinge, our decisions, the thoughts we entertain, are ultimately ‘up to us’. If I am disturbed or scandalized, it is because I have entertained – in the words of Chrysostom ‘welcomed’ – a false interpretation.45 In any case, I have only myself to blame and thus also – and this is the consolatory part – have every capacity to change things for the better. Whether one reasons rightly or wrongly about affliction depends on how one interprets (λογίζομαι) the event’s underlying causes or reasons (variously ὑποθέσεις, λόγοι, or αἰτίαι). For example, in the Consolation to Stagirius, Chrysostom is concerned that Stagirius is not accurately interpreting the cause of his particular affliction. Therefore, he both diagnoses these false interpretations and provides his own true ones. The ‘madness of the evil devil’46 has not caused Stagirius’ sufferings; rather, as Chrysostom painstakingly argues, the illness is providentially given for Stagirius’ benefit. It is instead Stagirius’ current false judgements about his affliction that might leave him to suffer truly: The height of evils (ὁ . . . τῶν κακῶν κολοφὼν) is not trusting in the future, and not seeing clearly whether there will then be a release and relief from this sickness, by the frequent expectation that you will fall into the same things again. Indeed, these things are enough to disturb the soul (θορυβῆσαι ψυχὴν), and to fill it with much distress (ταραχῆς) – but a soul which is weak, untrained, and sluggish. But should we desire to see clearly for a little, and to stir up pious thoughts (λογισμοὺς . . . τοὺς εὐσεβεῖς), as some light dust, let’s shake off these causes (ὑποθέσεις) of despondency!47

Chrysostom both shows Stagirius’ false reasonings and offers his own true interpretation of the reasons for Stagirius’ suffering: he is afflicted because Christ (providentially!) promises that those who follow him will be afflicted in the world (see Matt 19:29). Chrysostom paraphrases this promise, with the particulars of Stagirius’ own life added: Thus, whenever you consider that for the sake of Christ you have cast from your hands father and household and friends and relatives and unspeakable wealth and much glory, and that now you endure such great affliction, do not throw yourself down. From these things, perplexity (ἀπορία) brings forth thoughts (λογισμῶν), and from these same things is also our release from difficulty. How? ‘It is impossible for God to lie’ (Heb 6:18): he promised eternal life to those who forsake these things.48 45

46 48

See Samantha Miller, ‘The Devil Did Not Make You Do It: Chrysostom’s Refutation of Modern Deliverance Theology’, in Revisioning John Chrysostom: New Approaches, New Perspectives, ed. Chris L. De Wet and Wendy Mayer (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 613–37. 47 Stag. 1.1 (PG 47, 425,33). Stag. 1.1 (PG 47, 426,20–30). Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 438,1–8).

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Chrysostom here models for Stagirius a true interpretation of the providential causes of his affliction. Whereas Stagirius’ current faulty reasonings are leading him to the ‘height of evils’, good interpretations of the cause of his afflictions would lead him away from being truly harmed. Thus, instances of affliction lead inevitably neither to harm nor to its opposite. They may lead to moral lapse (σκάνδαλον) if the individual continually chooses to maintain false judgements about God’s goodness and providence.49 However, afflictions also, like any external, provide an opportunity to choose to judge rightly, and thus may lead one to progress from virtue to virtue:50 ‘Do you see that the wrong-minded (ἀγνώμονες) and the negligent do not gain from the benefits; but the right-minded (εὐγνώμονες) and vigilant gain the greatest things from the same things by which others are scandalized?’51 Chrysostom is intent on maintaining the free choice of human beings not for merely intellectual reasons. Rather, the freedom of the human will is for John a consolatory doctrine. For while affliction can lead to scandal, it can – and more often does, for the saints – lead to the (eschatological) benefits already spelled out. Thus, when Chrysostom says that our action – virtue or vice – is ‘up to us’, he means to console his audience. Furthermore, as we will especially see in Chapter 6, the idea that the only evil is that which stems from the human will is taken from his reading of biblical narrative. Not only are Scripture’s narratives seen in the previous chapters vehicles of judgements about God’s providence, but they are vehicles of moral judgements: that ‘what is up to us’ may lead to our reward or our destruction. The choice is up to us, just as the choice was up to Abraham, Joseph, Job, David, and any other exemplar one can think of. In Chapter 6, however, we will consider not only the fact that these biblical characters exemplify the free human will but also that they exemplify the will that operates according to true judgements about God’s providence. In other words, in the lives of the exemplary characters of Scripture, one may learn true judgements about human responsibility.

49

50 51

Being disturbed (θορυβῆσαι) or distressed (ταράττεσθαι) sometimes seem to refer to waver with respect to true judgements, and other times to assent to false judgements, and so are sometimes synonymous with skandalon. Schatkin observes that skandalon, unlike its English equivalent ‘scandal’, is not, for Chrysostom, caused directly from externals but is something internal, which she refers to as ‘moral lapse’ (Schatkin, John Chrysostom as Apologist, 113–19). Also see Mayer, ‘Persistence in Late Antiquity’, 343–44. See, for example, Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 439,6–8); Scand. 13.6 (SC 79, 192); Scand. 10.12 (SC 79, 158); Scand. 10.17–18 (SC 79, 160). Scand. 14.13 (PG 52, 514).

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As I mentioned earlier in this study, among the ancient philosophical schools, Stoicism’s doctrine of providence is most similar to the Christian one I have been describing. It is also the case that what I have described above – that ‘virtue is the only good’ – looks on the face of it, very Stoic. And, indeed, scholars have often claimed that Chrysostom’s moral teaching is essentially Stoic.52 For Edward Nowak, who is representative of this view, Chrysostom’s Stoicism means that virtue is predicated on interpreting rightly what are goods (αγαθά), what are evils (κακά), and what are indifferents (ἀδιάφορα).53 These judgements are therefore supposed to correspond to Stoic teachings on internals and externals: human virtue is good, human vice is evil, and, as externals, both misfortunes and apparent goods (riches, reputation, health, etc.) are indifferent.54 Although Nowak does not spell this out, it would seem that such true judgement would keep one from scandal and sin.55 We have now seen that moral evil and sin do indeed come when something is amiss in the individual’s interpretation (λογισμός) of events – and indeed in this respect Chrysostom is truly indebted to the Stoic teaching to which virtually all late antique philosophical schools were also indebted.56 However, the Stoic ethical categories laid out by Nowak do not strictly apply in the case of Chrysostom.57 Because Nowak thinks that Chrysostom straightforwardly assumes a Stoic understanding of ‘what is up to us’, he supposes that for Chrysostom externals are

52

53 54 55

56 57

Other than the more thorough argument from Nowak, this has mostly been argued with reference to his treatise No One Can Be Harmed. See especially Emmanuel Amand de Mendieta, ‘L’amplification d’un thème socratique et stoïcien dans l’avant dernier traité de Jean Chrysostome’, Byzantion 36 (1966): 353–81. Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance, 83–88. Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance, 67–73. See Nowak, Chrétien devant la souffrance, 73–82. In a similar way, Wright, ‘Between Despondency and the Demon’, believes that Chrysostom’s diagnosis of the cause of Stagirius’ athumia (i.e., his suffering) is Stagirius’ attention to his good repute. That is, Stagirius is having trouble discerning what is true glory (δόξα), which Chrysostom believes is cultivated through affliction, and what is vainglory (κενοδοξία), which is Stagirius’ attention to his reputation before his fellow monastics. On the question of John’s debt to Stoicism, see my article, ‘Providence, Ethics, and Exempla’. The Stoic hard line on all externals being indifferent – even if providentially ordered – is seen, for example, in Marcus Aurelius, Med. 2.11 (LCL 58, 34). Also see DragonaMonachou, ‘Divine Providence’, 4441, and 4451–52.

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indifferent. However, we have found that affliction is not an indifferent for Chrysostom but, like all individual external events, a good.58 Thus, scandal and sin come not from misjudging the indifference of externals but from misjudging the goodness of externals, governed as they are by God’s providence. One of Chrysostom’s central theological convictions, that God is loving towards humanity (φιλάνθρωπος), thus informs his understanding of the ethical way forward in the face of suffering. To make a judgement about goods, evils, and externals is always bound up with making judgements about God: how he works in the world and how this bears on his character. In the Consolation to Stagirius, Chrysostom demonstrates how questioning the goodness of suffering leads to such profound theological mistakes: ‘but consequently, this argument (λόγος), when it proceeds, will accuse and blame his providence to many, and will reproach the whole creation of God . . .. Through it, they blaspheme, and others introduce destructive teachings’.59 Therefore, while Chrysostom can rhetorically refer to suffering as evil (κακός), and can even sometimes refer to externals as indifferents, his overarching ethical vision of externals is that they are goods and that it is necessary to interpret them as such in order to attain to moral good: virtue and thereby to the Kingdom.

58

59

In the fewer than seventy occurrences of the lemma (excluding spurious works and catena fragments), there is only one real exception to this: ‘What does he reckon goods, and what evils, and what indifferents? These: virtue is good; wickedness is evil; wealth and poverty, life and death, are indifferent’ (Hom. 2 Tim. 8.4; PG 62, 647,35–37). A few lines later, he calls sickness, poverty, plots, slander, and such things ‘indifferent’ (lines 54–55). Also see Jean Dumortier, ‘Les idées morales de Saint Jean Chrysostome’, MScRel 12, no. 1 (1955): 28–29. A fair number of his uses of the term ‘indifferent’ are not at all relevant to ethics, instead being concerned with the Father and Son being ‘undifferentiated’: Hom. Matt. 69.1 (PG 58, 648,32); Hom. Rom. 2.2 (PG 60, 403,28); Hom. Rom. 15.3 (PG 60, 544,29); Hom. 2 Cor. 29.3 (PG 61, 600,24); Hom. 2 Cor. 30.2 (PG 61, 608,9). Elsewhere, he can say that some things that appear to be ‘indifferent’ (e.g., wealth) are actually ‘evil’ – even if, according to his larger scheme outlined above, they are goods: Hom. Col. 12.6 (PG 62, 389,18); Res. Chr. 5 (PG 50, 440,30, and throughout); Ep. Olymp. 8.9b (SC 13bis, 194); Hom. Jo. 37.2 (PG 59, 211,13); Hom. 2 Cor. 6.4 (PG 61, 440,33); Hom. Eph. 17.2 (PG 62, 119,18–25); Hom. Act. 11.3 (PG 60 ,100,2). He can also argue that apparent goods are actually indifferents: Stat. 5.6 (PG 49, 68,29); Stat. 15.4 (PG 49, 158,48); Stat. 15.4 (PG 49, 159,26); Hom. Phil. 2.4 (PG 62, 196,11); Hom. 1 Tim. 1.3 (PG 62, 508,52–54); also see Hom. Jo. 54.1 (PG 59, 297,19). When the language of indifferents is used in properly ethical discussions, it is rare that externals are called ‘indifferent’, and instead some actions are called indifferent, e.g., in his exegesis of Paul, circumcision: see Hom. 1 Cor. 17.1 (PG 61, 139,20); Hom. 1 Cor. 20.2 (PG 61, 163,1); Comm. Gal. 5.2 (PG 61, 666,18–19); Hom. Phil. 3.3 (PG 62, 202,32); Hom. 2 Thess. 2.4 (PG 62, 479,4). Stag. 1.4 (PG 47, 433,4–11). Also see what follows in Stag. 1.5 (PG 47, 435).

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  Another of the true, consoling judgements that Chrysostom would have his audiences hold to seems at first glance to be at odds with those particular goods associated with affliction. This is a topic that Chrysostom returns to time and again, particularly when consoling those who are suffering: namely, the incomprehensibility of God’s providential oikonomia. Although the sufferings of the biblical saints can assure us of the goodness of affliction – and the various benefits thereof – in our own cases, we are never sure why or how God is arranging events for our good. I can be sure that affliction is good and that it brings about many good things, but my lowly, human nature and my limited intellectual capacities cannot grasp the things of God, whether his very essence or how he is ordering events in my own life, or in the lives of those around me. John is not altogether unique in holding to the incomprehensibility of God’s cosmic oikonomia. He stands within a longer and broader tradition. For example, Eusebius of Caesarea mentions God’s ‘hidden and ineffable economy’,60 while, closer to John’s time and place, the Cappadocians can also mention it in passing: Gregory of Nyssa discusses the ‘ineffable economy of the mystery’,61 and Basil notes God’s ‘ineffable wisdom’ with which God created the cosmos.62 In two writers, however, we see the very same paradox of the goodness and incomprehensibility of providence that is found in Chrysostom. Nemesius of Emesa writes: ‘If the explanation (λόγος) of providence for particulars is incomprehensible to us, as it also is according to the verse “How unsearchable are your judgements, and your ways past finding out,” it is not therefore necessary to say that there is no providence.’63 Likewise, Gregory of Nazianzus, in his oration On the Love of the Poor, provides a more extended example of the principle of the incomprehensibility of providence. In this oration, Gregory is especially concerned that the immoral might abuse the principle that God providentially makes some poor, as an excuse not to give alms. He provides a number of potential reasons for God bringing suffering on some and not on others, some of which are similar to

60 61 62

Eusebius, Dem. Ev. 6.1.3 (GCS 23, 252). Gregory of Nyssa, Eun. 3.3.44 (GNO 2, 123,13–14). Also see Gregory of Nyssa, Trid. spat. [Res. 1] (GNO 9, 287,11–288,8). 63 Basil, Hex. 5.8 (SC 26, 314) Nemesius, Hom. nat. 43 (Teubner 130 and 133).

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Chrysostom’s list of the reasons for suffering in On the Statues 1 seen above. Following this list, he proceeds to say: I find a mystery of this kind in holy Scripture, although I have no intention to enumerate all the sayings of the Spirit that lead me to this conclusion. But ‘who could measure the sand of the sea, or the drops of rain, or the depth of the abyss?’ Who could trace out in every detail the profundity of God’s Wisdom, from which God made all things and by which he governs it in the way he wills and knows? It is enough for us, with the divine Apostle, simply to contemplate this inexplicable, inconceivable Wisdom and to exclaim in wonder: ‘O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God. How unsearchable are his judgments, how untraceable his ways!’ ‘Who has known the mind of the Lord?’ ‘Who has come to the end of his Wisdom?’ as Job says. ‘Who is wise and understands these things?’ – and does not rather measure what is beyond measuring by the standard of the unattainable?64

This philosophical point, which holds together the incomprehensibility and the goodness of God’s providence, thus belongs in the Greek proNicene tradition to which Chrysostom is indebted. That it is a distinctly Christian doctrine is seen in its difference with Christian philosophy’s near-neighbour, Stoicism: however rare, the Stoic sage is said to be in such sympatheia with God – that is, with logos itself – that in his actions he collaborates in the providence of the world.65 However, even the Christian who has advanced to the life of the angels cannot grasp the things of God, whether God’s essence or providential activities. While Chrysostom belongs to this Christian philosophical tradition, he is much more enthusiastic for the doctrine of the incomprehensibility of providence than are many of his predecessors and contemporaries: for example, among those listed above, everyone, save for Gregory of Nazianzus, is content to make only passing comments in the incomprehensibility of God’s ways. And even Gregory does not linger on this topic in his other orations. Furthermore, although Chrysostom does indeed belong to this longer tradition, it is not the statements seen above (from Eusebius, Gregory of Nyssa, etc.) from which he takes his impetus; rather, he draws from pro-Nicene discussions on the incomprehensibility of God’s essence and applies these insights to his own discussion of the incomprehensibility of God’s activities.66

64 65 66

Gregory of Nazianzus, Or. 14.30 (PG 35, 897,41–900,11), trans. Brian E. Daley, Gregory of Nazianzus (London: Routledge, 2006), 92–93. See Reydams-Schils’ discussion of Posidonius in Demiurge and Providence, 114. For the relationship between John and the Cappadocians and Chrysostom’s understanding of divine incomprehensibility, see my article, ‘Divine Incomprehensibility and Human Faith in John Chrysostom’, VC, forthcoming.

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What John particularly emphasizes in his discussion of the incomprehensibility of God’s providential activities is that one can be sure that God is providential – but not how. The distinction between the ‘that’ and the ‘how’ (or the ‘manner’) is one that he also maintains when he speaks about the existence of God: we can be sure that God exists, but we cannot know in what way God exists; we cannot properly know or perceive the divine essence.67 This latter idea is one that is also found slightly earlier than John’s time in the works of the Cappadocian Fathers, particularly Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nazianzus;68 indeed, John, who had many mutual connections with these two individuals, appears at this point to follow them. But whereas Gregory and Basil only apply the distinction between knowing ‘that’ and knowing ‘how’ to God’s essence, Chrysostom applies it also to God’s providential economies. This is a teaching that is very important to John from the beginning to the end of his ecclesiastical career – and often when he is in the business of consolation. As difficult as it is to date many of John’s works – particularly his sermons69 – what is probably the earliest mention of the ineffability of God’s providence comes from the Consolation to Stagirius, while the latest comes from his final treatise, On the Providence of God. And in both of these treatises, John expresses the doctrine in a very similar way. As in Nemesius’ and Gregory’s maintenance of the goodness and incomprehensibility of providence seen above, Chrysostom also draws his teaching from Romans 9–11, in particular Rom 9:20 and 11:33–36; however, John, much more than the other two, provides a full-throated Pauline doctrine of the incomprehensibility of God’s providential arrangement of things. While John’s discussions in the Consolation to Stagirius and On the Providence of God are very similar (to the extent that Chrysostom appears to be drawing on the earlier one as he writes the later), it is in John’s final treatise that we see this Pauline doctrine of the incomprehensibility of providence most fleshed out. After Chrysostom

67 68

69

See especially Proph. obscurit. 1.2 (PG 56, 166,8–167,40); Hom. Rom. 19.7 (PG 60, 592,65–67); Anom. [De incompr. hom.] 1.156–164 (SC 28bis, 110–112). Gregory of Nazianzus, Or. 28.5 (SC 250, 110); Or. 29.8 (SC 250, 192); Basil, Eun. 1.15 (SC 299, 224–226). On their respective theologies of divine incomprehensibility, see Christopher Beeley, Gregory of Nazianzus on the Trinity and the Knowledge of God: In Your Light Shall We See Light (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 90–110; Andrew Radde-Gallwitz, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and the Transformation of Divine Simplicity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 122–31. As seen especially in Mayer, Homilies of St John Chrysostom.

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provides a long list of Paul’s spiritual gifts and insights,70 he writes: ‘When he came to a close examination of the providence of God – and not the whole of his providence, but only a part of it – hear how he was overwhelmed, how he became dizzy, how he quickly turned away, yielding to the incomprehensible.’71 Then, after relating Paul’s discussion of the salvation of Jew and Greek, he writes: Seeing a yawning sea opened before him – and in it this one part – and wanting to peer over [the edge] into the very depth of this providence of God, he turned away, as if kept from it with some vertigo by the ineffability of this economy; and being amazed and perplexed at the ineffability, the limitlessness, the inexpressibility, and the incomprehensibility of the wisdom and providence of God, he discharged these sounds and cried out with much astonishment, ‘Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God’ (Rom 11:33). Then, having shown that he saw the depth, but that he wasn’t able to learn its extent, he went on to say, ‘How unsearchable are his judgments and inscrutable his ways’ (Rom 11:33). He didn’t only say incomprehensible, but also ‘unsearchable are his judgments’. For, not only is it impossible to grasp, but even to begin to make an inquiry. So, not only is it impossible to come to the end, but even to search out the beginning of his economies.72

This is a typical way for Chrysostom to speak about the ineffability of God’s providence: even Paul, whose mind and heart were so well disposed, grew dizzy at the sight of even one small part of God’s vast providential economy. This Pauline doctrine of the ineffability of providence continues to be adduced throughout the rest of this chapter of On the Providence of God.73 After having expounded a number of Pauline passages,74 Chrysostom finally quotes Rom 9:20: ‘Who indeed are you, O man, who argues against God? Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, “Why did you make me thus?”’ The use of Rom 9:20 at the end of the discussion means that these verses of Paul’s discourse in Romans 9–11 form an inclusio which encompasses Chrysostom’s whole Pauline doctrine of the incomprehensibility of the economy of providence. Because for Chrysostom the soul of Paul is a great ‘archetypal image’75 of Christian virtue, if not even Paul himself could gaze into the abyss, then we can be sure that no one else will be able to. In Paul’s case, the fact of

70 72 73 74 75

71 See Mitchell, Heavenly Trumpet, 261. Scand. 2.3 (SC 79, 62). Scand. 2.6–7 (SC 79, 62–64). For the parallel passage in the earlier treatise, see Stag. 1.7 (PG 47, 441,24–30). In addition to below, for his use of Paul on this point, see Anom. [De incompr. hom.] 1. In order, Rom 11:34–36; 2 Cor 9:15; Phil 4:7; 1 Cor 8:2; 1 Cor 13:9–12. This is one of the claims that drives Mitchell, Heavenly Trumpet.

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the inscrutability of the divine economy led to the right response: not to inquiry, nor to prying, but to praise and thanksgiving. For Paul knows that God’s providence is not only ineffable but also good. Paul thus serves as both a carrier of right doctrine concerning God’s providence and also an exemplar who holds right judgements and thus is led from virtue to virtue. This is not, however, only an occasion for the cultivation of virtue for Paul but also an occasion in which he is consoled by the judgement that God’s providence is both good and inscrutable: the occasion for these statements, as Chrysostom recognizes, is Paul’s lamentation over his fellow Jews not receiving Jesus as the Christ. Although we will delve much more into the moral element of this theological judgement in Chapter 6, it is important to note that Chrysostom rarely highlights this theological teaching without also expressing what sort of disposition one ought to have in the light of this knowledge. Most often, he discusses this in the negative: one must not pry into God’s ineffable providence. For example, as Chrysostom opens the same treatise mentioned above, On the Providence of God, he writes that the cause of all moral lapse is the meddlesome and curious mindset (γνώμη), and wanting to know all the causes of all events (αἰτίας . . . τῶν γινομένων); it is contending with the incomprehensible and ineffable providence of God; and it is meddling shamelessly and being busy about [God’s] boundless and unsearchable [providence].76

To pry into the reasons behind all particular externals is equivalent to questioning God’s providence. The kind of contention with divine providence that Chrysostom here speaks of has a negative connotation: it is not a well-intentioned guess at God’s good purposes, such as Chrysostom makes when he enumerates the benefits of suffering; rather, it is a challenge to God’s providential goodness.77 Instead of this meddlesomeness, one must actively maintain both of these judgements at once: the goodness and the incomprehensibility of providence. As Chrysostom says in the Consolation to Stagirius: ‘In everything by which we may be perplexed, we choose this: “Your judgments are a great abyss.”’78 Beyond what God has condescended to reveal to humanity – among other things

76 77 78

Scand. 2.1 (SC 79, 60). Also see Scand. 4.10 (SC 79, 86). Also see Anom. [De incompr. hom.] 2, especially 2.57–59 (SC 28bis, 146). See Stag. 1.2 (PG 47, 427,32–34); Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 439,27–33). Stag. 1.7 (PG 47, 441,45–46).

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the revelation that God gives affliction from his good providence – anything divine is incomprehensible; to these doctrines alone, which are revealed in the narratives of Scripture, the Christian must hold. As we will see particularly in Chapter 6, the scriptural exempla whose narratives we have focused on throughout the book do indeed witness to the incomprehensibility of God’s providence. We have already seen this in Paul’s case; but we also find that Abraham and Joseph in particular show that God’s ways cannot be grasped by those who are in the midst of providentially given suffering. Before the resolution of their narratives, both characters are entirely ignorant of the plans that God has for their own benefit or for the benefit of others. The same principle applies, of course, to many other scriptural sufferers, not least Job himself. Thus, the doctrine of the incomprehensibility of providence is encoded in the providential narratives of Scripture that we have seen in so much detail in the previous chapters. Despite the prevalence of this teaching in John Chrysostom’s consolatory works, it is less clear how the incomprehensibility of the providential economy offers consolation. Nevertheless, it appears to be comforting in a few ways. First, it recognizes the truth of things, not only about God but also about humanity: in our current state, we human beings are weak (ἀσθενής), limited creatures who stand before a powerful (δυνατός), unlimited divinity. The recognition of our limitations gives us freedom to do only what is up to us – which is minuscule compared to the majestic works of God. It also gives us freedom to focus our thoughts solely on what is up to us: our reactions to adverse events. Undoubtedly, this is an insight in which Chrysostom, like so many others, stands in the debt of the Stoics. But the comfort that comes from the incomprehensibility of God’s ways also extends to the particularity of Chrysostom’s vision of providence: namely, that God’s providence is in some sense everywhere different. That is, there is not just one pattern of providence, but there are many. Thus, we simply cannot read our own narratives in the midst of our own suffering; we do not know which benefits are accruing us – whether we are being purged of sin (through chastisement) or being proved righteous. What we do know – what we can grasp – is that God is good and that God’s arranges all things for our salvation. This is a deep comfort in an uncertain world.

    :   .    We have now seen what theological and moral judgements John Chrysostom locates within biblical narratives of providence. The

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goodness and incomprehensibility of providence – and the individual’s power to choose the good – are seen all the way from the creation to the incarnation, and even to Paul the apostle’s life. These are judgements that work to console the reader of Scripture. Chrysostom thus sees himself as deploying these scriptural narratives for consolation because they, in themselves, are consolatory. In this mode of consolation, Chrysostom is distinctive among early Christian writers. Indeed, in comparison to the Cappadocians, with whom Chrysostom has so much in common, it becomes clear that Chrysostom is distinctive both in his reliance upon biblical narrative and in the particular doctrines he finds therein. While both Chrysostom and the Cappadocians work to inculcate right judgements with their consolations, they go about the task in rather different ways. Although we might expect Christian consolations contemporary with Chrysostom to rely on biblical histories or characters, Charles Favez has observed that in Latin consolatory literature biblical exempla are exceedingly rare.79 The same is basically true of Basil of Caesarea’s consolatory letters, which, as we saw in Chapter 2, rely heavily on new Christian scriptural commonplaces: ‘The Lord gives and the Lord takes away’ (Job 1:21); ‘Do not mourn as those who have no hope’ (1 Thess 4:13); ‘not a sparrow falls to the ground without the will of our Father’ (Matt 10:29); etc. Although Gregory of Nazianzus’ impressive funeral orations are much more eloquent than Basil’s simple letters, they are not focused on biblical histories, even if they do mention biblical figures on occasion.80 Rather, as paragons of the encomiastic funeral oration, Gregory’s works primarily offer an exposition of the virtue of the deceased, in addition to more cursory christological and eschatological consolatory arguments, and exhortations to purity. On the other hand, Chrysostom does not make much use of either the funeral oration or the letter, with the exception of several of his Letters to Olympias. The only Cappadocian consolatory work that presents a real parallel to Chrysostom in its extensive use of biblical narratives is Gregory of Nyssa’s Consolatory Oration for Pulcheria. Of the Nyssen’s three funeral orations, this is the most relevant for our purposes – and the most moving, having been delivered soon after the death of the young daughter 79 80

Favez, Consolation latine, 101–5. Or. 7, 8, and 18, To Caesarius, To Gorgonia, and To His Father (Gregory the elder), respectively. Gregory the elder is compared to Moses, but not in a way that engages greatly with the biblical narrative itself.

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of Theodosius I, sometime in the 380s.81 In this consolation, which resembles more a homily than the Nazianzen’s encomiastic orations, the Nyssen puts forward both Abraham and Job as examples of bereaved parents. He writes of Abraham: ‘As many of you as are experienced in the story (τῆς ἱστορίας), do not be altogether ignorant of the narratives (τὰ διηγήματα) about [Abraham].’82 He goes on to show that Abraham was put to the test with respect to his view of the present life over and against the future one. But Gregory especially dwells on the example of Job: a man who at the death of his children does not grieve in an unseemly manner, but ponders the nature of things, with a pious ‘the Lord gives and the Lord takes away’ (Job 1:21).83 This statement, Gregory says, intimates Job’s knowledge of his children’s eventual resurrection. The Joban narrative is, finally, the occasion for Gregory’s reflection on a sort of historical metanarrative (‘salvation history’) – from creation to restoration: In order that the evil which is implanted in us should not endure forever, by providence (προνοίᾳ) the vessel is dissolved by a beneficial death at the right time, so that, when the evil is shed, the humanity will be refashioned, unmixed with evil and restored (ἀποκαταστῇ) to the life which was in the beginning. For this is the resurrection: the restoration (ἀναστοιχείωσις) of our nature to ancient [humanity]. Therefore, if it is impossible to be restored to the better nature without resurrection, then, if death did not precede, it would be impossible for resurrection to happen; and death should be a good, and becomes for us the beginning and way of changing for the better. Therefore, brothers, let’s expel grief about those who have fallen asleep, which only those who have no hope maintain (1 Thess 4:13).84

We are surprised neither that Gregory turns to such a narrative to console nor that Job’s twofold restoration of his children and fortunes reminds Gregory of something as important to him as the apokatastasis. The providential restoration of all to a perfect state at the consummation of things has great potential to console the grieving parents and other loved ones.85 On the long timescale from creation to new creation, the bereaved can fully trust in God’s providential care and restoration.

81 82 84 85

The other two are to Meletius of Antioch and the empress Placilla/Flaccilla. 83 In Pulcheriam (GNO 9, 467,25–468,1). See Gregg, Consolation Philosophy, 189. In Pulcheriam (GNO 9, 472,6–18). See the classic article, Jean Daniélou, ‘L’apocatastase chez saint Grégoire de Nysse’, RSR 30 (1940): 328–47. In contrast, in his treatise On the Early Deaths of Infants, Gregory does not invoke the doctrine of apokatastasis but does rely heavily on the idea of God’s good providence. See Jean Daniélou, ‘Le traité ‘Sur les enfants morts prématurément’ de Grégoire de Nysse’, VC 20 (1966): 159–82.

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In this consolatory homily, we can see real similarities between the approaches of Gregory and Chrysostom. Like Chrysostom, Gregory makes use of biblical narratives to console, even reading Abraham and Job together and invoking providence. For the Cappadocians, as for Chrysostom, theology is consolation86 – and, in this particular case, they share the idea that a theology of providence is consolation. Furthermore, both John and Gregory point specifically to God’s providence and exemplary virtuous responses to it in order to change their audiences’ judgements such that, as the bereaved go forward, they might not be immoderately cast down but still pursue the way of virtue. Both of these approaches to consolation are pastoral and homiletical, while also retaining the characteristic features of the respective preachers’ theologies of providence and exegetical tendencies. Their differing theological and exegetical emphases and nuances are not, however, insignificant. Unlike Gregory, Chrysostom does not console primarily with reference to a metahistory or salvation history.87 Instead, we have seen through the last few chapters that Chrysostom consoles through smaller, episodic narratives that recur continually throughout all of human history. For Chrysostom it is not the far off apokatastasis but the nearness of God’s help – which may come even in this life – that is meant to form his audience’s judgements positively as to the reliability of divine providence and their own ability to respond rightly to it. Providence is not primarily found, as for Gregory, in the general resurrection or in the creation of the human person but in the providential gift of suffering itself. The small-scale scriptural narratives in which God works concretely – both in suffering itself and in the rescue from suffering – and in which the human being has the ability to choose to endure, are crucial for Chrysostom’s particular way of consolation in which the above doctrines provide the means of consolation. That is, where the apokatastasis and the general resurrection are consoling when they are related within a metanarrative of salvation history, the goodness of God’s providence in all externals and the human ability to choose the good are consoling when they are related within the small narratives of the Old Testament in particular. The concreteness and particularity of the narratives that Chrysostom employs are bound intimately to the kind of

86 87

As Gregg points out with respect to the Cappadocians in Consolation Philosophy, 264. Again, pace Ramelli, Christian Doctrine of Apokatastasis, Chrysostom does not hold to the apokatastasis (see Daley, Hope of the Early Church, 107–8).

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consolation that the narratives are meant to provide to his audience and to the reader of Scripture. At the same time, Chrysostom is no less interested than Gregory in God’s providence throughout the whole economy of salvation; however, instead of attending to the hope of the final restoration, Chrysostom combines the small scale of his providential narratives with the conviction that these providential narrative structures have recurred throughout all of history and continue today. The past recurrence of God’s providential care assures Chrysostom’s audience that God will act in the same manner in the present and into the future, and in the lives of particular individuals. God’s saving activity in the lives of the saints is seen to recur throughout history, and the reading of biblical narratives thus inculcates in the lives of Chrysostom’s audience a belief in providence – including the particular doctrines discussed in this chapter – in their own daily lives. The theology of providence that biblical narratives carry is thus meant to console Chrysostom’s audience. The recurring, continuous demonstrations of God’s providence offer not just a picture of the past but one that endures through the present and that will continue into the future. Looking to Scripture’s past helps pave way for the future – which is precisely the task of consolation. Chrysostom thus consoles with biblical history because it furnishes judgements about God’s providence in narrative form and puts forward examples of those who have, in real time, held on to those judgements and endured with thanksgiving. These narratives spur us on to hold to the same judgements in our own trials.

 The narratives of Scripture, which we have discussed in previous chapters, are thus, in Chrysostom’s teaching, vehicles of certain doctrines of providence. And these doctrines are all consolatory. Even while Chrysostom fully acknowledges that these scriptural narratives are harrowing – and often painful – in all of them affliction is a providentially given good. This fact can be seen in all the individual goods that the virtuous recipients of affliction receive: their sins are put away, their virtue proved, crowns are stored up for them in the age to come; sometimes they are even rewarded in this life. Such a teaching, difficult as it may be to receive in the midst of grievous suffering, is obviously consoling to the one who will hear it. Thankfully, too, God has so ordered things that neither physical affliction, nor evil persons, nor the devil himself may truly harm the individual. The only true harm is sin and the publishment that comes as a result of it;

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therefore, it is in my power – and not in the power of any malevolent force – to refrain from begin harmed. For the one suffering at the hands of wicked men, this is truly a comfort: in human things, I am my own master. Such a thing Joseph experienced; likewise, Job, the Three Youths, and many more besides: no tyrant, corporeal or spiritual, has any power over my virtue or vice. Finally, the counterpoint to this teaching is that God’s providential economy is incomprehensible to me, a weak and limited human being. There is freedom in this teaching too: although I am responsible for my own virtue (and thus my own eschatological rewards), I have no control over, or even knowledge of, God’s providential plans. Like Job, it is only in my power to bless or to curse God – I may not bring about my own affliction or my own salvation. The good God who ordered the cosmos and who sent his Only Begotten to assume the flesh – indeed the same God who preserved all the saints under the Old and New Covenants – is the same God who orders the events of my life. I may not, however, know how he does so. These are the consolatory teachings of providence and its ethical corollaries that John Chrysostom finds in the scriptural narratives that we have surveyed in so much detail in the previous chapters. It now remains to show how through the emulation of the virtue of the saints, we might come to the life of the angels and thus assume the resurrection life, as much as possible, in this age.

6 The Virtue of Yielding to Providence

Although they did not know clearly the preaching of the resurrection and saw things occurring which were opposed to God’s promises, they were not scandalized, they were not confused, they were not disturbed, but they yielded to God’s incomprehensible providence. They were not scandalized from the opposing events, but knowing the resourcefulness and skilfulness of his wisdom, they awaited the end. Scand. 9.7 (PG 52, 500) Therefore, let’s yield to him the time of the release from terrors, and let’s only pray and live in piety. For our work is changing to virtue, God’s work is release from terrors. Stat. 4.3 (PG 49, 63,22–25)

We have now seen at length that biblical historia contains demonstrations of God’s providence and serves as a vehicle for consolatory judgements about providence; in this chapter, we see that it also contains examples of human beings who have held to providence despite all manner of grievous circumstances. In other words, the narratives of Scripture put forward those who have lived virtuously, holding practically to a belief in God’s providence despite all circumstances. In Chrysostom’s usual parlance, these characters have ‘yielded to providence’. Chrysostom thus discovers in Scripture not only God working providentially but also human beings who, responding rightly to God’s providence, find themselves formed by it. Scriptural historia itself puts forward these figures for the saints to emulate. Thus, following from Chapter 5 on ‘true doctrine’; in this chapter, we discuss the other part of virtue – an ‘upright life’ – and how 155

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the characters who figure into the biblical narratives of providence exemplify this life. In particular, we consider how the suffering of Abraham, Joseph, and other scriptural saints forms them in virtue: that is, how suffering becomes an enduring benefit to them, leading them to a sort of theosis, or, as Chrysostom says, the life of the angels. The bulk of the chapter is thus taken up with the exemplary characters of biblical narratives. For this reason, in the course of my argument, I revisit the role of exemplary biblical characters within Chrysostom’s larger therapeutic (and more specifically consolatory) project. This topic has been central to scholarship on Chrysostom’s exegesis for the last couple of decades. However, rather than attending to Chrysostom’s employment of rhetorical tropes in his exemplary discourse – discussions of which dominate the scholarship – I begin by considering how, on Chrysostom’s reading, the biblical narratives themselves have righteous persons as their subject matter and therefore how these biblical narratives are themselves exemplary. I argue that exemplarity is not merely a function of Chrysostom’s creative rhetorical deployment of biblical figures but is an aspect of the biblical text itself. Therefore, in this chapter, only after we have sought to appreciate Chrysostom’s reading of character and characterization in Scripture, do we then proceed to consider how Chrysostom rhetorically interprets the exemplary narratives already present in Scripture – that is, how he extends or amplifies the exemplarity that biblical narratives already put forward.

’   Consolation shares in the larger goal of Chrysostom’s therapy: that his audience assume the virtuous life, which he will often refer to as the ‘life of the angels’. The summit of human life is to exhibit the virtue of the angels in a variety of ways: worship, sexual renunciation, renunciation of worldly goods, and eternal life.1 All Christians, Chrysostom emphasizes, 1

For this list, see Hom. Eph. 23.3 (PG 62, 167,10–24). On angelic worship, see Mark Roosien, ‘“Emulate Their Mystical Order”: Awe and Liturgy in John Chrysostom’s Angelic πολιτεία’, StPatr 83 (2017): 115–30, esp. 124. On the issue of sexual renunciation and the life of the angels, see Elizabeth A. Clark, ‘The Celibate Bridegroom and His Virginal Brides: Metaphor and the Marriage of Jesus in Early Christian Ascetic Exegesis’, CH 77, no. 1 (2008): 1–25; Elizabeth A. Clark, ‘Sexual Politics in the Writings of John Chrysostom’, AThR 59, no. 1 (1977): 3–20; Peter Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 323–38. On pedagogical and soteriological aspects of

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are capable of attaining these things.2 While Chrysostom frequently mentions the life of the angels in passing, he rarely goes into a detailed description of it. Instead, much more often he chooses to exemplify the angelic life. It is rare for Christ himself to be the exemplar in this regard, and instead Chrysostom often adduces the saints of Scripture and the local monks.3 Chrysostom sometimes commands his congregations to emulate or imitate the life of the angels directly, but more often he calls them to imitate human beings who are themselves currently imitating the life of the angels – especially monks.4 The saints in Scripture are also to be emulated as those who have triumphed in the angelic life. For example, Elijah and Moses attained the life of the angels and shared discourse with God, through their ascetic commitment to fasting.5 Paul is even more frequently invoked in this regard: we ought to emulate Paul’s virtue, since ‘such is the power of virtue: it makes the human an angel, and sets the soul aflutter to heaven’.6 The virtuous angelic life is narrated in the many stories of scriptural saints, which God has given to humanity for emulation. It is these angelic human beings who live according to the divine truth, among which are the judgements about providence discussed in Chapter 5.

2 3

4

5

this idea, see Lai, ‘Hermeneutics of Exemplar Portraits’, 65–68; David M. Rylaarsdam, ‘On Earth as If in Heaven: John Chrysostom on Christ, Priests, and the Making of Angels’, StPatr 47 (2010): 237–41; and Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy, 133–40. On the widespread ascetic understanding of the angelic life, see Ellen Muehlberger, ‘Ambivalence about the Angelic Life: The Promise and Perils of an Early Christian Discourse of Asceticism’, JECS 16, no. 4 (2008): 447–78; Ellen Muehlberger, Angels in Late Ancient Christianity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 148–75; Jonathan L. Zecher, ‘The Angelic Life in Desert and Ladder: John Climacus’s Reformulation of Ascetic Spirituality’, JECS 21, no. 1 (2013): 111–36. Lai, ‘Hermeneutics of Exemplar Portraits’, sees this as Chrysostom’s revolutionary use of the term ‘life of the angels’ (65). Christ is not often an example, because in narratives – as seen in Chapter 5 – he acts in God’s place (as God), rather than in the place of the virtuous human. Thus, Christ brings the ‘exalted teachings’ whereby he ‘implants the life of the angels’ (Comm. Isa. 1.7; SC 304, 82,67–69); also see Ep. Olymp. 8.7a (SC 13bis, 184). He likewise ‘trains’ his disciples in the life of the angels, through his injunctions to them (Hom. Matt. 32.4; PG 57, 382,27–38). On the former, see Hom. Gen. 59.1 (PG 54, 513,55–60). On the latter, see Hom. Jo. 5:19 [Fil. ex se nihil fac.] 4 (PG 56, 252,48–55). Elsewhere too Chrysostom specifies that we ought to emulate not those who are lazy but those who have triumphed in the life of the angels: Hom. Act. 23.4 (PG 60, 182,60–183,1). 6 Paenit. 5.1 (PG 49, 307,33–42). Paenit. 2.5 (PG 49, 291,10–13).

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When Chrysostom attempts to inculcate this virtuous angelic life in the lives of his congregation, Scripture is primary. He is only able to put forward the saints of the Old and New Testaments as exempla of the angelic life because Scripture itself already does so. This, at least, is Chrysostom’s understanding: ‘The amazing history of the Scriptures, just as in some exalted and great image which has much breadth, describes the lives of ancients, extending the narration from Adam until the coming of Christ. It shows you both those who have been overthrown and those who have been crowned.’7 Chrysostom sees himself as simply drawing out the exemplarity of these scriptural lives, as he attends closely to the biblical narratives in which they appear. Recent scholarship on Chrysostom’s use of exemplary figures has largely approached his exegesis from a different perspective, focusing on how Chrysostom imports foreign material into Scripture or else how he manufactures figures like David or Abraham in his own image.8 In much of this literature, it is not the human characters as they appear in Scripture who are exemplary; rather, the characters become exemplary through Chrysostom’s rhetorical presentation of them. Lai, who especially holds to this, argues that Chrysostom’s ‘Davidic portraits . . . are presented, more often than not, as proofs, or pisteis [sic], for a theological or ethical point that he is making’.9 Exemplary figures become, for Lai, bearers of ideology and identity:10 as in Greco-Roman exemplary history, lives are (merely) reflections of the expectations of the author, so also in Chrysostom’s homilies.11 Above all, ‘a hermeneutics of exemplar portraits must begin with an a priori conception of Chrysostom’s didactic teachings . . .. It is only when a model of his didactic teachings . . . is established that we can . . . determine the degree to which these portraits validate, reinforce or supplement this model’.12 Chrysostom thus apparently has ethical ideals (‘ideologies’ or ‘identities’) in mind, and the exempla he employs are then manufactured to fit into this mould. This is not far from Demetrios Tonias’ idea that the character Abraham is a ‘tool’13 by which – or sometimes a 7 8

9 10 11 12 13

Laed. 12 (SC 103, 116,4–9). I do not include among these Mitchell’s Heavenly Trumpet because, although she sees Paul as exemplary, her study does not concern the paradeigma. Instead, she focuses on the genre of the encomium and the associated technique of description (ἔκφρασις). Lai, ‘Hermeneutics of Exemplar Portraits’, 125. Lai, ‘Hermeneutics of Exemplar Portraits’, 83. Lai, ‘Hermeneutics of Exemplar Portraits’, 74. Lai, ‘Hermeneutics of Exemplar Portraits’, 127–28. Tonias, Abraham in John Chrysostom, 5, 10, 20, 90, 180.

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‘material’14 from which – Chrysostom’s pastoral work can be undertaken. Abraham thus becomes merely a figure onto which Stoic virtues (in accord, it is claimed, with Chrysostom’s moral vision) are ‘projected’.15 However, exempla in ancient literature are not in fact limited to functioning as proofs. As Bennet Price notes, those ancient rhetorical handbooks that ‘treat the example only as a means of proof miss a good deal of its [force]’.16 Furthermore, among these ancient theorists, there are many points of disagreement about how exempla ought to be employed;17 indeed, the meaning of ‘proof’ in rhetorical handbooks varies widely.18 The use of the exemplum is also diverse in its form: ‘The more elaborate παράδειγμα can take the progymnasmatic shapes of διήγημα (narration), χρεία (anecdote), σύγκρισις (laudatory comparison).’19 Furthermore, the variety of other literary forms that employ exempla of sorts – orations, treatises, poetry, histories, bioi, etc. – is also reflective of the variety of uses to which exempla were put in GrecoRoman antiquity.20 In many cases, historical exempla are not mere reflections of the author’s ideology; rather, histories are the very basis of moral teaching. For example, in his famous bioi, Plutarch does not, for the most part, force his historical figures into preconceived ideas of the moral life; instead, he allows the lives themselves to be moral lessons, intended to stimulate the reader’s moral reflection and decision making.21 Likewise, Irene Hau has shown that many moralizing ancient historiographers do not fudge the historical record in order to have figures fit with some 14 15

16 17 18

19 20 21

Tonias, Abraham in John Chrysostom, 45. Tonias, Abraham in John Chrysostom, 15. Tonias expands upon his claims that Abraham is a Stoic sage in Demetrios E. Tonias, ‘The Iconic Abraham as John Chrysostom’s High Priest of Philanthropy’, in Revisioning John Chrysostom: New Approaches, New Perspectives, ed. Wendy Mayer and Chris L. De Wet (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 563–86. Bennet J. Price, ‘Paradeigma and Exemplum in Ancient Rhetorical Theory’ (PhD diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1975), 216. Price, ‘Paradeigma and Exemplum’, 23–24, and especially 214–16. See Kristoffel Demoen, ‘A Paradigm for the Analysis of Paradigms: The Rhetorical Exemplum in Ancient and Imperial Greek Theory’, Rhetorica 15, no. 2 (1997): 125–58. The content of this article can also be found in the first chapter of his earlier monograph: Kristoffel Demoen, Pagan and Biblical Exempla in Gregory Nazianzen: A Study in Rhetoric and Hermeneutics (Turnhout: Brepols, 1996). Demoen, ‘Paradigm for the Analysis of Paradigms’, 142, also 129–33. Although Lai’s understanding of exempla does not come solely from rhetorical handbooks, he treats other exemplary genres in keeping with his reading of the handbooks. See Chrysanthos S. Chrysanthou, Plutarch’s Parallel Lives: Narrative Technique and Moral Judgment (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018).

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preconceived moral teaching; instead, the historical facts (as much as they were known to the writers) serve as the very basis for the moral lessons.22 In these cases, the narratives of virtuous and vicious exemplary figures do not serve as illustrations of moral ‘ideologies’ or ‘identities’ but instead as the very foundations from which the moralists moralize. Chrysostom too has it that the Scriptures are not mere proofs of his preconceived ethics but are the very basis thereof.23 For, contrary to Lai’s assessment, the paradeigma denotes for Chrysostom not merely the figure of speech in which the person is included (i.e., the trope or pistis with its associated literary forms) but the character – the person – as found in Scripture.24 It is above all the Abraham of the biblical text (for example) who is morally exemplary. The relationship between the scriptural sources themselves and Chrysostom’s rhetorical-exegetical exemplary use thereof – in descriptions (ἐκφράσεις), narrations (διηγήματα), etc. – is a subtle one: it is hardly the case that we can so easily delineate the Abraham of Scripture from the Abraham of Chrysostom’s exegesis. Nor would Chrysostom want us to: his rhetorically presented Abraham is – as he sees it – the Abraham of Scripture, just as, in Mitchell’s estimation, Paul’s soul is accessed precisely through a reading of Paul’s letters, and Chrysostom’s ekphraseis are detailed portraits of the very same soul.25 Do Chrysostom’s exemplary rhetorical deployments of biblical figures, then, supplant the biblical text? Are the biblical texts and the exemplary interpretations foreign to one another? Chrysostom would no doubt 22 23

24

25

This is one of the main contentions in Hau, Moral History. This is all the more significant in the case of Chrysostom and other Christian writers because the exemplary character is often from Scripture, which relies upon a fixed text, in Chrysostom’s case a Lucianic text type. On this text type, see Bruce M. Metzger, ‘Lucian and the Lucianic Recension of the Greek Bible’, NTS 8, no. 3 (1962): 189–203. I am sceptical of stating with too much certainty that Chrysostom employs this text type because of (1) the tendency for Byzantine homiletic manuscripts to be harmonized to the dominant (Byzantine) text type and (2) the homiletic nature of Chrysostom’s quotation of Scripture. Thus, when Fee writes that Chrysostom’s New Testament text stands ‘at the head of the line in the long history of the Byzantine text type’, he seems to beg the question; Gordon D. Fee, ‘The Text of John and Mark in the Writings of Chrysostom’, NTS 26, no. 4 (1980): 525 (525–47). Although we should not expect a rhetor to comment on his use of proofs or tropes, we do learn something of Chrysostom’s perspective from his use of the term in the main works under discussion and especially in the Homilies on the Statues. Rather than referring to the trope itself as a paradeigma, he instead from time to time refers to characters as exempla. Most often these are scriptural characters: Stat. 2.6 (PG 49, 42,43–45); Stat. 5.1 (PG 49, 67,60–68,58); Stat. 5.5 (PG 49, 76,16–17); Stat. 8.2 (PG 49, 100,25–26). The bishop Flavian is also called a paradeigma (Stat. 6.3; PG 49, 84,38–39). Mitchell, Heavenly Trumpet.

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recoil, and require a consolation of his own, at this suggestion: whatever exegetical and rhetorical work Chrysostom does with the biblical characters, he sees his task not as moulding Abraham to his own whims but moulding his audience’s souls to the very Abraham of Scripture. Of course, no matter how close an interpretation is to the interpreted text, it supplements it in some manner.26 However, Chrysostom views his own task as one of setting the Scriptures before his congregation. This is clear not only from Chrysostom’s exegesis but also from his continual exhortations that his audience read the Scriptures for themselves.27 Furthermore, in his sermons Chrysostom takes pains to ensure that the words of Scripture are primary to his own. For example, in his first homily from the short series On Lazarus and the Rich Man, Chrysostom reads the parable out to his congregation, slowly and deliberately.28 Having offered a lengthy exhortation to his congregation to work for the conversion of those who attend the ‘spectacle of Satan’, he then turns to the parable itself: ‘For the story of the rich man and Lazarus and of the things that befall each of them shows nothing other than [that those who live in luxury are punished]. But so that we not treat this theme cursorily, I will read the parable itself from the beginning. ‘There was a man . . ..’ And he continues to read to the end of the parable.29 In one of the following homilies, Chrysostom again begins to read the parable. But this time, he begins only with the opening words: ‘There was a rich man.’30 He stops short, apparently because someone in the audience is familiar with the narrative: ‘If you also know the narration’s story, wait for the end of the speech!’31 He praises those who do know it, while also 26

27

28

29 31

See, for example, Jacques Derrida, ‘That Dangerous Supplement’, in Of Grammatology, trans. Gayatri Spivak (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1997), 141–64, and Elizabeth Clark’s use of it in her Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 6–9. See Jaclyn L. Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity: John Chrysostom and His Congregation in Antioch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 98–99. Margaret Schatkin and Cara Aspesi have both separately made much of Chrysostom’s emphasis on ‘biblical literacy’: Margaret Schatkin, ‘John Chrysostom: Advocate of Biblical Literacy’, in Historiam perscrutari: Miscellanea di studi offerti al prof. Ottorino Pasquato, ed. Paul Poupard and Mario Maritano (Rome: LAS, 2002), 829–38; Cara J. Aspesi, ‘Literacy and Book Ownership in the Congregations of John Chrysostom’, StPatr 67 (2013): 333–44. This is a tactic that Chrysostom suggests fathers take when they teach their children biblical stories. Inan. glor. 39.496–99 (SC 188, 130–132). On this technique, see Leyerle, Narrative Shape of Emotion, 8. 30 Laz. 1.6 (PG 48, 970,18–23). Laz. 6.4 (PG 48, 1032,21). Laz. 6.4 (PG 48, 1032,21–23).

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exhorting them to join in with those who do not, as they progress little by little through the story. He then proceeds, throughout the remainder of the homily, to narrate the parable slowly, interspersed with long descriptive, moral, exegetical, and theological expansions.32 Such a slow, intentional exegetical – almost commentarial – approach to the biblical text itself is not at all uncommon in Chrysostom’s homilies.33 Therefore, Chrysostom’s approach to exempla, like all of his preaching, is intensely focused upon the biblical text itself. Whatever else Chrysostom might bring to the text as an interpretative supplement, we can hardly say that he is insincere in his attempt to scrutinize Scripture with precision. As we have seen in previous chapters, Chrysostom’s interpretation concentrates on the minutiae of Scripture, such that, while remaining on the ‘literal’ level of the text, he nevertheless uncovers an abundance of interpretations. In this same way, the biblical exempla – in all their complexity as they occur in biblical narrative – form the very basis of Chrysostom’s moral teaching, just as the narratives do for his theological teaching on providence. Because of Chrysostom’s focus on the words of Scripture, his reading of biblical character and characterization is fundamental to his notion of exemplarity. Chrysostom’s employment of exemplary exegesis is bound to remain opaque without an understanding of how he thinks characterization occurs in biblical narratives. Therefore, instead of simply examining Chrysostom’s rhetorical re-presentation of biblical figures, as most other scholars have done, in what follows I examine Chrysostom’s reading of biblical characterization with reference specifically to yielding to providence.

   Like Aristotle – one of the few ancient writers to reflect on such matters – Chrysostom has a consistent vision of character and characterization between his treatment of narrative and his moral psychology.34 Indeed, the overlapping conception of character in Chrysostom’s scriptural 32 33

34

Laz. 6.4 (PG 48, 1032,49). See Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 97. Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 93, gives the example that in a single homily, ‘Chrysostom . . . repeated short biblical quotations as he gave his commentary, up to seven times within a few minutes of speaking, before moving on to the next verse’. See Halliwell, Aristotle’s Poetics, 157. Chrysostom’s reading of narrative cannot simply by subsumed into Aristotle’s. Nevertheless, Aristotle is a helpful comparandum for Chrysostom’s narratological reading. René Nünlist, ‘Some Ancient Views on Narrative,

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exegesis and moral teaching is what allows biblical figures to be exemplary: the way character functions in biblical narratives is true to life. Neither Aristotle nor Chrysostom is unique on this front, since, as modern narratologists have come to realize, any understanding of narrative characterization is contingent on an underlying psychological account of human character.35 For Chrysostom, as in ancient Greek literature more broadly, character is primarily understood to be moral in nature and is thus described in terms of virtue and vice.36 Whereas in modern narratology there is little agreement as to what constitutes character (and thus characterization), the premise that virtue or vice constitutes character is shared broadly across ancient Greco-Roman moral psychology.37 In turn, character, consisting as it does of virtues or vices, is expressed in narrative by a character’s speech and action. Following narratological theory, this is what I refer to as characterization: speech and action in the narrative reflect back on the character itself, contributing to a fuller picture of the character, which, in Chrysostom, is described in terms of virtue more broadly and also in terms of specific virtues.38 We have seen in his reading of providential habits that Chrysostom is observant of biblical poetics. While in that case he finds repetition among narratives and ascribes theological significance to it, in the case of characterization he is no less observant of the tendencies of biblical narrative:

35 36

37

38

Its Structure and Working’, in Defining Greek Narrative, ed. Douglas Cairns and Ruth Scodel (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2014), 173, offers some justification for an approach that emphasizes difference among ancient readers of narrative: ‘individual readers by no means agree on the various aspects of the larger question, and an attempt to give a summary of “what ancient critics thought about narrative” is bound either to fail or to streamline the picture. In fact, the relevant sources indicate a general atmosphere of lively debate or downright polemics’. We would therefore be mistaken to think Chrysostom is simply regurgitating Aristotle’s or the scholiasts’ observations. See Rimmon-Kenan, Narrative Fiction, 29–36. Koen De Temmerman and Evert van Emde Boas, ‘Character and Characterization in Ancient Greek Literature: An Introduction’, in Characterization in Ancient Greek Literature, ed. Koen De Temmerman and Evert van Emde Boas (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 7–8. Character, in modern narratology, is variously conceived: as an ‘adjective’, provided it can be consistently predicated of the person, or, alternatively – as in Roland Barthes’ estimation – a ‘proper name’. See Rimmon-Kenan, Narrative Fiction, 37–39. But this particular disagreement among modern narratologists did not exist in antiquity: character consists of virtue or vice and of individual virtues and vices. For Chrysostom, the person is constituted by the mindset, from which the virtues come. See, for example, Stat. 19.1 (PG 49, 189,20–21); Laed. 11.28–29 (SC 103, 114); Hom. Gen. 47.3 (PG 54, 451,45–46).

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Chrysostom knows that characterization rarely occurs through direct description of virtues or vices. There are, of course, notable exceptions to the rule. Noah was ‘righteous and perfect in his generation and he pleased God’ (Gen 6:9); Job was ‘true, blameless, righteous, pious, and abstained from every evil thing’ (Job 1:1); Barnabas was ‘a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and faith’ (Acts 11:24). However, it is much more common, John recognizes, for characterization in biblical narrative to occur through the actions – including speech events – of the narrative’s various characters.39 This more common mode of biblical characterization is often referred to as indirect or implicit characterization.40 We have seen something of this in a previous chapter: on Chrysostom’s reading, Abraham is characterized – his virtue is described – in relation to the course of events, including those enacted by Abraham and by Pharaoh. But biblical characterization comes not only from narrative structures in Chrysostom’s reading but also in a number of other ways related to actions – such that characters are a sort of summation of their actions (πράξεις, πράγματα), including speech acts. As in Greek histories and classical rhetoric, for John’s reading of Scripture, this characterization is tied deeply to narrative’s moralizing task and thus the moral exemplarity of its characters.41 How then does Chrysostom read characterization in biblical narrative? What in the text does he see as contributing to a picture of the text’s characters? Chrysostom recognizes that judging the character of the human figures in Scripture is a complex affair and that it requires close attention to the text. Here we take as an example the woman memorialized in the Gospel of Matthew, the one who pours out an alabaster jar of ointment onto Jesus’ feet. Her actions, and how they are reflective of her mindset or character, are not easily interpreted, especially given

39 40

41

See Robert Alter, ‘Characterization and the Art of Reticence’, in The Art of Biblical Narrative, rev. ed. (New York: Basic Books, 2011), 143–62. See Hau, Moral History, 9, on implicit characterization in ancient histories: though she speaks of the narrator as ‘moralizing’ implicitly and explicitly, much of this is indeed surrounding the character himself. On modern understandings of direct and indirect characterization, see Rimmon-Kenan, Narrative Fiction, 59–64. For a discussion of direct and indirect characterization in ancient works, see De Temmerman and van Emde Boas, ‘Character and Characterization’, especially 20; Koen De Temmerman, ‘Ancient Rhetoric as a Hermeneutical Tool for the Analysis of Characterization in Narrative Literature’, Rhetorica 28, no. 1 (2010): 23–51, especially 28–29. Again, see Hau, Moral History. On the primary importance of actions for rhetorical characterization – in, for example, encomia – see De Temmerman, ‘Ancient Rhetoric as a Hermeneutical Tool’, 33.

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Chrysostom’s sympathy for the question posed by the disciples: ‘Why this waste? For it could have been sold for a lot [of money] and given to the poor’ (Matt 26:8–9). To discover the answer to the question, Chrysostom scrutinizes both the woman’s action and her appearance (πρόσωπον) – which together contribute to a picture of her character – while also comparing her appearance and actions to those of the disciples: Great is the Master’s love for humanity. He bears with and approves the prostitute who kissed his feet, who wetted them with oil, and who wiped them with tears, while he rebukes those who accuse [her]. For it was not necessary to be in doubt about the woman because of her very great zeal. But also look at this with me: how they were proud and zealous for almsgiving. And why didn’t he simply say, ‘She did a good deed’, but first said, ‘Why do you give the woman trouble?’ [He said this] so that they might learn not to demand at the outset greater things from those who are weaker. Therefore, do not simply scrutinize the action in itself (καθ’ ἑαυτὸ ἁπλῶς τὸ πρᾶγμα), but [do so] along with the woman’s appearance (προσώπου).42

The woman’s prosōpon denotes something like her outward appearance, or ‘public persona’.43 The implication in the narrative is that she is morally compromised – Chrysostom explicitly identifies her as a prostitute – especially in contrast to the disciples.44 Chrysostom, then, is making a pedagogical point: compared to the actions of the disciples, who are supposedly advanced in virtue, the deeds of this woman ought to be judged with leniency, according to her good motives, namely, her zeal. Indeed, she shares the character trait of zeal with the more advanced disciples. At the same time, Chrysostom is emphatic that appearance (prosōpon) cannot be the sole criterion for judging character but must be employed in order to understand the action and thereby the person’s true character or mindset. Though actions reveal one’s character, actions cannot be interpreted outside of their narrative context, including the character’s prosōpon – whether ethnicity, gender, or social status. Attending to such things as whether a character is a Jew or a Greek, or rich or poor, is

42 43

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Hom. Matt. 80.2 (PG 58, 725,57–726,8). As Françoise Frontisi-Ducroux, Du masque au visage: Aspects de l’identité en Grèce ancienne, rev. ed. (Paris: Flammarion, 2012), has shown, the prosōpon in Greek antiquity was not so much a mask that hid the inner person, as a recognizable public identity. Chrysostom is reading Matthew’s version in line with the parallel in Luke 7:36–50, as she is referred to as a ‘sinful woman’ only in the latter.

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important for scrutinizing how an action is reflective of the mindset.45 Chrysostom appreciates the complexity of characterization as it takes place in biblical narratives and therefore considers a variety of narratological aspects in his exemplary exegesis. Thus, when Chrysostom uses biblical characters in an exemplary manner, he does not read them straightforwardly as virtuous or vicious, but he takes into account the complexity of characterization particular to whatever biblical narrative he is reading. His task is to put forward these figures as moral characters with particular virtues or vices, which he arrives at by attending to the above aspects of biblical characterization. In the example of the woman memorialized in the Gospels, we get a taste of the sort of work that Chrysostom does as he reads biblical narratives to get to the truth of a character’s virtue or vice – that is, the centre of the human person, the mindset. We will especially find that, in the case of those who yield to providence, he has a couple of common rhetorical techniques for drawing out narrative characterization: comparison (synkrisis) and speech-in-character (ethopoeia).

   The concept of yielding (παραχωρέω, εἴκω) is especially prominent in On the Providence of God. Even in this treatise, though, the object of yielding varies. At times Chrysostom exhorts his audience to yield to incomprehensible providence46 and at other times to providence’s 45

46

Chrysostom has no stomach for spectacle or the predominant social order that equates ‘display’ with prestige and status. See Blake Leyerle, ‘John Chrysostom’s View of the Theatre’, in Theatrical Shows and Ascetic Lives: John Chrysostom’s Attack on Spiritual Marriage (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), 42–74. He also understands his own way of judging character to be in line with how God judges. Namely, that God judges on the basis of actions insofar as they reflect on the person’s mindset, not merely on appearance (πρόσωπον). See, among others, Hom. Rom. 5.4 (PG 60, 427,54); Hom. Rom. 7.6 (PG 60, 448,62–63); Hom. Rom. 7.8 (PG 60, 452,40–45); Hom. Act. 9:1 [Mut. nom.] 4.2 (PG 51, 147,12–14). In addition to social status, ethnicity can also be constitutive of prosōpon (Hom. Col. 10.2; PG 62, 368,11). The eucharistic table too, unlike worldly feasts, attends not to prosōpon but to the mindset (Pasch. 3; PG 52, 769,4–21). That this is radical is seen in the fact that categories related to status were employed in encomia, precisely as a reflection on character: De Temmerman, ‘Ancient Rhetoric as a Hermeneutical Tool’, 33. Also see Rimmon-Kenan, Narrative Fiction, 65–66, on external appearance being a common way of characterization in fiction. For yielding to ‘incomprehensible providence’, see Scand. 9.7 (SC 79, 148); Scand. 10.16 (SC 79, 160); Hom. Gen. 32.2 (PG 53, 295,25–26); Hom. Gen. 38.1 (PG 53, 351,33); for yielding simply to providence, without qualification, see Comm. Job 39.5a (PTS 35, 193,1–2).

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incomprehensibility. Yielding to incomprehensibility is in fact the most common form of the expression in Chrysostom’s corpus; however, it is almost never the incomprehensibility of God’s nature but of God’s activity that is in question47 – which activity is articulated variously as providence, philanthropy, wisdom, or power.48 Chrysostom can also speak of yielding to God himself,49 which is sometimes related to yielding to ‘the incomprehensibility of his wisdom’.50 While in almost every case human beings do the yielding, on a couple of occasions creation itself is said to yield to God’s will.51 Thus, not only human beings but also all creation is designed to give way to God’s providence. The latter does so successfully in the moment of creation, while human beings, for whom such yielding is in their power, have chosen to varying degrees to do so – and in many cases not to do so. Strikingly, in Chrysostom’s use of these terms, divine permission (συγχωρέω) often corresponds to human yielding (παραχωρέω): God allows an experience – usually one of suffering – to come upon an individual, and the human being can choose whether to yield to God’s providence.52 Whereas God providentially makes way (συγχωρέω) for trials, human beings ought to give way (παραχωρέω) to them.53 Despite

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50 51 52 53

One passage is almost an exception to this: Anom. [De incompr. hom.] 5 (SC 28bis, 302,374–304,384). For the incomprehensibility of philanthropy, see Laz. 6.5 (PG 48, 1034,36–37); of God’s wisdom, Diab. 2.3 (PG 49, 260,48–49); and Scand. 12.2 (SC 79, 182); of God’s providence, Scand. 10.44 (SC 79, 176); Hom. Matt. 75.5 (PG 58, 694,31–32); Hom. Rom. 2.4 (PG 60, 406,9); Laud. Paul. 4.3 (SC 300, 186,2–4); of God’s power, Hom. 1 Cor. 17.2 (PG 61, 141,4–8); and of the incomprehensibility of God’s power, providence, and wisdom, Scand. 10.7 (SC 79, 154); and once, just incomprehensibility, without qualification (Scand. 2.3; SC 79, 62). Elsewhere inscrutability and ineffability of divine activity are likewise mentioned as being yielded to – as ideas closely related to incomprehensibility: the ‘inscrutability of his wisdom’ (Diab. 1.7; PG 49, 257,3–4); infinite wisdom (Hom. 1 Cor. 4; PG 61, 29–31); and the ‘ineffable discussions of his economies’ (Scand. 12.1; SC 79, 182). Stat. 4.2–3 (PG 49, 63,22–23); twice in Paralyt. 2 (PG 51, 50,37–51,18); Hom. Gen. 30.5 (PG 53, 281,15–16); Hom. Matt. 45.2 (PG 58, 474,14); Hom. Act. 7.1 (PG 60, 63,50); Hom. Rom. 7.8 (PG 60, 452,52); Hom. Rom. 16.7 (PG 60, 558,22). Hom. Rom. 16.8 (PG 60, 560,12–13). Hom. Gen. 2.3 (PG 53, 30,22–23); Exp. Ps. 110.2 (PG 55, 282,11–12). As far as I can see, the correspondence of these two terms is novel to Chrysostom, though Michael Psellos seems to pick up on it centuries later. The pairing of these verbs, according to this same sense, also occurs in Scand. 9.6–7 (SC 79, 148); Scand. 11.5 (SC 79, 180); Hom. Gen. 32.2 (PG 53, 295,24–39); and in a similar sense in Exp. Ps. 120.2 (PG 55, 346,44). It is very common for Chrysostom to refer to God as ‘allowing’ trials: see Stag. 2.9 (PG 47, 463,28–30); Laz. 3.7 (PG 48, 1002,3–5);

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both human and divine activities sounding rather passive, both God’s allowing and humanity’s yielding are in fact active: The one who made way for the trial (Ὁ . . . συγχωρήσας τὸν πειρασμὸν) himself knows the time of the trial’s release . . .. Therefore, let’s yield (παραχωρῶμεν) to him the time of the release from the terrors, and let’s only pray and live in piety. For being converted to virtue is our work, and God’s work is the release from terrors. For while you are being tried, he all the more desires to quench the fire [of the goldsmith], but he awaits your salvation.54

As we have now seen many times, human beings and God each have their distinct roles, their own spheres of power, their own activities – in this case spoken of in terms of permitting and yielding. Human yielding to divine providence also takes the form of discrete activities. As seen in the above passage, it entails prayer and pious living. Elsewhere thanksgiving is emphasized as the active part of yielding, along with other less specific, but still positive, virtues, especially patient endurance and obedience.55 Therefore, although yielding to providence does not have reference to every virtue – for example, it is not explicitly linked with almsgiving – it does account for many virtues that are of central importance to Chrysostom. As also in his discussion of divine providence, Chrysostom usually turns to biblical narratives to speak about human yielding to providence. The characters who are most frequently put forward as those who have yielded to providence are largely the same as those who figure in narratives that prominently demonstrate God’s providence. Those who have yielded to providence can most readily be seen when providence itself is demonstrated most clearly. Furthermore, just as Chrysostom has characteristic ways of reading narratives to discover what they teach about divine providence, so he also has typical readings of biblical

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Stat. 1.6 (PG 49, 24,53–55); Stat. 10.4 (PG 49, 116,5–9); Paralyt. 2 (PG 51, 52,12–13); Hom. 2 Cor 4:13 [Hab. eund. spir. hom.] 3.3 (PG 51, 294,13–16); Ep. Olymp. 14.1 (SC 13bis, 350); Ep. Olymp. 16.1 (SC 13bis, 362); Hom. Gen. 26.3 (PG 53, 233,29–30); Hom. Matt. 10.7 (PG 57, 191,41–42); Hom. Act. 42.3 (PG 60, 300,18–19); Freq. conv. 5 (PG 63, 467,21–22). Elsewhere these two verbs are paired but not in the context of discussing divine and human action: Hom. Jo. 16.4 (PG 59, 107,4–8); Hom. Jo. 29.1 (PG 59, 167,31–41); Hom. Rom. 16.8 (PG 60, 559,58–560,13); Hom. Phil. 1.3 (PG 62, 186,23–25). Stat. 4.2–3 (PG 49, 63,3–28). Although the verb παραχωρέω is not used, in Laz. 3.7 (PG 48, 1001,1–3), Chrysostom speaks of the necessity of ‘giving thanks, glorifying, and worshipping the one who allowed these trials to be borne’.

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characterization to discover what sort of virtue ought to be emulated from a given passage – often under the heading of yielding to providence. Two interpretative rhetorical techniques – comparison (synkrisis) and speech-in-character (ethopoeia) – especially contribute to a picture of what it means for biblical characters to yield to providence and how these characters are meant to spur the audience to emulation. The comparison of a virtuous and a vicious person provides opportunity for the audience to evaluate themselves in comparison to each of these characters; such comparison brings about an examination of oneself and presents a stark moral choice for the audience. And ethopoeia, which is more explicitly connected to forming the true judgements about providence discussed in Chapter 5, provides both negative judgements and their positive alternatives to which those who yield to providence adhere; the ethopoeia, as Chrysostom uses it, stimulates one to shun wrong judgements and pursue the correct judgements of the biblical exempla. Importantly, synkrisis and ethopoeia are both ways in which we see John reading Scripture’s characterization: that is, the preacher learns of an exemplum’s character both through her speech (or silence) in the biblical narrative and through how she is compared with other characters in the text; at the same time, Chrysostom rhetorically employs his own expansive synkriseis and ethopoeiai in order to bring about a positive change in the audience’s judgements and thus to lead them to virtue. Synkrisis Comparison was fundamental to a traditional Greco-Roman education. It belongs to the elementary rhetorical school exercises (progymnasmata) but – like the other progymnasmata – is also used in much more sophisticated ways – most famously, perhaps, in Plutarch’s Parallel Lives.56 In the progymnasmata, synkrisis is typically described as a setting of better or worse things side by side, usually in the form of parallel encomia or invectives.57 Although one sophist (Theon) thinks that putting good and bad things together does not make for a good comparison, Aphthonius –

56

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For a view defending the sophisticated manner of Plutarch’s employment of comparison, see especially Timothy E. Duff, ‘Synkrisis and Synkriseis in the Parallel Lives’, in Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Virtue and Vice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 243–86. See Aphthonius, Progymnasmata 10.42 (Teubner 31,7–12); Theon, Progymnasmata 9.231 (Teubner 112,20–21).

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who, like Chrysostom, was a student of Libanius – notes that ‘every topic of comparison can be forceful, but especially one that places small things beside greater ones’.58 Chrysostom himself appears to craft a whole treatise around such a comparison;59 but much more often he employs comparison more sparingly, as simply one component of a longer sermon or treatise.60 It is not uncommon for Chrysostom to employ comparison for the sake of extreme contrast, thus presenting, as the progymnasmatists say, an encomium parallel to an invective. Thus, when Chrysostom engages in such comparisons – as also in his use of ethopoeia – he relies heavily upon his rhetorical education, all the while attending closely to the scriptural narratives themselves. His rhetorical education informs the way in which he reads the biblical characters, in ways that are largely sympathetic to the biblical text. Chrysostom’s attention to Scripture is especially seen in the fact that he usually compares characters in his exegesis when the biblical narrative already implies the comparison in its narration; Chrysostom simply draws it out or amplifies it.61 Biblical narratives that present contrasting characters are the subject of a couple of series of Chrysostom’s homilies. On

58

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Theon, Progymnasmata 9.232 (Teubner 112,26–27); Aphthonius, Progymnasmata 10.14 (Teubner 31,12–14). Hermogenes, Progymnasmata 8.44 (Teubner 19,19–20,2), thinks, like Aphthonius, that both are acceptable. Few have discussed synkrisis in Chrysostom; Ameringer, who did discuss it, seems not to have quite understood the trope, at least in the way that the writers of the progymnasmata did (Stylistic Influence, 68–85). ‘Appears to’ because A Comparison between a King and a Monk has been judged variously as authentic and dubious. Gilvan Ventura Da Silva, ‘Os limites da basileia segundo João Crisóstomo: reflexões sobre o tratado “Uma comparação entre o rei e o monge”’, Antíteses 8, no. 16 (2016): 130–48; Robert E. Carter, ‘Saint John Chrysostom’s Rhetorical Use of the Socratic Distinction between Kingship and Tyranny’, Traditio 14 (1958): 367–71; David G. Hunter, John Chrysostom: A Comparison between a King and a Monk / Against the Opponents of the Monastic Life: Two Treatises (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1988). As I go on to note, often these arise from the biblical text itself. However, he engages in other kinds of comparisons, such as that of Peter and Plato in Hom. Act. 4.4 (PG 60, 47,47–49,20). At times, however, he can completely manufacture comparisons for the sake of his argument, as in, for example, Laed. 10–16 (SC 103, 106–38), in which the apostle Paul is compared to Judas Iscariot and the Ninevites (of Jonah) are compared to the Israelites (Jews) of the wilderness wanderings. In the same passage, though, he also compares Lazarus and the Rich man and the wise and foolish man who build their homes on rock and sand, respectively (Matt 7:24–27) – which are, of course, scriptural. Rimmon-Kenan, Narrative Fiction, notes that comparison (‘analogy between characters’), in which two characters are put in a similar circumstance, is quite a common way of characterizing (70–71).

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David and Saul and On Lazarus and the Rich Man are extended examples of such exegesis.62 But the comparison between Dives and Lazarus can also be found all throughout Chrysostom’s works, as can the comparison of, among others, the Publican and the Pharisee (Luke 18:9–14) and Cain and Abel (Gen 4).63 This sort of comparison is seen clearly in one of Chrysostom’s sermons on the Cain and Abel narrative in his Homilies on Genesis. In this passage, Chrysostom argues, God does not attend to differences in appearance (διαφορῶν προσώπων) but to differences in mindsets; God does not judge appearances but ‘examines on the basis of choice (ἐκ προαιρέσεως) and crowns the mindset’.64 Unlike the case of the characterization of the woman commemorated in the Gospel, all that we know of these characters’ prosōpa is that Cain is the firstborn and a worker of the soil and that Abel is the second born and tends the sheep. With so little information, Chrysostom attends closely to their actions and how the biblical narrative – in its smallest ‘syllables and dots’65 – values the brothers’ respective actions. A careful reading of Gen 4:3–5 thus reveals their characters: See how the godliness of his mindset is hinted to us (σκόπει πῶς ἡμῖν αἰνίττεται τὸ φιλόθεον τούτου τῆς γνώμης), and that not merely did Abel offer from the sheep, but ‘from the firstborn’, that is, from the valuable ones, the choice ones. Then, again, [he offered] also the most valuable parts of these very same firstborn: it says, ‘From their fat parts’, the most luxurious, the more valuable. But in Cain’s case, no such thing is indicated, but that he offered ‘a sacrifice from the fruit of the earth’, as if to say, ‘whatever he came across’, showing neither zeal nor precision (οὐδεμίαν σπουδὴν οὐδὲ ἀκρίβειαν).66

Abel is thus revealed to be God-loving especially in comparison with Cain. Though the ‘firstborn’ and ‘fat parts’ on their own might indicate Abel’s ‘right-mindedness’,67 when this description is compared to the description of Cain’s sacrifice, the reader can be assured of Abel’s zeal and Cain’s carelessness. This comparison shows (and here Chrysostom is 62

63

64 66

In the manuscript tradition, the Homilies on Lazarus do not come down as a single series; homily 6 is particularly problematic. See Pierre Augustin, ‘Le sixième Discours sur Lazare attribué à Jean Chrysostome: la question de l’authenticité’, in John Chrysostom and Severian of Gabala: Homilists, Exegetes and Theologians, ed. Johan Leemans, Geert Roskam and Josien Segers (Leuven: Peeters, 2019), 1–38. On the Publican and the Pharisee, see Hom. Phil. 7.5 (PG 62, 235,19–45), where David and Absalom are also compared (another comparison that the biblical narrative warrants). 65 Hom. Gen. 18.4 (PG 53, 154,40). Hom. Gen. 18.4 (PG 53, 154,46). 67 Hom. Gen. 18.5 (PG 53, 155,4–13). Hom. Gen. 18.5 (PG 53, 155,16).

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repeating himself ) that the difference between Cain and Abel is not with respect to appearance – Cain being the firstborn – but to ‘differences in mindset and choice (ἡ διαφορὰ τῆς γνώμης . . . καὶ τῆς προαιρέσεως)’.68 Comparison in scriptural narrative reveals not mere appearance but the ‘truth of actions’ (πραγμάτων ἀλήθεια) and thus character.69 Furthermore, this comparison – present both in Scripture and in Chrysostom’s elaboration thereon – is meant to bring the reader to reflect morally upon the good and the evil. The comparison of Abel’s zeal with Cain’s negligence presents the audience with a stark moral choice that they too must make.70 Whereas the outcome of this particular narrative is not terribly comforting to someone who would choose the good – who wants to end up like Abel? – Abel both gains God’s approval (Gen 4:4) and, in the eyes of the early church, becomes a sort of martyr.71 In other biblical narratives, the fates of good and evil characters are much clearer and thus the motivation to virtue all the stronger. Such is the case in Chrysostom’s expositions of the parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man. In the case of this narrative, Chrysostom recognizes that the character of the Rich Man is developed much more and thus spurs us on to virtue more powerfully: ‘For this reason those things have been written, so that those who come after may be instructed from the events, and may not suffer those things which this man suffered.’72 At the same time, the virtue of Lazarus is displayed – both in his life, as we will see below, and, especially, according to the ends that the two characters receive. In fact, it is the end of the story that reveals the ‘truth of events’ and therefore also their respective characters. In one of his sermons on Lazarus, Chrysostom employs the extended metaphor of the theatre: in this life, Lazarus and Dives wear masks (προσωπεῖα), appearing to be poor and rich, respectively; when the show is over, they remove their masks and are revealed to be the opposite.73 In Lazarus’ reward, it is revealed that in this life he 68 69

70 71 72

Hom. Gen. 18.5 (PG 53, 155,28–29). Laz. 6.6 (PG 48, 1035,51). As I mentioned in note 64, the authenticity of this sermon has a history of being questioned. See, most recently, Augustin, ‘Le sixième Discours’, where he concludes that in its current form the sermon cannot be attributed to Chrysostom. Nevertheless, it is an open question whether an original, non-interpolated homily is authentic. For reasons of theology and biblical interpretation, as seen in my discussion, it seems to me that there is at least a Chrysostomian kernel. On the centrality of zeal in Chrysostom’s preaching, see Leyerle, ‘Chrysostom’s Goal: Stimulating Zeal’, in Narrative Shape of Emotion, 150–82. See the following sermon: Hom. Gen. 19.6 (PG 53, 165,43–50). Also see, of course, Heb 11:4. 73 Laz. 6.5 (PG 48, 1033,43–45). See Laz. 6.4–6 (PG 48,1033–36).

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‘yielded to the incomprehensibility of God’s love for humanity, wiping clean his own soul, bearing with perseverance, showing his patience’.74 Lazarus’ yielding is thus presented as an alternative to Dives’ vice. The narrative shows what is to be avoided, how to avoid it, and – in Lazarus’ fate – what is to be obtained from fleeing from the Rich Man’s vice. Comparison thus serves a fundamental pastoral purpose: to bring the congregation to hate the evil and choose the good, to instil zeal to choose the good and to yield to providence.

Ethopoeia Ethopoeia too is among the progymnasmata.75 However, like all the progymnasmata, speeches-in-character were used in much more extended ways, probably most famously in the rhetorical practice of declamation – something at which Chrysostom’s teacher, Libanius, excelled.76 In the progymnasmata, there are various criteria or categories that one ought to take into account in constructing an ethopoeia: the speaker’s age, gender, social status, occupation, and state of mind, as well as the occasion and the place of the speech.77 Both Pseudo-Hermogenes and Aphthonius note that an ethopoeia can be either ethical or emotional; here we are concerned with the former.78 An ethopoeia is thus designed to be reflective of the character him or herself. With Chrysostom’s rhetorically trained

74 75

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Laz. 6.5 (PG 48,1034,36–38). Sometimes ethopoeia and prosopopoeia are synonymous, as in Theon, Progymnasmata 10.234 (Teubner 115,12–14). See George A. Kennedy, Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric (Atlanta: SBL, 2003), 47. In others, such as Hermogenes, Progymnasmata 9.44 (Teubner 20,7–9), and Aphthonius, Progymnasmata 11.44 (Teubner 34,4–5), an ethopoeia is a characterization (‘speech in character’) of a person, and a prosopopoeia is a personification of a thing. As in, for example, his Philippic declamations. On Chrysostom’s debt to Libanius in this regard, see David G. Hunter, ‘Borrowings from Libanius in the “Comparatio regis et monachi” of St John Chrysostom’, JTS 39, no. 2 (1988): 525–31. On a close contemporary’s use of ethopoeia, see Ellen Muehlberger, ‘Affecting Rhetoric: The Adoption of Ethopoeia in Evagrius of Pontus’ Ascetic Program’, in Monastic Education in Late Antiquity: The Transformation of Classical Paideia, ed. Lillian I. Larsen and Samuel Rubenson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 182–94. See Theon, Progymnasmata 10.235–237 (Teubner 115,22–116,14). Though a study on the latter would be exceedingly welcome. As Theon, Progymnasmata 10.230 (Teubner 117,30–32), writes, ‘The exercise is most receptive of characters and emotions.’ Also see Hermogenes, Progymnasmata 9.46 (Teubner 21,10).

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sensitivity to speech, in particular, he also notes variously the gentleness,79 humility,80 or rebelliousness81 of a speech, each of which bears on the speaker’s ēthos. Chrysostom employs ethopoeiai with remarkable frequency in his works. As Judit Kecskeméti has noted, these are commonly counterfactual speeches in character.82 That is, John introduces the speech in character by saying, ‘He did not say . . .’, then proceeding to provide (presumably) the opposite of what is seen in the biblical text. Following the speech in character, he will then often note that this fabricated speech is how someone who in the character’s position (who shares something of the character’s prosōpon) would typically speak. However, the biblical exempla Chrysostom employs are not ordinary folk but have extraordinary virtue and thus entertain none of the blasphemous thoughts of the multitude. Whereas the synkrisis of a good character with an evil character provides some impetus for becoming good, an ethopoeia provides an example of the kind of judgements that virtuous persons might make – particularly when they are in specific adverse circumstances. In general, the counterfactual nature of Chrysostom’s ethopoeiai allows one to assess one’s own negative judgements and then to reorient them to the judgements and associated actions of the scriptural exempla. These scriptural narratives, being true to life, witness to saints who made right judgements in real time – and who, rather than complaining, yielded to trials that were providentially given by God. Sometimes they yielded in silence, sometimes in thanksgiving and praise. These ethopoeiai therefore give us not merely examples of how we too ought to speak but how we ought to think (λογίζομαι) about our own circumstances: for, the ethopoeia, as Chrysostom makes use of it, is reflective of not only the character’s situation but the character’s very mindset. A remarkable case of his use of ethopoeia, in reference to yielding to providence, comes in the Homily on the Paralytic let down through the roof. Before discussing this particular paralyzed person, however,

79 81 82

80 See Hom Act. 14.2 (PG 60, 114,10–20). See Hom. Act. 23.2 (PG 60, 179,40–53). Hom. Act. 46.2 (PG 60, 332,27–38). See Kecskeméti, ‘Exégèse Chrysostomienne’. Despite how common this figure is in Chrysostom’s homilies, it has rarely been commented upon. For Chrysostom’s straightforward use of ethopoeia, which serves a different sort of function than his counterfactual ones, see Michael G. Azar, Exegeting the Jews: The Early Reception of the Johannine ‘Jews’ (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 117.

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Chrysostom begins the sermon by discussing the virtue of the paralyzed man who lay by the pool of Bethesda (John 5:1–15).83 Based on his response to Jesus, this man is seen to be a great example of yielding to God’s providence. As usual when crafting an ethopoeia, Chrysostom begins with a counterfactual statement: the man ‘wasn’t annoyed, he didn’t emit a blasphemous word, he didn’t accuse his maker’,84 despite the fact that he had suffered from the same infirmity for thirty-eight years (John 5:5). Chrysostom then turns to the ethopoeia: When [Jesus] said to him, ‘Do you want to become healthy?’ (John 5:6), he didn’t say what was fitting [εἰκὸς]: ‘You see that I have been lying down disabled for such a long time, and you ask whether I want to become healthy? Did you come just to kick me when I’m down (ἐπεμβῆναί μου τοῖς κακοῖς), to revile me, mock me, and ridicule my misfortune?’ He said no such thing, nor did he even consider it, but with gentleness he replied, ‘Yes, Lord.’85

Chrysostom knows well the human condition and therefore the temptation to blaspheme in the face of such intense and prolonged suffering. This awareness of the man’s situation, in addition to the man’s simple reply, leads Chrysostom to an understanding of his character: it is one that meekly yields to providence. Not only does the ethopoeia reveal the character of the paralyzed man, but it also has a significant therapeutic part to play for Chrysostom’s audience: it shows the judgements that led this man to his virtuous response, as well as the thoughts that would lead to its undesirable alternative. Chrysostom also intends for his audience to compare themselves to these virtuous exempla – and therefore that we compare our judgements about God’s providence to theirs. Chrysostom says as much when he asks his audience to compare their own sufferings and joys to those of this paralyzed man: because ours are always so much less than those of the one who suffered for thirty-eight years – with no one to help him – we can readily imagine sharing the same judgements about God’s providence in our less grievous situations.86 In a similar way, Chrysostom in another sermon calls his audience to learn virtue from Lazarus.87 But what virtue does Lazarus really have in the narrative? He does not in fact speak even one word in the parable, 83

84 86

This story is a favourite of Chrysostom’s for showing providential care. See Anom. [De christ. div.] 12.4 (PG 48, 811–12); and the brief reference to it at Stag. 3.12 (PG 47, 489,44–45). 85 Paralyt. 1 (PG 51, 49,40–41). Paralyt. 1 (PG 51, 49,54–50,1). 87 See Paralyt. 1 (PG 51, 50,15–21). Laz. 6.5 (PG 48, 1034,25–26).

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whether in this life or in the next. Only after their deaths do we hear the Rich Man speak, and at that point it is Abraham – against whose bosom Lazarus is reclining – who responds on Lazarus’ behalf. Because the character of Lazarus is in fact so opaque, Chrysostom relies upon what someone in Lazarus’ situation would normally say: He did not say what many poor persons say: ‘Are these things from providence? Does God oversee human affairs? I live in righteousness, but I am poor, and he lives in unrighteousness and he is rich!’ He reckoned (ἐλογίσατο) none of these things, but yielded to the incomprehensibility of God’s philanthropy (παρεχώρει τῷ ἀκαταλήπτῳ τῆς τοῦ Θεοῦ φιλανθρωπίας), wiping clean his own soul, bringing patient endurance, showing longsuffering, lying down in body but walking in mind, being set on wing in mindset, snatching away the prize, drawing back from evils, and a witness of good things. He did not say, ‘Parasites enjoy the benefit of abundance, but I am not thought worthy of a crumb.’ What, then? He gave thanks and he glorified God.88

In this ethopoeia, Chrysostom provides an opportunity for his audience to reassess their reactions to adverse events: he gives a ‘usual’ judgement, which may well approximate the judgements of his audience, and then provides an alternative way of approaching these events in the light of God’s providence. Furthermore, the right judgements that he provides concern those doctrines of providence that we have seen throughout the preceding chapters. The counterfactual ethopoeia, so commonly used by John, is employed very often with respect to the virtue of yielding. In On the Providence of God, before he adduces many exempla – including many ethopoeiai – Chrysostom generalizes about the Old Testament saints who have done just this: Although they did not know clearly the proclamation of the resurrection and saw things occurring which were opposed to God’s promises, they were not scandalized, they were not confused, they were not disturbed, but they yielded to God’s incomprehensible providence (παρεχώρουν αὐτοῦ τῇ ἀκαταλήπτῳ προνοίᾳ). They were not scandalised from the opposing events, but knowing the resourcefulness and skilfulness of his wisdom, they awaited the end. And, moreover, everything that was done to them before the end they bore with thanksgiving, continuing to glorify God who allowed (τὸν συγχωροῦντα . . . Θεὸν) these things to happen.89

This is precisely what we have seen in the above examples: God permits suffering to come upon the saints; although events appear adverse, the righteous submit to God’s providence, bearing patiently and giving 88

Laz. 6.5 (PG 48, 1034,33–44).

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Scand. 9.7 (PG 52, 500).

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thanks to God in spite of it all. This passage is thus a sort of summary of how through the ages the saints have yielded to God’s providence. The two Old Testament saints who are especially important in Chrysostom’s exposition of yielding to providence in On the Providence of God (and also in the Consolation to Stagirius) are Abraham and Joseph.90 As in Lazarus’ case, Abraham’s silence upon his call from God to leave his home behind indicates that he yielded to providence: ‘Above all he glorified God in the fact that he neither meddled nor pried, but he yielded to the incomprehensibility of God’s wisdom and power, and did not at all doubt what God said.’91 However, the two most powerful counterfactual ethopoeiai in On the Providence of God come from Chrysostom’s expositions of the binding of Isaac and Joseph’s trials. These passages are so important that I quote them at length: [Abraham] did not say to himself, ‘What is this? Was I deceived? Was I cheated? Is this a command from God? Away! I don’t believe it! It would be unjust for me to become a child-murderer and to redden my right hand with such blood. And how will the promises come to fulfilment? Should I destroy the root, whence will be the branches? Whence the fruit? Should I block up the spring, whence the rivers? Should I slaughter my son, whence the multitude of my descendants, as many as the multitude of the stars? How did he promise some things and now he commands things opposed to them?’ Abraham said none of those things, nor did he consider them. But taking refuge in the unspeakable, inventive, resourceful power – which shines through opposing things, which is above the laws of nature, which is more powerful than all and which has nothing which resists it – of him who made the promise, he completed this command with great certainty.92

The words he puts in Joseph’s mouth are even more extensive: He did not say, ‘What is this? What is this for? I, who was to rule over my brothers, have fallen not only from this honour, but also from my homeland, my home, and my parents, and was taken away from those who were to bow down before me. Then, after the slaughter, I was sold and became a slave to barbarians, and I was purchased by master after master. And the terrors didn’t stop for me there, but everywhere were pits and cliffs. After my brothers’ plot, my slaughter, and my servitude – both the first and the second – again I was threatened with death, a false accusation harder than the first, a plot, an attack, a corrupt court, and an accusation which has much shame and persecution which vexes us. Being allowed no word [of defence], as it happened, I was simply taken away to prison, and wrapped in chains with adulterers and murderers and those who have 90

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On Abraham, see Hom. Gen. 38.1 (PG 53, 351,23–47); Hom. Gen. 39.1 (PG 53, 361,20–47); and especially Hom. Gen. 32.2–3 (PG 53, 295,16–296,3) – the latter having been discussed in Chapter 3. Also see Stag. 1.6 (PG 47, 438,13–36). 92 Scand. 10.7 (SC 79, 154). Scand. 10.11–12 (SC 79, 156–58).

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committed the basest things. The chief cupbearer was set free from both chains and prison, but I haven’t been able to enjoy the benefit of any freedom with him. While his dream came to fulfilment – as I interpreted – I am in incurable evils. Did those visions reveal these things? Are these the number of the stars? Are these the sheaves? Where are the things that were announced? Where are the things that were promised? Have I been deceived? Have I been defrauded? How, finally, will my brothers bow down before me – a slave, a captive, a prisoner, an alleged adulterer, in the utmost danger, living so far from them? All those things are gone and have been destroyed.’ He didn’t say any of this, nor did he consider it, but he awaited the end, knowing God’s inventiveness and the resourcefulness of his wisdom. Not only was he not scandalized, but he exulted and prided himself in the things that happened.93

Who among us would not say such things as these in Joseph’s or in Abraham’s situations? Even upon our reading of the same narratives, who could help but have such thoughts? Chrysostom knows these temptations well and is rightly amazed that Abraham and Joseph say no such thing in the biblical narratives themselves; surely if they thought them (he assumes) the narrator would say so! Chrysostom therefore takes the silence of the text – the lack of speech – as positive evidence that these characters yielded virtuously to God’s providence. The right judgements that these saints make in the midst of adversity demonstrate a variety of virtues. In the Homily on the Paralytic, the paralyzed man showed ‘endurance, philosophy, patience, and much hope in God’.94 ‘He bore the misfortune nobly and with much gentleness.’95 After so many years of suffering, the paralyzed man was nevertheless ‘so philosophical, and replied with so much forbearance, it is clear that even before [Jesus approached] he had been bearing that misfortune with much thanksgiving’.96 The few words of the paralyzed man, and the silence of Lazarus – that is, the very silence of the text – are taken as proof of the characters’ patient endurance and longsuffering. Yielding to God’s providence, which at first can sound rather passive, is thus associated with more straightforward positive virtues: patience, endurance, hope, thanksgiving. These are among some of the highest of virtues in Chrysostom’s estimation.97 At the same time, these ethopoeiai serve a therapeutic function. They are sometimes very lengthy reflections on what someone else who was in

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94 Scand. 10.36–39 (SC 79, 172–74). Paralyt. 1 (PG 51, 48,42–49,1). 96 Paralyt. 1 (PG 51, 49,41–43). Paralyt. 1 (PG 51, 50,10–13). See Barone, ‘Le vocabulaire de la patience’; Paula Baudoin, ‘Makrothymia dans Saint Jean Chrysostome’, StPatr 22 (1989): 89–97.

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Abraham’s or Joseph’s position might have thought – or even what was ‘fitting’ (εἰκός) for them to think. Therefore, as Joseph’s and Abraham’s woes are narrated at length in the first person, the reader finds herself in sympathy with the content of the counterfactual ethopoeia. However, Chrysostom quickly follows these speeches with correct judgements – those elaborated on in Chapter 5 – which reveal to the reader that her judgements, about both Joseph’s situation and her own, were faulty all along. This revelation of one’s faulty judgements then spurs the reader to correct her judgements and to pursue the virtue (and associated judgements) of Joseph, Abraham, Lazarus, and the man who was paralyzed for thirty-eight years. These figures who yield to providence are explicitly put forward by Chrysostom for his audience to emulate. In the case of the paralyzed man, Chrysostom drives this point home, exhorting his audience to imitate his response to Jesus and the virtue it indicates:98 ‘Let’s yield to him who knows these things with accuracy’;99 ‘Yield everything to him; for he knows accurately . . .’;100 ‘Let’s yield ourselves in the same way to [both relaxation and chastisement]’101 – since both the latter and the former are from God’s providence. In his fourth Homily on the Statues, too, Chrysostom exhorts his Antiochene audience: ‘Therefore let’s yield to him the time of the release from terrors, and let’s only pray and live in piety (εὐλάβεια). For our work is changing to virtue, God’s work is release from terrors.’102 The Three Youths are the greatest example of this disposition, insofar as they not only endured but even gave thanks to God in the midst of the flames.103 In these examples, we also continue to see a firm distinction between what is up to us and what is from God’s providence. As scriptural narratives show those who have yielded to God, so they continue to demonstrate God’s providential working. We have seen in this chapter and previous ones that the nature of divine and human activity is learned from different structural elements in the narratives; however, they always coexist in biblical narrative. As we hear in the Homily on the Paralytic, the narratives that are meant to stimulate the audience to yield to providence are the same that demonstrate to us God’s great philanthropy and care:

98 100 102

Paralyt. 1 (PG 51, 50,14–15). Paralyt. 2 (PG 51, 50,55–56). Stat. 4.3 (PG 49, 63,22–25).

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Paralyt. 2 (PG 51, 50,46–47). Paralyt. 2 (PG 51, 51,10–11). Stat. 4.3 (PG 49, 63,31–38).

101 103

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The healing roused the hearers’ souls to the Master’s praise. And the sickness and weakness stimulated you to patience and summoned you to equal zeal. And even more it demonstrated the very philanthropy of God. For handing him over to such an illness and extending his weakness for so long a time are out of his very great providential care.104

Thus, the very same narratives that demonstrate God’s providence – and which contain judgements about God’s providential activity – also put forward examples of those who have been formed by, and responded rightly, to God’s providence. In his interpretation of these narratives, Chrysostom therefore rhetorically amplifies what he finds of both divine providence and human yielding.

       John Chrysostom understands that saints such as Joseph and Abraham, who have so nobly yielded to providence, live the ‘life of the angels’. And indeed, this angelic life is identical to the life of virtue, which we have seen largely overlaps with yielding to providence in the midst of suffering. Thus, in the eighth Letter to Olympias, as John seeks to console Olympias, he describes Abraham and Job – who suffered so grievously in this life – as having lived the life of the angels. In turning to the life of the angels to console Olympias and lead her to virtue, John is entirely refashioning Olympias’ vision of suffering: affliction is no abstract good that lays up rewards for a time in the distant future; rather, as a part of John’s eschatological vision, suffering allows one to become like the angels – and to attain the life of the resurrection – while remaining in mortal and corruptible bodies. Suffering is an instrument that can transform us into perfect human beings, in which we can experience of taste of the age to come. For John, the angelic life is not so much theosis105 as much as it is the eschatological perfection of the human being – a perfection that can also be attained in this life and that is thus seen in the lives of some living saints. John does not often describe the life that the angels themselves lead, nor their nature, since this is ineffable.106 However, where the angels’ 104 105

106

Paralyt. 1 (PG 51, 50,21–28). Pace Lai, ‘Hermeneutics of Exemplar Portraits’, 143–71; and more recently Finn and Dupont, ‘Preaching Adam’. I could only locate two instances in which the angelic life is linked to likeness to God in Chrysostom’s corpus: Hom. Jo. 12.2 (PG 59, 84,13–18), and Hom. Act. 51.4 (PG 60, 356,43–49). Anom. [De incompr. hom.] 5.251–58 (SC 28bis, 292).

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mode of life overlaps with the human ‘life of the angels’ is particularly in their lack of passions. As the angels are by nature passionless,107 so are the human beings who live the angelic life. The apatheia of the angelic life is especially seen in Chrysostom’s sermons on Adam and Eve:108 ‘Like an earthly angel’, Adam is ‘freed from all concerns of the body (τῶν τοῦ σώματος φροντίδων)’.109 And similarly, in an earlier sermon, he states: ‘The human being continued on the earth just like some angel, wearing a body, but being unconcerned with bodily needs (ἔξω δὲ τῶν σωματικῶν ἀναγκῶν).’110 Indeed, until the Fall, Adam and Eve ‘lived like angels in paradise, neither being burned by lust (ἐπιθυμίας), nor besieged by other passions, nor subject to the needs of nature (ἀνάγκαις τῆς φύσεως), but were created wholly incorruptible and immortal’.111 Here the passions (πάθη) refer not to emotions, as they can elsewhere in Chrysostom’s works,112 but rather to the ‘needs of the body’ or the ‘needs of nature’. Although Adam and Eve were in the body, they were not subject to its lusts – for food or for sexual relations. As such they felt no shame or envy, emotions (πάθη) that are consequent upon these needs and that follow from the Fall of the first human beings. Of course, the angelic life is not only the protological state of human beings in Eden but also the eschatological state of those who attain the Kingdom. Like other early Christian thinkers, for Chrysostom the final state of humanity closely resembles humanity’s original state, though it is incomparably better.113 This is seen clearly again in the eighth Letter to Olympias. In the midst of speaking of ‘stripping off for the contest against the tyranny of nature’, John writes comments of a general nature: that those ‘who finish the course of virginity display the prelude of the 107

108 109 111 112 113

See Chris L. de Wet, ‘Angels in John Chrysostom’s Anthropology: Asceticism, Angelomorphism, and Human Bodily Composition in Flux’, Journal of Early Christian History 10, no. 1 (2020): 24. On these sermons and the relationship between virtue and the angelic life, see Miller, ‘Exemplary Role of Adam and Eve’, 126–28. 110 Hom. Gen. 15.4 (PG 53, 124,11–15). Hom. Gen. 13.4 (PG 53, 109,40–42). Hom. Gen. 15.4 (PG 53, 123,30–34). See Leyerle, Narrative Shape of Emotion, 2. Laurence Brottier, ‘La résurrection: est-elle un retour à paradis?’, Connaissance des Pères de l’Eglise 43 (1991): 18–19. For a comparandum, see especially J. Warren Smith, ‘The Body of Paradise and the Body of the Resurrection: Gender and the Angelic Life in Gregory of Nyssa’s De hominis opificio’, HTR 99, no. 2 (2006): 207–28. Although Chrysostom continually speaks about Gehenna and the Kingdom, he does not often speculate as to what that blessed life will entail. This is likely because of the dearth of scriptural descriptions of the life to come (Chrysostom does not know the Apocalypse) compared to the prelapsarian state.

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resurrection in this mortal body’ and ‘strive zealously for incorruptibility in corruptible bodies and . . . accomplish it through their works’.114 While Chrysostom’s mention of this resurrection life is clearly drawing from the Gospel’s mention of being ‘neither given nor taken in marriage’, he also has in mind something greater than this, since in some sense, through her ascetic habit, Olympias is entering into the eschatological state of immortality and incorruptibility – the same immortality and incorruptibility that Adam and Eve enjoyed before the Fall. As Samantha Miller has convincingly shown, the corollary of Adam and Eve’s lack of bodily needs corresponds to reliance not on things of this world but on those things that come from God.115 Miller identifies this same dynamic in Chrysostom’s understanding of virtue: those who are virtuous in this age are the same who depend not on the rewards of this age but on those in the age to come. And this is indeed what the monks – and Olympias – are attempting to inculcate when they reject ‘bodily needs’. Thus, Chrysostom writes to Olympias that her habit of life testifies to ‘a soul which tramples upon all worldly things and flits toward heaven itself’.116 This is the virtuous angelic life. Yet, it is not that one attains incorruptibility and immortality of ‘the body’ or ‘the nature’ in this age but that their wills (προαιρέσεις) and actions – insofar as they are minded to ‘nothing more than necessary things (τῶν ἀναγκαίων οὐδὲν πλέον)’117 – are identical to those that Christian souls will attain in the life to come. This is the ‘perfection’ of which Chrysostom speaks. Thus, by rejecting bodily needs, ascetics, including Olympias, have a foretaste of the world to come, relying not on the things of this world but on God’s sustenance alone. This terrestrial angelic life is very much like what we have already seen in the lives of those who have yielded to the incomprehensibility of providence: it means cleaving to God and relying on him alone. Those who live the angelic life know that God provides and sustains, and are content with God’s – and only God’s – provision. And, like those saints of Scripture who have suffered and yet given thanks to God, so also a part of the angelic life is having ‘one’s mind wholly occupied with hymns and continuous prayers’118 and ‘always hymning the creator of everything’.119 In other words, while we have not yet heard mention of Abraham, Joseph, or others living the angelic life, we can already see that 114 116 118

115 Ep. Olymp. 8.6d (SC 13bis, 182). Miller, ‘Exemplary Role of Adam and Eve’. 117 Ep. Olymp. 8.6a (SC 13bis, 180). Hom. Matt. 62.4 (PG 58, 601,13). 119 Cat. ill. 8.4 (SC 50, 248–50). Cat. ill. 8.5 (SC 50, 250).

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there is significant overlap between this angelic life and yielding to providence. Chrysostom does not often theorize the nature of the life of the angels, since he is more intent on the process whereby one might come to the life of the angels – that is, how one might attain virtue. And for John, as for so many early Christians, this perfect life is achieved through a battle – a struggle against Satan, the demons, and the passions of the flesh. Undoubtedly, the idea of monasticism being a wrestling bout fought in the arena of this life derives from earlier Christian characterizations of martyrdom, but it is an image that Chrysostom and other ascetically minded Christians adopt with zeal.120 Changing the metaphor slightly, John also often refers to the ascetic life as a training ground – which is of course built into the very idea of askesis.121 Thus, human beings who are said to live the ‘life of the angels’ are described as continually doing battle, continually toiling. In the Exhortation to Theodore after His Fall, John gives an account of one who due to his toils led the angelic life but through carelessness – through lack of toil – fell from that angelic life: ‘after many toils, which he bore while spending much time in the desert . . . living the angelic life, when he at last made it to old age . . . he gave a narrow passage to the evil one, and fell into desire for intercourse with women’.122 When he abandoned toil – when he ceased to fight against the evil one, he relinquished the angelic life. This is also how John describes Olympias’ pursuit of the ascetic life of the angels in the eighth Letter to Olympias: ‘Virginity is so great a thing and requires so much toil that Christ came down from heaven so that he might make men into angels and to implant the way of life above here below . . .. The trouble of [virginity], and the difficulty of these contests, and the sweat of the battles is great, and this land of virtue is exceedingly precipitous.’123 Olympias, as so many other great saints, participates in the life of the angels precisely through her struggles for virtue, as the toils she undergoes help her to put away the passions and thus to share in the angelic life. What is striking about Chrysostom’s vision of the angelic life, however, is that it is not only achieved through voluntary monastic practices but also through involuntary suffering. Thus, while Chrysostom believes 120

121 122

See Carole Straw, ‘Chrysostom’s Martyrs: Zealous Athletes and the Dangers of Sloth’, in Giovanni Crisostomo: Oriente e Occidente tra IV e V secolo, XXXIII Incontro di Studiosi dell’Antichità Cristiana, Augustinianum 6–8 maggio 2004, Roma (Rome: Augustinianum, 2005), 521–54. See, e.g., Hom. Matt. 90.3 (PG 58, 791,21–22). 123 Theod. Laps. 1.19 (SC 117, 198). Ep. Olymp. 8.7a (SC 13bis, 182–84).

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that Olympias’ ascetic regimen has led to her apatheia – and extols the lengths to which she goes in this regard – he also believes that the suffering that she has encountered plays a role. Indeed, in Chrysostom’s estimation, Olympias’ two painful experiences, one through voluntary asceticism and the other through involuntary suffering, are undifferentiated, so long as one’s will is properly disposed towards the suffering. For, in the life of the angels that human beings can attain, it is not the nature that is transformed but the prohairesis.124 For this reason, not only ascetics but also those in the married state who have undergone great suffering and yet yielded to God’s providence can also attain this life of the angels. Indeed, while the monastic life is superior to the married state – which Chrysostom makes clear in this letter to Olympias – God has not closed the way to perfection for those who have not voluntarily taken on an ascetic vocation. Rather, the ‘law of self-mortification’ – of taking up the cross – is necessary for all who would follow after Christ; and it is by taking up the cross, whether through a life of virginity or not, that one can attain the life of the angels. Although the two ways of life are distinct, in both, the perfect life of the angels is achieved through suffering – through being ‘put to death’ and thus putting away the passions of the flesh and clinging wholly to God. Chrysostom exemplifies the non-celibate ‘life of the angels’ in the eighth Letter to Olympias through the stories of Abraham and Job. While both were married, they suffered and attained the life of the angels, characterized (explicitly in Abraham’s case) by apatheia. In this exemplum, Chrysostom focuses – as in the above ethopoeia – on the suffering Abraham underwent in his near-sacrifice of Isaac: Abraham, who ‘was in great distress on account of [Isaac] and in extreme old age’125 – by his prohairesis, if not in action – sheds the blood of his son.126 In so doing, he ‘overthrew the most tyrannical passion of nature (τῆς φύσεως . . . πάθος)’127 and, becoming ‘stronger than steel’, he ‘demonstrated by his deeds the apatheia of the angels.’128 Much more so than Abraham did Job also suffer; and as we have seen is typical of John, his sufferings are enumerated – ‘poverty, sickness, loss of children, insurrections of enemies, the insolence of friends, hunger, unceasing bodily pain, 124 125 127

Pent. 1.2 (PG 50, 455,47–49). Also see Ep. Olymp. 8.7c (SC 13bis, 186). Pace de Wet’s suggestion (‘Angels in John Chrysostom’s Anthropology’, 32). 126 Ep. Olymp. 8.7c (SC 13bis, 186). Scand. 10.12 (SC 79, 158). 128 Ep. Olymp. 8.7c (SC 13bis, 184). Ep. Olymp. 8.7c (SC 13bis, 186).

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abuse, slander, and gaining a bad reputation’129 – after which follows a much longer description of each of these. Yet, Job ‘bore [his sufferings] nobly’,130 Job ‘trampled underfoot so many necessities of nature (ἀνάγκας φύσεως)’131 and blessed the Lord. Thus, although these two did not embrace the life of virginity, through their suffering they both attained the life of the angels. Thus, while Chapter 5 described the dangers of suffering and how it can also lead to moral lapse, here we see the telos of Chrysostom’s much more frequent positive vision of suffering. Affliction – such as what is seen in the lives of Abraham, Job, Olympias, and the monks – can lead one to experience the resurrection, as much as humanly possible, in this life. Therefore, having a right view of suffering, like these scriptural saints all did, not only leads to consolation and virtue but even to the very summit of virtue: the life of the angels. Having the right view of providence in the midst of suffering not only transforms our vision but entirely refigures our experience of suffering such that it leads to the life of the resurrection – to incorruptibility and immortality – before we have even put off the flesh. Through emulating these saints, who themselves emulate the life of the angels, one can commune with the saints who have attained, through suffering, the life of the angels. Suffering is thus not harmful and therefore to be rejected; rather, for the one whose vision is transformed, suffering is something to be embraced, as it leads us ever closer to the immortal and incorruptible life of the resurrection, in communion with the saints and with Christ himself.

 Chrysostom’s use of biblical narratives as vignettes of divine providence begins with a pastoral impulse: to console the suffering. Thus we have seen in his letters to a grieving Olympias, in his treatise to a young man plagued by a demon, and sermons to a city in fear for their lives. At the same time, his use of providential narratives has a pastoral end. In keeping with Chrysostom’s therapy, which, as a whole, is ordered towards the common end of attaining to the virtue of the angelic life, the treatment of providential narratives is directed specifically to those

129 131

Ep. Olymp. 8.8a (SC 13bis, 188). Ep. Olymp. 8.9a (SC 13bis, 194).

130

Ep. Olymp. 8.8f (SC 13bis, 192).

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who are suffering – that they might not be disturbed and so attain to this angelic life. Here and in Chapter 5, we have seen how, in one aspect of Chrysostom’s therapy, theology and exegesis have real roles to play in forming true judgements and thereby also forming virtuous persons. True judgements about providence allow one to move forward in the midst of grief and despair, while the exempla of Scripture train us to yield to providence and thus also up to the life the angels.

7 Conclusion

After Chapters 5 and 6, it is tempting to think that whereas other early Christians could be labelled ‘dogmatic’ philosophers, Chrysostom is merely a ‘practical’ one; perhaps he is even just a moralist. And it is true that if we were to compare him to, for example, Nemesius of Emesa – whom we have mentioned several times through this study – there is indeed a real contrast, despite their shared theological milieu. For example, Nemesius frames his discussion of providence within a longstanding philosophical debate, listing the opinions of various schools and responding to them with his own Christian philosophy. In contrast, Chrysostom rarely names philosophers and even refrains from engaging their ideas in detail.1 And these differences are not merely rhetorical but impact their doctrines of providence: for example, while Nemesius is consistent in his maintenance that all externals – including wealth – are goods,2 Chrysostom can occasionally refer to wealth as either indifferent or evil, knowing the danger that it can pose to virtue. While some of Chrysostom’s philosophical peculiarities undoubtedly relate to his pastoral context, the distinctiveness of his teaching on providence and his method of consolation comes from his reliance on 1

2

See Coleman-Norton, ‘St. Chrysostom and the Greek Philosophers’; Anne-Marie Malingrey, ‘Philosophia’: Étude d’un groupe de mots dans la littérature grecque, des Présocratiques au IVe siècles après J.-C. (Paris: Klincksieck, 1961), 265–69. More recently, see Samuel Pomeroy’s treatment of Chrysostom’s use of the Timaeus: ‘Reading Plato through the Eyes of Eusebius: John Chrysostom’s Timaeus Quotations in Rhetorical Context’, in Revisioning John Chrysostom: New Approaches, New Perspectives, ed. Chris L. de Wet and Wendy Mayer (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 464–92. Hom. nat. 43 (Teubner 129).

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Scripture. Thus, while both Nemesius and Chrysostom discuss miracles, for the former they are the exception that proves the rule to God’s general cosmological providence,3 while for John, God’s miraculous, saving interventions are the very stuff of providence; in Chrysostom’s discussion, providence, being ordered to salvation, is especially concerned with miracles, especially the incarnation. We would be remiss, however, to separate so easily the ‘philosophical’ from the ‘pastoral’, especially as we know that the therapies of various ancient schools were most often predicated upon fundamental dogmata. For the earlier Stoics, as also for the dogmatic Platonists, ‘therapy’ had as its basis a dogmatic philosophy.4 And we have indeed seen the same in the pastoral, therapeutic work of Chrysostom: his therapy for the suffering – his consolation – has as its foundation a Christian doctrine of providence. And because there is such coherence to his theology and his pastoral therapy, it has been my contention that we ought to attempt to appreciate how various aspects of Chrysostom’s work – his theology, ethics, exegesis, therapy – intersect or overlap. In the process of examining the intersection of pronoia and historia, we have indeed found that John Chrysostom has a robust theology of providence upon which he bases his consolatory therapy. We saw, especially in Chapter 5, that his theology of providence agrees broadly with that of his Greek Christian antecedents and contemporaries: all created things are good, and the only evil that exists derives from the human will. And yet, while all of God’s creatures are indeed good, it is not always clear how God arranges things – particular suffering – in the life of the individual. However events may sometimes appear, all events are governed by providence and are therefore directed towards the salvation of humankind. God’s providence, which is in all things philanthropic – loving towards humankind – is also characterized by sunkatabasis. In addition to Chrysostom’s well-known emphasis on the idea of God’s condescension in the gift of Scripture and in the incarnation, his emphasis on sunkatabasis, which he arrives at from his reading of Scripture, leads him to an ‘interventionist’ sort of providence. Miraculous salvation is therefore not the exception to the rule, but is the very rule of divine providence. Divine

3 4

Nemesius, Hom. nat. 38 (Teubner 111). With respect to the Stoics on this topic, see Keimpe Algra, ‘Stoic Theology’, in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, ed. Brad Inwood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 153–78, especially 155.

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providence is characterized by God’s ever-loving condescension to humanity, to the end of their salvation. While these philosophical and theological points are undoubtedly important for appreciating the foundation of Chrysostom’s consolation of his audiences, it is particularly in his treatment of biblical narrative that these doctrines of providence come to life. That is, while we can extract individual doctrines from Chrysostom’s teaching – and particularly from the three of his texts that we have focused upon – the exegesis of biblical narrative and theological reflection on providence are everywhere intertwined. If we really want to understand John’s teaching on providence – and therefore also consolation – then we must appreciate the work that Scripture does in his preaching and teaching. And the intersection between pronoia and historia has of course been the focus of this study. Here I briefly highlight some of our major conclusions on historia and pronoia in John Chrysostom’s thought. Chrysostom himself finds that Scripture basically speaks about two things: divine activity and human activity. If one wants to discover the truth about either God’s continual benevolent and loving actions towards creation or inconsistent human action (virtue and vice), then one must turn to the narratives of Scripture. While this study has focused on the former, it cannot ignore the latter insofar as divine activity and human activity are bound together in time and therefore also in the historical (and quasi-historical) narratives of Scripture. Biblical historia is mimetic, and we can therefore rely on it as a trustworthy guide to arrive at an understanding of the ways that God and human beings have operated in history and also in the present. In order to come to a true understanding of divine and human activity in biblical narratives, one must attend very closely their narrativity especially. Indeed, when Chrysostom speaks about historia, his use of the term is not what we might have expected on the basis of modern histories of exegesis; rather, even while Chrysostom is sure that these narratives happened in a real past, his use of historia is much more interested in narrativity – and in how these narratives speak to providence and virtue. One of John’s typical ways of reading biblical narratives to come to a vision of God’s providence is in clusters of narratives. These clusters of biblical narratives, some of which Chrysostom employs regularly, are correlated in narratologically significant ways; that is, they have common narrative structures. And when these narratives are read together, with sensitivity (or ‘accuracy’), they are found to demonstrate God’s consistent habits of acting providentially for the benefit of humanity. Unlike what

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we have seen in the reticent exegesis of the other Antiochene interpreter, Theodore of Mopsuestia, Chrysostom is interested in discovering all variety of correspondences among different biblical narratives. In so doing, Chrysostom undertakes a sort of typological interpretation: not one that relies on a firm distinction between the Old and New Testaments but one in which narrative patterns continue throughout all history, until the coming of the Kingdom. They repeat in this way because divine providence itself operates consistently from the beginning to the end of time. Taking Chrysostom on his own terms, we have found that while he is a typological interpreter of Scripture, he does not sit easily within established categories of the history of exegesis. Chrysostom thus also has a distinctive way of understanding the unity of Scripture. He does not think in terms of a long narrative arc from creation to new creation, nor even in terms of a series of covenants. Rather, Scripture is a series of demonstrations or proofs of God’s providence. Chrysostom is therefore not interested in ‘salvation history’ but instead in the consistency of God’s philanthropic care. Put differently, biblical historia testifies to God’s continual, recurrent acts of love. This is why narrative structures of divine providence repeat in Scripture: because God continues unimpeded from the beginning to the end to work for the benefit of his saints. Even so, John finds that creation and the incarnation are the greatest proofs of God’s providential care and love for humankind, insofar as they are the clearest demonstrations of God’s loving condescension to humankind. This understanding of the continuity of God’s love and providence in history is tied to what John thinks is the subject matter of biblical historia: on the one hand, a series of demonstrations of God’s providence and, on the other, a series of demonstrations of human virtue – of yielding to divine providence. Of course, these more traditional areas of theology and exegesis have not been our sole focus, since they are not, for John, an end unto themselves. Indeed, there is a deep connection between this theology (and exegesis) and his pastoral care, or therapy. Thus, in our own way, we have sought to answer an enduring, sometimes vexing question about how the opening exegetical-theological half of Chrysostom’s typical exegetical sermon is related to the following ethical half – if they are related at all. Without attempting to study this relationship in individual sermons, the major question of my project is analogous: it has concerned the relationship between ethics (or therapy) and theology in Chrysostom’s thought. Specifically, I have elucidated the deep interconnections that a

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central theological-exegetical topic – providence – has to Chrysostom’s consolatory and virtue-building project. And here we return to Chrysostom’s letters to Olympias. We now know that it was not merely to ‘make her feel better’ that John wrote to her from exile. Yes, one of John’s goals was the eradication of the negative emotions that she was experiencing in the light of her afflictions. But John’s ultimate goal in telling stories of God’s providence, and of those saints who have yielded to providence, is much loftier. By inscribing the stories of the saints upon the walls of her mind, she can become like them. Together with the patient Job, she must wait in vigil on the dunghill; together in the furnace with the three youths, she must give thanks for all things; together at the gate of the rich man with Lazarus, she must refuse to blaspheme the one who rewards virtue in the life to come. By actively emulating these saints – by living a life in common with them – and patiently enduring and giving thanks for her providentially given suffering, she will not only rid herself of her negative feelings, but she may also shed the passions of the flesh, attain the angelic life, and assume the resurrection life in this age. Like John in his exile, she will experience the tranquillity of the calm harbour as she conducts her life even now in true worship along with the heavenly host. Thus, it is not only that Chrysostom’s vision of providence is vast – extending from creation and the incarnation, to all historical events, and to all the individual events in one’s life – but also that his vision for the fate of his flock is lofty. Stagirius tormented by the demon, the Antiochenes fearful for their lives, Olympias in despair over the fate of her pastor, may all correct their vision of the human and divine through reading the narratives of Scripture and – if they are willing – assume the promised life of the resurrection even in this age of affliction.

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Scriptural Index

Genesis 1:1, 33 1:26–27, 105 1:31, 105, 132 3:17–19, 135 4, 171 4:3–5, 171 4:4, 172 4:7, 110 4:12, 110 4:13, 110 6:2, 62 6:3, 75 6:9, 164 6–10, 74 7:6, 75 7:10–11, 76 8:20, 53 8:21–9:19, 54 12:1–3, 79 12:10–20, 65, 71 18:16–33, 56 20, 67 22:1–19, 65 26, 67 37–47, 65 38–47, 71

1–2; 42, 65 42:17c–d, 97 Psalms 19:1, 102 22, 86–87 31, 87 69, 87 Daniel 3, 33, 65, 67 6, 65, 67 Jonah 1–4, 74 3:10, 76 Wisdom 1:6, 50 7:23, 50 12:19, 50 14:1–4, 30 17:2, 30 3 Maccabees 4:21, 30

2 Kings 5, 89

4 Maccabees 9:23–24, 30 17:22, 30

Job 1:1, 71, 164 1:21, 36, 151

Matthew 5:10, 135 5:11–12, 36

213

214 Matthew (cont.) 7:24–27, 170 8:1–4, 122 8:5–13, 121 10:29, 36, 150 11:13–14, 64 11:18–19, 108 15:21–28, 121 16:14, 64 18:21–35, 40 19:29, 140 25, 137 25:31–46, 54, 62 25:35–36, 62 26:8–9, 165 Luke 1:3, 48 6:23, 36 7:4, 123 7:36–50, 165 12:7, 24 16:19–31, 62, 65 18:9–14, 171 21:1–4, 55 John 1:14, 119 1:19–20, 64 1:43–51, 89 3:1–21, 89 3:3, 88 3:9, 89 3:10, 89 3:14–15, 85 4:1–42, 89 5:1–14, 89 5:1–15, 175 5:5, 175 5:6, 175 5:17, 19 16:20, 135 16:33, 135 19:24, 86 Acts 11:24, 164 Romans 1:20, 102

Scriptural Index 2:9, 135 6:14, 97 8:15, 85 8:18, 36 8:28, 127 8:35, 135 9–11, 146 9:20, 146–47 11:33, 147 11:33–36, 146 11:34–36, 147 14:7–9, 114 14:9, 114 1 Corinthians 2:8, 85 2:9, 116 8:2, 147 10:13, 36 11:9, 106 13:9–12, 147 2 Corinthians 6:4, 135 9:15, 147 Galatians 4:5–6, 85 Philippians 2:5–11, 113, 119 4:7, 147 1 Thessalonians 4:13, 36, 150–51 2 Thessalonians 1:6–7, 36 1 Timothy 5:23, 135 2 Timothy 3:12, 135 Hebrews 6:18, 140 11:4, 172 12:8, 36

Subject Index

Abel (biblical character). See Cain and Abel Abraham (biblical character), 41, 55, 65, 70, 79–81, 151, 177, 184 accuracy. See akribeia Adam (biblical character), 49, 109–11, 132 and Eve, 180–82 adaptability. See sunkatabasis affliction, 3, 9–10, 65, 69–70, 132, 134–38, 180, 183 akribeia, 47–48, 114 almsgiving, 54, 137, 168 andreia. See courage angels life of the, 64, 115, 156–58, 180–85 nature of the, 180 anthropocentrism, 21 Antiochene christology, 120 exegesis, 38, 42–43, 59, 84–87 school, 16 apatheia, 181, 183–85 apokatastasis, 151 Aristotelianism, 21, 81 Aristotle, 67, 72, 163 asceticism, 64, 157, 182–83 Athanasius of Alexandria, 120 athumia, 35, 137 Augustine of Hippo, 29, 53, 94 Basil of Caesarea, 36, 144, 146, 150 benefits of creation, 101, 104–7

of suffering, 70, 131–34 of the crucifixion, 114 bios, 47, 159 blasphemy, 143, 175 Cain (biblical character), 50, 109–11 Cain and Abel (biblical characters), 63, 101, 171–73 Canaanite woman, the (biblical character), 122 carelessness. See rhathumia causation historical, 25, 46–50 interpretation of, 140 narrative sequence, 67 Centurion, the (biblical character), 122 change correction. See correction (διόρθωσις) in God, 116 of circumstance, 65, 68, 72, 80, 116 of fortune, 72 character, 166 divine, 51, 123 moral, 163 characterisation, 162–66 indirect, 164 choice, human. See prohairesis Christ. See esp. incarnation, crucifixion christology, 117, 120 Chrysippus, 23 Cicero, 21 clusters, exegetical, 61–66 coercion, 50, 139

215

216

Subject Index

comfort. See consolation comparison. See synkrisis condescension. See sunkatabasis consolation, 37, 130–31, 149–53 Consolation to Stagirius, 9, 34–36, 131, 136, 140 correction (διόρθωσις), 118, 179 courage, 80 covenants, biblical, 94–97 creation, 19, 101–7, 167 goodness of, 132–33 crucifixion, 115, 117 Daniel (biblical character), 56, 65 death of Christ, 114 nature of, 115 deep structure, 66–68, 76 demons, 49 description. See ekphrasis despondency. See athumia devil, 49, 109, 139 diatribe, 128 Diodore of Tarsus, 38, 57, 84, 119 disturbance, moral, 48, 139 dominion, human, 110 ekphrasis, 160 Elijah (biblical character), 54, 64, 157 Elisha (biblical character), 64 emotions, 127–30 emulation. See imitation endurance, 80–81, 168, 178 Esau (biblical character). See Jacob and Esau eschatology, 26, 134, 180 essence, divine. See nature, divine ethopoeia, 54, 173–80 counterfactual, 174 Eusebius of Caesarea, 29, 93, 144 evil, moral, 138–44 exempla, 34, 44, 158–60 exile, of John Chrysostom, 1, 64 faith, 120–23 fall, the, 107–11, 132 fate, 23, 25 fear, 32 flood (biblical narrative). See Noah freedom, human. See prohairesis generosity, divine, 54 genre, 37, 127–30

goodness, of creation, 105, 131–34, 143 Gospels, 42, 84–87, 119–23 grace, 52, 55 Gregory of Nazianzus, 120, 144, 146, 150 Gregory of Nyssa, 144, 150–52 grief, 32, 136 harm, 63, 138 healing, 120–23 Heilsgeschichte. See salvation history Herodotus, 47 historia, 16, 38–42 historiography, ancient, 47, 159 Homilies on the Statues, 10, 32–34, 77, 133 image, of God, 105 imitation, 157, 179 immanence, divine, 21, 25 immortality, 180–85 incarnation, 24, 101, 112–19 incomprehensibility, divine, 117, 144–49, 167 incorruptibility, human. See immortality indifferents, 142–43 intervention, divine, 24, 69, 188 Irenaeus of Lyon, 94 Isaac (biblical character), 65, 71 Jacob and Esau (biblical characters), 44, 63 Job (biblical character), 33, 42, 56, 65, 69, 97, 151, 184 John the Baptist, 64 Jonah (biblical character), 41, 74–76 Joseph (biblical character), 63, 65, 70, 177 Josephus, 30 judgments, human, 127–31, 138–44, 174, 179 Lactantius, 29 lapse, moral. See skandalon law, Mosaic, 98 Lazarus (biblical character). See Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man Letters to Olympias, 6, 10, 68, 180–81 Libanius, 173 logismos, 48, 139, 142, 174 love, divine. See philanthrōpia meddling. See prying mercy, 50 mindset (γνώμη), 79, 166, 171, 174 miracles, 24, 26, 120–23, 188 misfortune. See affliction Moses (biblical character), 157

Subject Index Nathanael (biblical character), 89–90 natural instruction, 98, 101, 104 nature divine, 120 human, 181 Nemesius of Emesa, 22, 24, 144, 187 Nicene Christianity, 120, 145 Nicodemus (biblical character), 89–90 No One Can Be Harmed, 10, 46, 51 Noah (biblical character), 53, 56, 74–76 oikonomia, 20 of the flesh, 110, 114 providential, 7, 117 On the Providence of God, 10, 34–35, 70, 176 Palladius of Helenopolis, 1, 5 parable, 40 of Lazarus and the Rich Man, 40, 43, 65, 69, 161, 172, 176 of the ten thousand talents, 40 paradeigma. See exempla paraphrase, 85 parrhesia, 64 passions, human, 129, 181 patience, 69, 178 Paul, the apostle, 55, 69, 146–47, 157 pedagogy, divine, 55, 90, 97, 165 Pelagian controversy, 52 peripeteia, 72 persuasion, 49 philanthrōpia, 45, 50, 73, 96, 105, 119–23 Platonism, 21, 188 plot, narrative, 67 Plutarch, 47, 159, 169 power (δύναμις), 120–23 precision. See akribeia progymnasmata, 169, 173 prohairesis, 26, 52, 138, 141, 171, 182, 184 promises, divine, 44, 70, 80 pronoia (definition), 19 proof of providence, 24–25, 96–102 rhetorical, 158 prosōpon (appearance), 165–66, 171–73 prying, 48, 100, 117, 148 punishment, divine, 109–11 repentance, 32, 74–76 restoration. See apokatastasis resurrection, 152, 180, 182, 185 revelation, divine, 149

217

reversal of fortunes. See change rhathumia, 49, 139, 171, 183 rhetoric, 158, 170 salvation, 26 salvation history, 77, 96, 152 Samaritan woman (biblical character), 89–90 Sarah (biblical character), 71, 79–81 Satan. See devil scholia, 41 Seneca, 21 sin, 109–10, 138, 142 skandalon, 34, 113, 139 slothfulness. See rhathumia Socrates of Constantinople, 2, 5 speech-in-character. See ethopoeia Stoicism, 20, 23–25, 44, 81, 142–43, 145, 159, 188 suffering. See affliction sunkatabasis, 15, 20, 26, 102, 110, 116, 118, 120, 188 synergism, 53 synkrisis, 169–73 temptation, 139, 175 thanksgiving, 54, 148, 168, 178 Theodore of Mopsuestia, 16, 38, 42, 84–87, 119, 190 Christology of, 85 Theodoret of Cyrrhus, 24 threats, divine, 74–76 Three Confessors (biblical characters), 33, 65, 69, 179 transcendence, divine, 22 transformation. See change trials. See affliction typological exegesis, 17, 59, 81–84, 88–91 vice, 163 virginity, 181, 183 virtue, 49, 51, 79–81, 121, 127, 157, 163, 180, 182 weakness, human, 144, 149 Widow of Sidon (biblical character), 54 will, human. See prohairesis yielding, to providence, 166–69, 173, 175, 182 zeal, 165, 182, 171