With skilled help, then, Gregory completed the dossier of Orations he had been working on for several months. These would represent his full doctrinal exposition, and were intended to be given in close succession to each other, and as the context sometimes indicates, probably allowed for subsequent debate. There were certainly Eunomian (Anhomoian) theologians, as well as Homoian clergy of Demophilos in attendance at these orations, and Gregory knew that he was expected to give the performance of his life. In the subsequent history of the ancient Church, these five Orations were never surpassed for their trinitarian doctrine and were, in fact, adopted as the ultimate statement of Trinitarian orthodoxy despite what the conciliar creed of 381 had to say. It is a providential irony that the creed, which was itself a clear and explicit rebuke of Gregory’s boldness in teaching the consubstantiality of the Spirit, has come in the subsequent history of theology to be so strictly interpreted in terms of Gregory’s Orations. He may have felt he lost the day when he made his way back to Cappadocia in the latter part of the following year. He could hardly have envisaged the  manner in which his work would become established as the foundations of Christian orthodoxy. He could hardly win an attentive audience on the occasion, so restless were his critics when he preached. For centuries after him, this sheaf of Orations became the chief trinitarian curriculum of all the Eastern schools, and of almost as great importance to the West after Rufinus translated them into Latin.

John McGuckin, Saint Gregory of Nazianzus: An Intellectual Biography (Crestwood: SVS, 2001), 277.

Philosophy

• The Hellenistic Philosophers, Volume 1 by A. A. Long and D. N. Sedley
• The Middle Platonists by John Dillon
• Polarity and Analogy: Two Types of Argumentation in Early Greek Thought by G. E. R. Lloyd
• Greek Philosophical Terms: A Historical Lexicon by Francis Peters

Theology/Patristics

• Gregory of Nazianzus: An Intellectual Biography by John McGuckin
• On God & Christ: The Five Theological Orations and Two letters to Cledonius by Gregory of Nazianzus

Language

• The Syntax and Symantics of the Verb in Classical Greek: An Introduction by Albert Rijksbaron
• Scribblers, Scvlptors, and Scribes: A Companion to Wheelock’s Latin and Other Introductory Textbooks by Richard A. LaFleur
• Complete French Grammar (Practice Makes Perfect Series) by Annie Heminway

Gregory, as Bernard Coulie has effectively demonstrated in a long study devoted to the subject,[1] had spent a long time in his career reflecting on the moral value of wealth. This is hardly surprising when we consider his personal situation as the son of a very wealthy, landowning, bishop who wished to follow the ascetical life but could never extricate himself from civic and ecclesiastical responsibility. His Oration 14 rises from, and represents, his wider consideration of wealth as part of the divine economy of salvation. In his mind the only proper approach to the possession of wealth is one that accepts its extreme conditionality. No one can claim an absolute right to property since all humanity is given everything by the providence of a generous God. All things, the possession of life itself, but especially  material goods, can only be held in temporary stewardship by human beings.[2] It is, however, the current distribution of material wealth which is particularly problematic in any generation, for some have more than they need, while others go without basic necessities. Gregory sees this inequity among humans, again in the light of Origen’s doctrine of creation’s primal fall from spiritual equality, as something which is the particular mark of sin.[3] In the original creation, and again in the ultimate plan of God for the restoration of creatures, such inequality is not envisaged as part of the Kingdom. [4] Those who seek to remove it, therefore, by redistributing their wealth in benefactions to the indigent, are sharing in God’s work of salvation[5] and making some movement, however conditional and limited, to that equality of statues (isotés), a life lived in communion rather than under dominance, that marks the plan of God for the world. He comes, at the end, to a startling yet illuminating conclusion–only almsgiving can restore to a human being that condition of freedom that humanity lost in the ancient fall from grace, since it renders us liberal in the image of God, rather than cramped in cupidity which is the mark of oppression.[6]

The hideous condition of leprosy Gregory takes as a starting point for a harrowing reflection on the fragility of the human condition. It exemplifies for him one of the clearest examples of the fundamental philosophical question: why are we alive at all? His point is that suffering makes philosophers of us all by facing us with the meaninglessness of an existence that is frustrated in its fundamental design for transcendence and liberation.[7] The image of the leper stands, of course, as the supreme example of the loss of “balance” in the human condition: a loss of wealth, status and even the very image of human form. Gregory’s point, both philosophically and theologically, is that if the case can be made for the leper as an icon of God, it can be made even more easily for the whole list of other indigents he enumerated earlier.

[1] Coulie (1985). See esp. pp. 171-177.

[2] Orat. 14.22-24, 29. PG 35.885f.

[3] He regards slavery as the result and mark of sin also. Orat. 14.25, PG 35.892.

[4] Cf. Orat. 14.25, PG 35.889-892; Orat. 32.33, PG 36.200. Echoing the Apostolic Constitutions he says: “Blush with shame you who withhold what belongs to someone else. Imitate the equitableness of God, and then no one will be poor.” Orat. 14.24, PG 35.889.

[5] Almsgiving mimics God’s providence as a small sacrament of it. Orat. 14.25, PG 35.889.

[6] Orat. 14.26, PG 35.892.

[7] Orat. 14.6, PG 35.865.

John McGuckin, Saint Gregory of Nazianzus: An Intellectual Biography (SVS Press: Crestwood, 2001), 152-153.

Some thoughts about this section from McGuckins book (which is a fantastic read and I highly recommend it). What McGuckin is describing here must be kept in context of Gregory’s debate with the Emperor Julian, his arch-nemesis whose ideology he combats even after the Emperor has died. For Julian, the “Galileans,” as he called Chrisitans, have a strange affinity for poverty (indeed, their founder lived in poverty himself!). Poverty for Julian, and he is somewhat representative of Roman paganism, is a punishment. If you suffer poverty, you probably deserved it (and this idea, I think, is common to all places and all times). Gregory accepts this (note the reference to Origen’s theory of the primeval fall–a topic I really need to do a post on), but turns what would be the Emperor’s conclusion on its head. Yes, they may deserve it, but those who are wealthy are so, so that they can imitate the mercy of God. By doing so, the benefactor actually finds freedom. How similar or different is this from contemporary Christian attempts to raise funds to help the poor? How does this help wealthy Christians (and most American Christians are wealthy) reconcile their wealth with the poverty of their Lord?

Socrates and Philosophy in the Dialogues of Plato by Sandra Peterson (reviewed at BMCR)

In an interesting passage Gregory considers Julian’s Edict on the Professors, which forbade Christians to teach rhetoric. He considers the relationship between words or discourses (logoi) and the Word of God (Logos). Here again in this passage the essential relation between culture and religion is provided, for Gregory, by philanthropy. Here he argues that discourse (human logos), which covers all aspects of societal association, from basic communications to the heights of gracious rhetoric, is the root and foundation of all civilized society. This bonding of mankind by means discourse, gives to the latter its religious quality:

Human speech does not belong to those who invented it,[1] rather is it the possession of all who participate in it, or any other art. The Creative Word, the Demiurge, gave to various people the gift of discovering or instituting a variety of arts, but he sets each one of the arts in the midst of all, for whoever wanted to make use of them, that they should form a common bond of philanthropy, to make our human lot so much better.[2]

John McGuckin, Gregory of Nazianzus: An Intellectual Biography (SVS Press: Crestwood, 2001), 123.

On the Holy Spirit is a treatise that will continue to have significance for future Christian generations. Two issues stand out specifically. The first is the way theology relates to Christian worship. The outward forms of Christianity may differ from culture to culture, but that does not make them relative or meaningless. Basil’s use of the with doxology reflects the growth of theological understanding into practice. There is, or at least should be, a strong theological understanding for the way Churches conduct themselves—not just personal opinion. The reason for this is that the very practices of a church will do just as much to influence theological understanding as will Scriptural exegesis—lex orandi, lex credendi. Christianity is not an ethereal religion; it is a religion that encompasses the entirety of life—physical and spiritual. It would behoove modern and future Christian generations to pay careful attention to the practices of their church in order to safeguard a right understanding of who God is and what God does.

The second lasting significance of this treatise is a stronger understanding of the Holy Spirit as an indispensable part of the Trinity. In general (excluding the modern charismatic movements), the Holy Spirit has received less attention throughout Christian history than the Father and the Son. But, if Christians claim to be Trinitarian, then the Holy Spirit cannot be ignored or thought of as a person-less attribute—a mere gift or power of the Father and the Son. It is not an add-on, a side thought, or some menial servant. Indeed, the Holy Spirit plays a vital and role in the actions of the Father and Son and should be given appropriate glory. Where the Father or the Son are, there the Spirit will be as well. Matthew 3:16-17 can be taken as a prime example. Before the Son begins his ministry, he is anointed with the Holy Spirit. From then on, all the Son does is accompanied by and through the Spirit. The same should be true of his body, which is the church.

Conclusion

In his treaties, On the Holy Spirit, Basil of Caesarea presents a convincing argument for the divinity of the Holy Spirit. The Pneumatomachoi arguments against its divinity are philosophically unsound and lack Scriptural evidence. What Scripture does present about the Holy Spirit, when properly interpreted, is its divinity through its relation to the Son, the power it has as witnessed in its actions as seen in Scripture and its vital role in salvation. This has been the traditional understanding of the Holy Spirit, and the Church shall forever glorify it together with the Father and the Son.

Bibliography

St. Basil the Great. On the Holy Spirit. Translated by David Anderson. Popular Patristics Series 5 Crestwood: St. Vladimir Seminary Press, 1980.
Daley, Brian E. “Building a New City: The Cappadocian Fathers and the Rhetoric of Philanthropy.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 7 no. 3 (1999): 431-61.

When reading this treatise, one it struck by the amount of detail that Basil goes through to make his point. This is important and indeed vital to what he is trying to argue. Ironically, his attempt to argue for the validity of a Church practice lacks practicality. While the divinity of the Holy Spirit makes his congregation feel that they have avoided idolatry, what else does it do? How does the divinity of the Holy Spirit affect the average person’s piety outside of the congregational worship?

Basil’s argument suffers from being to narrow. He is addressing a single practice of his church and therefore the conclusions he draws are restricted to that one item. The issue being attacked is one of corporate worship, so he concludes that their corporate worship is true. However, the role that the Holy Spirit plays is more vital to Christian piety than merely doxological formulas. That is not to say that doxological formulas do not matter, but only that the implications of those formulas should have broader consequences that he does not tackle. For instance, if the Holy Spirit is the one who dispenses gifts for the ordering of the Church (I Cor. 12-14), what does that look like? Basil appears to praise the Holy Spirit for what it does and then offers no account of what Christians are supposed to do with what the Holy Spirit does. Or, if the fruit of the Spirit is “love, joy, peace, etc…” (Gal. 5:22), how does one identify or cultivate such fruit? In other words, if the Holy Spirit makes Christians holy, how do Christians work with the Spirit in that synergistic process?[1] The greatest proof of the divinity of the Holy Spirit would be that those who have it exhibit the qualities of possessing the Holy Spirit.

To give Basil the benefit of the doubt, he most likely, as a bishop, cared for the practical needs of the congregation. He was not blinded by the intellectual pleasure of theological speculation. Indeed, it is known that he preached on many practical matters, especially on helping the poor; he even built a refuge for the poor just outside of Caesarea.[2] He did care very much about the practical implications of the Christian belief, but because of the philosophical nature of this issue, those practical implications were unfortunately overlooked.