What "church" looked like in the early Church: First century

    In the last post, we started to examine what church gatherings looked like in the early Church by studying the Lord’s supper and ritual meals in the Greco-Roman world. Now that we have this background information, we can look at the details of the first-century Christian gathering. The main first-century texts that I will use here are the accounts of Jesus’ last supper (Matt 26:17-30; Mark 14:12-26; Luke 22:7-38); Acts 2:42-47; Acts 20:7-11; 1 Corinthians 10–14; and Didache 9–10, 14.

Where?

    First of all, where did the earliest Christians come together? Our earliest sources unanimously tell us that they met in houses. The book of Acts says that breaking bread, corporate prayer, and teaching all took place kat’ oikon (“by house”: 2:46; 12:12; 20:20). St Paul’s letters refer to “the church in their/her/your house” (Rom 16:5; 1 Cor 16:19; Col 4:15; Phlm 1:2), and St John instructs a certain local church not to receive those who deny Christ’s manifestation in the flesh “into your house” (2 John 1:10).

    What would the meeting area have looked like? The gathering took place in the dining room, which in most houses would have been upstairs (Mark 14:15; Luke 22:12; Acts 1:13; 20:8, 11). It likely was arranged according to the standard pattern, with three tables arranged in a U-shape seating about a dozen people at most, which testifies to the small number of Christians at this time. As the local church grew, the participants would spill out into other rooms of the house, eventually requiring a change in location altogether. Insofar as gatherings continued into the night (see below), the room was lit by oil lamps (cf. Acts 20:8).

    The posture of those at the gathering is indicated by Paul as “sitting” (1 Cor 14:30) rather than reclining, although this might have been a necessity to fit a larger number of people around the tables. [9] The ideal in the gospel accounts is still reclining at the table (Matt 8:11; 26:7, 20; Mark 2:15; 14:3, 18; Luke 13:29; 14:7-11; 24:30; John 13:12; 21:20). The same passage indicates that those prophesying at the table would stand, since Paul distinguishes “someone sitting” from the prophets who are speaking (1 Cor 14:29-30). The ideal posture for praying was also standing, with hands outstretched (Matt 6:5; Mark 11:25; 1 Tim 2:8; cf. Ps 63:4; 134:2; 141:2; Philo, Vit Cont 66, 80, 83). [10] The Christian practice of praying toward the East can be traced back at least to the mid-2nd century, with some scholars arguing for a first century origin. [11] Philo reports that the Jewish Therapeutae sect also prayed toward the East during their communal meals (Vit Cont 89).

    How were the meeting rooms decorated, if at all? We know that as soon as Christians obtained their own designated spaces for prayer in the 2nd and 3rd centuries, they were decorated with religious imagery, as shown by the Roman catacombs and Dura Europos church. [12] The gnostic Acts of John show that the creation and veneration of portrait icons of saints was already known among Christians in the 2nd century. [13] Eusebius of Caesarea, in the early 4th century, claims in the first century paintings of the apostles Peter and Paul and even Christ himself were made (Church History VII.18.4). But there is no contemporary evidence for Christian art in the first century, and it seems unlikely that first-century believers would have entirely painted or redecorated their dining rooms with no obvious rationale. At most, there was likely a cross inscribed on the wall of some house churches, as seen in a pre-AD 79 houses at Pompeii. [14]

When?

    Now that we’ve seen where the early Christians gathered, and how this space was used for worship, let’s investigate when they gathered. Acts 2:46 tells us that the very first Christians in Jerusalem were breaking bread together “every day.” However, from very early on, “the first day of the week” (i.e., Sunday) was marked out for gathering and breaking bread (Acts 20:7; 1 Cor 16:2). St John states that the first appearance of the risen Jesus to the assembled disciples was at “evening on that day, the first day of the week,” and his subsequent appearance “a week later [when] his disciples were again in the house” (John 20:19, 26). The Didache, a first-century church order, says that believers gather “on the Lord’s own day” (kata kyriakēn... kyriou) to break bread and give thanks (eucharistēsate).

    The gathering took place in the evening, according to our earliest sources, as expected for a supper. This is implied in Acts 20:7-11, where the believers in Troas meet to break bread “on the first day,” and Paul holds discourse with them at length “until midnight,” after which they actually broke bread and continued to converse “until dawn.” Jesus’ last supper began in the evening (Matt 26:20; Mark 14:17), he broke bread on the evening after his resurrection (Luke 24:29-30), and his first appearance to the assembled disciples was “evening on... the first day of the week” (John 20:19), according to the gospel accounts. The evening of the first day may have been Saturday evening (since Jewish practice reckoned days from evening to evening) or Sunday evening, with more recent scholarship arguing for Sunday evening. [15]

    In the early second century, the hostile witness of Pliny the Younger (who persecuted Christians) shows the beginning stage of the Sunday morning gathering. Pliny writes to the emperor Trajan, reporting the testimony of apostate believers about Christian practices:

They maintained, however, that all that their guilt or error involved was that they were accustomed to assemble at dawn on a fixed day, to sing a hymn antiphonally to Christ as God, and to bind themselves by an oath, not for the commission of some crime, but to avoid acts of theft, brigandage, and adultery, not to break their word, and not to withhold money deposited with them when asked for it. When these rites were completed, it was their custom to depart, and then to assemble again to take food, which was however common and harmless. (Letters 10.96.7)

This report is clearly skewed by the apostates’ attempt to appear harmless to Pliny – for example, their insistence that their “oath” is about civil obedience and that the eucharistic meal is “common and harmless.” However, we can see that in early 2nd century Asia Minor, Christians were accustomed to meet twice on Sundays, first in the morning for prayer and hymnody, then again in the evening for the communal meal. Over time (in the 2nd and 3rd centuries), the meal would also gradually migrate to Sunday morning.

Who?

    Keeping in mind when and where the first-century Christian gathering took place, who was present and involved? In the typical Greco-Roman banquet, women were not invited and slaves waited on the men who dined. In the Christian gathering, on the other hand, women were included as full participants who could pray and prophesy alongside the men (1 Cor 11:4-5). Likewise, gentiles were included as full participants alongside Jews, even though de facto there was some segregation, which St Paul condemned (Gal 2:11-14). The table was not served by slaves, but by voluntary attendants (diakonoi, deacons: Acts 6:1-6; cf. Philo, Vit Cont 68, 70-72). This was central to the self-understanding of the earliest believers as a community: “There is neither Jew nor gentile, slave nor free, male and female, for indeed you all are one in Christ Jesus” (Gal 3:28).

    However, the inclusivity of the early Christian banquet wasn’t unlimited. The Didache insists that only those “baptized into the name of the Lord” can “eat or drink of this Eucharist,” citing Jesus’ statement, “Do not give the holy things to the dogs” (9.5). The Didache later refers to the necessity of confessing sins before breaking bread, “that your sacrifice may be pure,” and says that no one with an unreconciled disagreement should join, “that your sacrifice may not be defiled” (14.1-3).

    St Paul likewise writes to the believers at Corinth that they should examine themselves before partaking, since “all who eat and drink without discerning the body eat and drink judgment against themselves” (1 Cor 11:27-32). He said this in reference to their tendency to divide themselves at the gathering, eating their own food which they brought rather than sharing communally (11:18-22). This was a local manifestation of the earliest believers’ tendency to fall back into discriminating according to social status at their banquets, which was condemned (Luke 14:7-11; 22:24-27; James 2:1-6). At the first-century Christian gathering, therefore, only baptized believers were invited. But all baptized believers could participate equally, except those in public, harmful, and unrepentant sin (cf. 1 Cor 5:1-2), including those who discriminated against others at the meal.

    What about those who served at the meal? The New Testament texts distinguish two offices (Acts 6:1-6; 20:17-35; Phil 1:1; 1 Tim 3:1-13; 5:17-20; Titus 1:5-9; 1 Pet 5:1-2): the overseer (episkopos, bishop) or elder (presbyteros, priest) and the attendant (diakonos, deacon). Other first-century texts refer to the same two offices (Didache 15; 1 Clem 42.4-5; 44.1-5). [16] The deacons would attend the table (Acts 6:1-6), while the bishops/priests would “offer the gifts,” i.e., the bread and cup, themselves (1 Clem 44.3). In the first century, these functions could also be carried out by itinerant apostles, teachers, and prophets (Didache 15.2). [17]

What?

    Then what exactly took place at these first-century Christian gatherings? The main event, so to speak, was the meal itself, the bread and the cup. St Paul writes that when the Corinthian believers “come together,” it is “to eat the Lord’s banquet” (1 Cor 11:17-18, 20, 33-34; cf. Didache 14). Before eating, a blessing (eulogia) or thanksgiving (eucharistia) was pronounced over both the bread and the cup. Fixed prayers of thanksgiving over the cup and the bread, separately, are provided in the first-century Didache, along with a prayer of thanksgiving for after the meal, although these were not always precisely followed: “prophets” could extemporize their own prayers (Didache 9-10). The assembled believers would respond to each thanksgiving with “Amen” (1 Cor 14:16).

    Most first-century texts describe the blessing of the cup followed by the bread (Luke 22:17-19; 1 Cor 10:16; Didache 9-10; Papias in Irenaeus, Against Heresies 5.33.3-4). However, the accounts of Jesus’ last supper describe the blessing of the bread followed by the cup (Matt 26:26-29; Mark 14:22-25; Luke 22:19-20; 1 Cor 11:23-25). [18] This implies that there was no universally accepted, fixed order of prayers of thanksgiving in the first-century church.

    Paul lists a few other activities that might take place at the Christian gathering: “a hymn, a teaching, a revelation, a tongue, or an interpretation” (1 Cor 14:26). Elsewhere he advises believers not to get drunk (presumably during the symposion), but rather “to sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves” (Eph 5:18-19; cf. Col 3:16). Acts 2:42 refers to “the apostles’ teaching and fellowship” and “the prayers” alongside breaking bread. The letters of apostles and other authoritative writings would be publicly read at these gatherings (Acts 15:22-30; Col 4:16; 1 Thess 5:27; 1 Tim 4:13; Phlm 1:1-2; Rev 1:3). The apostles exhorted believers to greet one another with a “holy kiss” or “kiss of love” (Rom 16:16; 1 Cor 16:20; 2 Cor 13:12; 1 Thess 5:26; 1 Pet 5:14). The Didache (14.1) also prescribes confession of sins before breaking bread together.

    Was there an order to these activities? The Didache (9–10; 14) presents a basic structure for the deipnon of the meal: confession of sins → blessing of the cup and bread → eating → prayer(s) of thanksgiving. St Paul addresses issues at Corinth throughout the whole meal, and the structure of his critique implies that the meal was (like the typical Greco-Roman supper) a deipnon followed by a symposion involving various spiritual activities (1 Cor 10–14). They had no fixed order for the varied activities during their symposion, which led to some practical issues that Paul confronts (14:26-33). Acts 2:42 suggests an order for the earliest Jerusalem churches: teaching and fellowship → breaking bread → prayers, while Acts 20:7-11 gives a description of a particular communal meal which involved (at least) discourse → breaking bread → further discourse.

Why?

    Finally, why did Christians in the first century gather together for a communal meal? The clearest statement about this, once again, comes from St Paul’s letter to the Corinth church:

The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a sharing in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a sharing in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread. Consider the people of Israel: Are not those who eat the sacrifices partners in the altar?

What do I imply, then? That food sacrificed to idols is anything or that an idol is anything? No, I imply that what they sacrifice, they sacrifice to demons and not to God. I do not want you to be partners with demons. You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons. Or are we provoking the Lord to jealousy? Are we stronger than he? (1 Cor 10:16-22)

The communal meal for first-century Christians is a sharing, or communion (koinōnia), in the body and blood of Christ which constitutes the believers as themselves the one body of Christ. This is the uniquely Christian form of sacrifice, analogous to Israelite and pagan sacrifices – for what is Christ’s body if not the sacrifice par excellence?

    The earliest fixed eucharistic prayers (Didache 9–10) don’t include what later came to be known as the words of institution (“This is my body... This is my blood”). However, their inclusion in all of the New Testament accounts of the Lord’s banquet shows that this was very much in the background of the earliest Christians’ celebration of the communal meal (Matt 26:26-28; Mark 14:22-24; Luke 22:19-20; 1 Cor 11:23-25). [19] The prayer over the bread asks God to gather his Church to become one just as the bread has become one (Didache 9.4; cf. 1 Cor 10:17), and the author refers to the meal as “sacrifice” (14.1-3; citing Mal 1:11). Clement of Rome also references bishops in the first century serving “the offerings” (ta dōra; 1 Clem 44:4).

    The activities during the symposion of the meal also had a function. Paul expands on his statement about believers becoming “one body.” They are “the body of Christ” and, like any human body, there are many members with different functions, in order to collectively build each other up in love (1 Cor 12–14; esp. 12:12-27). If the purpose of the banquet is to constitute all the believers in one communion of the body of Christ, then the symposium with its various activities – prayer, hymnody, teaching, prophecy – strengthens this reality and makes it visible. Thus, the Lord’s supper visibly manifests Christ himself within the world in and as the communion of the faithful.

Reconstruction

    Now that we’ve examined these first-century sources for details about the earliest Christian Eucharist, we can try to reconstruct what an ideal gathering of believers would have looked like at that time. Keep in mind that this is necessarily speculative, since we can’t be sure it looked the same everywhere and these texts come from different contexts.

• On the evening of the first day of the week, you head to the house of the overseer (one of them, at least) of your local church. Only those who have been baptized into the Way are invited, but everyone baptized is invited, regardless of social status.
• When you arrive, you go upstairs to the lamp-lit dining room. You take notice of the cross carved into the wall and remember what Jesus, the Messiah, endured for your sake.
• You greet the other believers there with a kiss. If there’s anything left unresolved between you and others, you make sure to confess and reconcile with them. You know that this is a serious matter, and there can be no divisions as you will all be united by this meal. Some have been prevented from joining before, because they were unrepentant about their harm toward others.
• You take your seat at the table as the deacons bring out the food and drink, which was brought by other members of the community. The overseer takes his cup and prays: “We give you thanks, our Father, for the holy vine of your child David, which you made known to us through your Son Jesus. Yours is the glory unto ages of ages.” With the rest of the believers, you say “Amen.”
• The overseer takes bread and breaks it. “We give you thanks, our Father, for the life and knowledge which you made known to us through your Son Jesus. Yours is the glory unto ages of ages. As this broken bread was scattered upon the mountains, so may your Church be gathered together from the ends of the earth into your kingdom. For yours is the glory and the power through Jesus Christ unto ages of ages.” “Amen.”
• Now that the food and drink has been blessed, the deacons share the food between everyone there. You all eat joyously, knowing that in this meal you are sharing in Christ’s own body and blood, and partaking in his sacrifice. You are all being united into one body of Christ.
• After the meal, the overseer prays again:
• “We give you thanks, holy Father, for your holy name, which you have made to dwell in our hearts, and for the knowledge and faith and immortality, which you have made known unto us through your Son Jesus. Yours is the glory unto ages of ages.
• “You, Almighty Master, created all things for your name’s sake, and gave food and drink to men for their enjoyment, that they might give you thanks. And you have given us spiritual food and drink and eternal life through your Son. Most of all, we give you thanks that you are powerful. Yours is the glory unto ages of ages.
• “Remember, Lord, your Church, and deliver it from all evil and perfect it in your love. Gather it – the sanctified one – together from the four winds into your kingdom which you have prepared for it. For yours is the power and the glory unto ages of ages.
• “May grace come and may this world pass away. Hosanna to the God of David. If any man is holy, let him come; if any man is not, let him repent. O Lord, come!”
• You, and the rest of the body, agree: “Amen.” A prophet who is passing through your city stands and offers his own prayer, along with some others in the body.
• A letter that you all previously received from the apostle Paul is read aloud. Someone who is known as a teacher in your community offers an exhortation based on this letter. Another also offers a word of advice. You stand and lead the gathered body in a hymn that you all know, and the overseer and a few others do the same after you.
• You and the believing members of your household return home well after dark. There is a renewed understanding that you all are part of something truly holy, that you are united to Christ himself, and you and your household will do your best to manifest this reality as shining lights in a dark world.

______________________________

[9] Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 178.

[10] This is borne out by second- and third-century Christian art in the Roman catacombs, which depicts this posture also at the eucharistic table (Catacomb of St Callixtus, Room A2).

[11] Uwe Michael Lang, Turning Towards the Lord: Orientation in Liturgical Prayer (Ignatius Press, 2009), 35-61.

[12] Robin M. Jensen and Mark D. Ellison, The Routledge Handbook of Early Christian Art (Routledge, 2018), see especially chaps. 2, 12, and 17 on the catacombs, panel portraits, and Dura-Europos baptistry.

[13] Acts of John 26-29 describes how the disciple Lycomedes, who had been resurrected by God through John, commisioned a portrait of John, took it to his bedroom, crowned it with garlands, and lit lamps before it. John, the mouthpiece of the gnostic author, confronts him for “still living in heathen fashion.” Lycomedes answers that he has only one God, but “next to that God, it is right that the men who have benefitted us should be called gods.” John retorts that the portrait captures only his “fleshly image,” being “a dead likeness of the dead,” and Lycomedes should instead paint with the virtues. This episode implies that debate over venerating panel-portrait icons was already underway between Christians and gnostics in the 2nd century (cf. Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 4.13).

[14] Bruce W. Longenecker, The Cross before Constantine: The Early Life of a Christian Symbol (Fortress Press, 2015), 121-148; The Crosses of Pompeii: Jesus-Devotion in a Vesuvian Town (Fortress Press, 2016); but for a contrasting perspective, see John Granger Cook, “Alleged Christian Crosses in Herculaneum and Pompeii,” Vigiliae Christianae 72, no. 1 (2018): 1-20.

[15] Aliykin, The Earliest History of the Christian Gathering, 40-49.

[16] The terms episkopos and presbyteros are clearly used interchangeably in first-century texts. However, this doesn’t mean that monepiscopacy is a later development, if by this we refer to the fact that only one person actually offers the Eucharist, which is the original and most important meaning of “one bishop” found in St Ignatius’ writings (Smyrn 9). The designation of one person as the host, or symposiarch, or president, was a common feature of banquets in the Greco-Roman world. In light of this, we can’t really speak about the post-apostolic development of the episcopate as an office, but rather the development of the presbytery as a separate office between bishop and deacon. Even the reference to multiple “bishops” in one city (Phil 1:1) is unsurprising, given the fact that the dining rooms in which first-century Christians held their gatherings likely couldn’t accommodate all the believers in some cities, whereas other cities did have only one gathering (e.g., Rom 16:23).

[17] Aliykin, Earliest History, 69-73.

[18] St Luke’s account describes the blessing of the cup followed by the bread, then another cup after the banquet. This reworking suggests that he was trying to reconcile the existing accounts of the last supper (bread-then-cup) with his own community’s practice (cup-then-bread before meal): Aliykin, Earliest History, 233-234.

[19] St John’s gospel doesn’t include these words in his account, which lacks any description of the supper itself, giving a lengthy account of the symposium discourse instead. However, the pericope about chewing Jesus’ flesh and drinking his blood (John 6:51-58) would hardly have been understood as referring to anything other than the Eucharist: Aliykin, Earliest History, 130-132.

What "church" looked like in the early Church: Some background

    How did the earliest Christians experience “church”? This is something I’ve recently been interested in studying. After all, while the intellectual history and development of doctrine in the early Church is certainly important and interesting, that would have been above the pay grade of the average believer. For most Christians – as well as for the theologians and bishops who formulated doctrine – their faith was primarily encountered in the gathering as a community of faith to offer prayers and commune together. In this series of posts, I’ll do my best to reconstruct what this gathering would have looked like in the first through fourth centuries. [1]

    As a disclaimer: even if we can know what “church” looked like in the first century, that doesn’t mean it’s an ideal to which we should return today. Just because something is more ancient does not mean that it’s more valid. Some aspects of early Church practice were accidental, prompted by the historical circumstances of the period, while others are indeed essential to the Church; it’s not possible to tell them apart without looking from the vantage point of a certain tradition. I strongly suspect that believers from every Christian tradition today would find both familiarity and foreignness if they walked into a first-century church gathering.

The Lord’s Banquet

    St. Paul is our earliest witness to what Christian gatherings looked like. In his first letter to the church at Corinth, he writes that when they “come together as a church” it’s supposed to be to eat something called “the Lord’s banquet” (kyriakon deipnon; 1 Cor 11:18-20). From this very early stage, believers in Jesus connected their gatherings to a particular historical event in the life of Jesus of Nazareth: the banquet that he held “on the night he was betrayed” (1 Cor 11:23). Paul claims to have received this tradition from the Lord himself and handed it on to the Corinthians.

    Each of the gospel accounts records Jesus’ last supper with his disciples. However, St. Luke is the only one to explicitly connect it with an ongoing practice. Here is his account:

Then came the day of Unleavened Bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. So Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, “Go and prepare the Passover meal for us that we may eat it.” They asked him, “Where do you want us to make preparations for it?” “Listen,” he said to them, “when you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you; follow him into the house he enters and say to the owner of the house, ‘The teacher asks you, “Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?”’ He will show you a large room upstairs, already furnished. Make preparations for us there.” So they went and found everything as he had told them, and they prepared the Passover meal.

When the hour came, he took his place at the table, and the apostles with him. He said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer, for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he said, “Take this and divide it among yourselves, for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.” (Luke 22:7-20)

    The fact that St. Luke (unlike St. Mark or St. Matthew) presents Jesus as saying, “Do this in remembrance of me,” implies that he is consciously modeling his account of the supper after the practices of his own community. Of course, this doesn’t mean that the other gospel writers didn’t have the same practice; Paul’s comments imply that this was universal among apostolic-era Christians. Therefore, the other accounts are also useful for our purposes. There are only a handful of differences between the synoptic gospels.

• Matthew only says that Jesus and the disciples will have the Passover meal at the (unnamed) man’s house, while Mark and Luke specify that they will be in the upstairs room for guests.
• Mark and Matthew place the discourse about the one who will betray Jesus before the blessing of the bread and the cup, whereas Luke places it after the blessing.
• Mark and Matthew describe the blessing of the bread followed by the cup, whereas Luke describes the blessing of a cup followed by the bread, then another cup “after the banquet.”
• Mark and Matthew both state that they sang “the hymn” after eating, which Luke does not record.

St. John, on the other hand, records very little about the banquet itself (other than that it took place), instead he puts the emphasis on the discourse which he presents as following the supper (chaps. 13–17).

    I don’t think that we can know whether these differences actually reflect differences in the practice of the gospel writers’ communities. However, as I’ll show below, there was a diversity of custom in the earliest church gatherings which seems to at least partially correspond to the differences between gospel accounts. There is a broad similarity between the synoptic accounts of the last supper: (1) it took place within a house (2) on the evening of Passover, (3) involving a blessing of the bread and cup (4) in which Jesus declared them to be “my body” and “my blood,” (5) with a discourse either preceding or following the blessing and (6) a hymn at the end (albeit not reported by Luke).

The Greco-Roman Supper

    Let’s be clear: it would be completely wrong to look for “the Eucharist” in the first century, if we mean the ritual eating of a small piece of bread and sip of wine. Every single source from this period describes a full meal taking place when gathered together, which was in no way distinguished from the sacrament itself. St. Jude refers to this meal as the “love feast” (Jude 1:12), which was still used as a synonym for the Eucharist by St. Ignatius of Antioch in the early second century (Smyrn 8.2). When Luke-Acts refers to “breaking bread,” it likely indicates the same corporate meal (Luke 24:30; Acts 2:42, 46; 20:7, 11).

    However, it would be just as much of a mistake to think that there was no ritual involved at all in the earliest church gatherings. In fact, banquets in the ancient Jewish and wider Greco-Roman world were very ritualized affairs. The ideal evening meal in classical Greece comprised two parts: a banquet (deipnon) followed by drinking and discourse (symposion). [2] The second stage was initiated by various rituals including a libation, pouring out a small amount of wine accompanied by prayer to a deity. [3] The host would arrange the guests, who reclined around a U-shaped table, according to their social rank; women and slaves were not invited. Although actual suppers often deviated from this structure, it was considered the ideal for several centuries. [4]

    Jewish suppers were also ritualized in the ancient world, at least partially due to Hellenistic influence. In the early 2nd century BC, the book of Sirach (31:12-32:13) provides banquet etiquette along the lines of the classical Greek practice, including the invitations, the singular host/president, ranking guests according to social status, music, and the deipnon followed by symposion, although he warns against excessive luxury. [5]

    The Greco-Roman supper also influenced later rabbinic practice, although with clear differences: the ideal meal consisted of three courses, each including a mixed cup of wine and water, with the ritual washing of hands (by servants) and benediction between each course; the prayer might be said by the host or by all of the participants, depending on the circumstance. [6] The rabbinic Passover liturgy, which crystallized in the late 3rd century AD, involves a first course (the deipnon) with the mixed cup, benediction, and meal, then a second course (the symposion) with another mixed cup, designated readings from Deuteronomy, Exodus, and the Psalms, followed by prayers of praise (and a third and fourth mixed cup). [7]

    The evidence for Jewish meal practices in the first century is somewhat scantier. We know that the Pharisee sect advocated ritual hand washing before meals, which Christians apparently rejected (Matt 15:1-20; Mark 7:1-23). Our best evidence comes from the Essene sect at Qumran, which left us the Dead Sea Scrolls. Josephus reports that twice per day the members of the community would wash themselves ritually and put on linen garments, then come together to the dining room of an apartment and eat together. Both before and after the meal, the priest would recite a blessing, and the participants would praise God together (Wars II.129-133). The Community Rule at Qumran provides a similar description:

Wherever there are ten men of the Council of the Community there shall not lack a Priest among them. And they shall all sit before him according to their rank and shall be asked their counsel in all things in that order. And when the table has been prepared for eating, and the new wine for drinking, the Priest shall be the first to stretch out his hand to bless the first-fruits of the bread and new wine.

And where the ten are, there shall never lack a man among them who shall study the Law continually, day and night concerning the right conduct of a man with his companion. And Congratulation shall watch in community for a third of every night of the year, to read the book and to study Law and to pray together. (1QS 6.3-8)

This seems to correspond to the deipnon-symposion structure (meal followed by discourse), with seating “according to their rank” (cf. 6.8-9) and a blessing pronounced by a priest. It looks like there was also a discourse preceding the meal, however (they “shall be asked their counsel in all things in that order”), to which Josephus also alludes (Wars II.132). The rules governing this discourse are given in 1QS 6.9-13. The communal meal of the Essenes could only be participated after one year of being a member, and the communal drink after two years (6.16-23); certain infractions were punished by exclusion from the meal, from ten days to lifelong (6.24-7.24; cf. Wars II.143-145).

    Philo of Alexandria (mid-1st century) describes the communal meals of the Therapeutae, another Jewish sect, contrasting them with both the Essenes and Greek banquets (Vit Cont 30-37, 64-89). According to his account, members of this sect would assemble once per week, especially every seven weeks, for their communal feast. They would begin by standing and praying with hands outstretched. Then both men and women would recline (on the right and left, respectively) on wooden boards and be served, not by slaves (because they had none), but by voluntary attendants. The “president” of the gathering would offer remarks, interpreting the Scriptures allegorically and/or answering a question posed by another. Then the members, beginning with the president, would sing hymns (all together chanting the refrains). After this, the attendants would bring in the meal itself, which was “all-holy” (panagestaton) leavened bread and pure water. Finally, the members would rise and form two choirs (male and female) to sing antiphonal (i.e., two-part) hymns throughout the night.

    The basic structure of this feast, prayer → discourse → hymnody → bread and cup → hymnody, should be familiar to most Christians. This is the basic shape of the liturgy that is found in every Christian rite, both Eastern and Western. In fact, Christians in the fourth century and later found such familiarity here that they equated the Therapeutae with the earliest Christian ascetics (Eusebius, Church History II.17; Epiphanius, Panarion 29.5; Ps.-Dionysius, Church Hierarchy 6.1.3). If this is correct, then Philo is an incredibly valuable witness to the basic shape of the Christian liturgy before AD 50! However, there are chronological difficulties with equating the Therapeutae and early Christians. [8] Even so, this shows what a ritual meal looked like in another first-century Jewish sect.

    Originally I had intended to reconstruct the details of a first-century church gathering in this post, but it started to get way too long! I will continue this study in my next post, and we'll look at when and where this gathering took place, who was there, what would have happened there, and why the earliest Christians felt it was important to gather for a meal in this way.

______________________________

[1] In studying this topic, there were a few books that I found very helpful (among other sources): Marcel Metzger, History of the Liturgy: The Major Stages (Liturgical Press, 1997); Paul F. Bradshaw, The Search for the Origins of Christian Worship: Sources and Methods for the Study of Early Liturgy, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 2002); Dennis E. Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist: The Banquet in the Early Christian World (Augsburg Fortress, 2003); Valeriy A. Aliykin, The Earliest History of the Christian Gathering: Origin, Development and Content of the Christian Gathering in the First to Third Centuries (Brill, 2010); Paul F. Bradshaw and Maxwell E. Johnson, The Eucharistic Liturgies: Their Evolution and Interpretation (Liturgical Press, 2012).

I was inspired to try my hand at reconstructing an early Christian gathering, from an Orthodox perspective, by these reconstructions from Christians of other traditions: Steven Alspach and Daniel Alspach, “A First Century Liturgy,” posted 1 Feb 2021, by The Catholic Brothers, YouTube, 27:39, https://youtu.be/hect5BG02gU; Gavin Ortlund, “What Church Was Like in 150 AD,” posted 30 Mar 2026, by Truth Unites, YouTube, 38:01, https://youtu.be/6h9mkybHep0.

[2] Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 1-46; Dennis E. Smith, “The Greco-Roman Banquet as Social Institution,” in Meals in the Early Christian World (Palgrave MacMillan, 2012), 23-33.

[3] Although this exact structure was not always, or even typically, followed: Charles H. Cosgrove, “Banquet Ceremonies Involving Wine in the Greco-Roman World and Early Christianity,” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 79, no. 2 (2017): 299-316.

[4] Smith, “The Greco-Roman Banquet as Social Institution,” 31-32.

[5] Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 134-144.

[6] Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 144-147, citing t. Ber. 4, 8, 98.

[7] Siegfried Stein, “The Influence of Symposia Literature on the Literary Form of the Pesaḥ Haggadah,” Journal of Jewish Studies 8, no. 1-2 (1957): 13-44; Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 147-150.

[8] Philo died in ca. AD 50 or earlier, while the traditional date for the arrival of Christianity in Alexandria is in the early 40s or later. Even if we allow the maximum range, there would only have been a few years for the Christian community to become established and for Philo to take notice and write about them. This seems rather unlikely to me.

Christ is risen!

“Let no one bewail his poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let no one weep for his iniquities, for pardon has shown forth from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Savior’s death has set us free. He that was held prisoner of it has annihilated it. By descending into hell, he made hell captive. He embittered it when it tasted of his flesh.

“And Isaiah, foretelling this, did cry: ‘Hell,’ said he, ‘was embittered, when it encountered you in the lower regions.’ [Isa 14:9] It was embittered, for it was abolished. It was embittered, for it was mocked. It was embittered, for it was slain. It was embittered, for it was overthrown. It was embittered, for it was fettered in chains. It took a body, and met God face to face. It took earth, and encountered heaven. It took that which was seen, and fell upon the unseen.

“O Death, where is your sting? O Hell, where is your victory? Christ is risen, and you are overthrown. Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen. Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice. Christ is risen, and life reigns. Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave. For Christ, being risen from the dead, is become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. To him be glory and dominion unto ages of ages. Amen.”

– Excerpt from the Paschal Sermon of St. John Chrysostom

The orthodox doctrine of the Trinity (part 2 of 2)

The orthodox doctrine of the Trinity (part 1 of 2) 

“God and his Word and his Spirit are... one God”

    If the Trinity is the one God and Father plus two other persons who fully share his nature and divinity, how is this not three gods? The early Church Fathers often use the relationship between common human nature and particular human persons to illustrate commonality (substance) and particularity (hypostasis) in general, as it also applies to the Trinity. But in the case of multiple human persons, they are referred to as multiple humans, whereas we don’t refer to the three divine persons as three gods. St. Gregory of Nyssa addresses this question in one of his letters to a fellow bishop, Ablabius.

To Ablabius, on “not three gods”

    Ablabius was a fourth-century bishop about whom we know very little, other than that Gregory of Nyssa wrote three letters to him (letters 6, 21, and the one under consideration). [1] Apparently, he was presented with a dilemma by non-trinitarian interlocutors which he couldn’t answer, and he wrote to St. Gregory of Nyssa to help solve the problem. Gregory explains the dilemma at hand as follows:

...we are at first sight compelled to accept one of two erroneous opinions, and either to say “there are three gods,” which is unlawful, or not to acknowledge the divinity of the Son and the Holy Spirit, which is impious and absurd.

The argument which you state is something like this: Peter, James, and John, while belonging to the one human nature, are said to be “three humans”; and it is not absurd by any means that those who are united according to nature, when they are more than one, are enumerated in the plural on the base of the name of nature. So, if in such a case usage permits it and nothing prohibits to say “two” of those that are two or “three” of those that are more than two, how then do we, confessing in the mystical dogmas three hypostases and not admitting any difference between them according to the nature, combat in a certain way the confession of faith from the moment that we speak of the one divinity of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, but prohibit to speak of “three gods”?

    St. Gregory goes on to say that to find a solution to this problem would be ideal, but even if one isn’t found, we must keep the tradition received by apostolic succession and ask the Lord for a solution. If he bestows a solution upon anyone by grace, then we should give thanks, but if not, we must hold our faith unchangeably. (As we will see, he does believe there to be a valid solution to the problem.) He offers a first solution, rhetorically directed at uneducated people, which he dismisses as inadequate:

Perhaps one might seem to touch the point if he were to say (speaking offhand to simple-minded people), that the definition refused to reckon gods in any number to avoid any resemblance to the Greek polytheism, lest, if we too were to enumerate the deity, not in the singular, but in the plural, as they are accustomed to do, there might be supposed to be also some community of doctrine.

This answer, I say, if made to more guileless people, might seem to be of some weight. But in the case of the others who require that one of the alternatives they propose should be established (either that we should not acknowledge the divinity in the three, or that, if we do, we should speak of those who share in the same divinity as three), this answer does not provide any solution of the difficulty. And hence we must make our reply at greater length, tracing out the truth as best we may; for the question is no ordinary one.

    This first answer isn’t incorrect – we must avoid speaking of “three gods” so that the difference between pagan polytheism and Christian trinitarianism is made clear – but it’s also not sufficient. The answer should satisfy the more simple-minded or guileless of faithful believers, who don’t know (or care) about metaphysics, but it won’t satisfy those who are making the argument in the first place. Nor does this answer tell us in what way trinitarianism is relevantly different from polytheism (which, as we will see, St. Gregory’s final answer does).

    His second answer is directed toward pagan (Neoplatonist) philosophers, and addresses the metaphysics of “nature” (physis):

We thus say above all that the habit to name in the plural, with the very name of nature, those who are divided by nature and to say “many humans,” which is equivalent to saying “many human natures,” is an improper use of the word. That this is so may become clear to us from the following:

When we call someone, we do not name him according to nature, to avoid that the commonness of the name leads to some error. For each of those that listen could think to be he himself the one called, given that he is called not with a particular appellative, but based upon the common name of nature. But in pronouncing the word imposed upon him as proper – I intend that which signifies the subject – we distinguish him from the multitude. Thus there are many who participate in the nature, for example disciples, apostles or martyrs, but one alone in all is human, if it is true, as it was said, that “human” is constituted not by that which is proper of each one, but of that which is common to the nature. Human, in fact, is Luke or Stephen, nevertheless, if someone is human, this does not mean certainly that he is also for that reason Luke or Stephen.

However, the concept of the hypostases admits division, by the properties that are manifested in each one, and are considered numerically, according to composition. The nature is on the other hand one, united in itself and a perfectly indivisible unity, which does not augment by addition nor diminish by subtraction; but that which it is, is one and remains one, even if it appears in multiplicity: undivided and permanent and perfect, that is, not divided in the individuals that participate in it.

And as “crowd,” “people,” “army,” and “assembly” are all said in the singular, even if each is thought in the plural, so, according to the more exact manner of expression, one could also properly speak of one human, even though those in whom that same nature is manifested are a multitude. It would then be far better to correct our erroneous habit and not extend any more the name of nature to the multiplicity, rather than, as slaves of this habit, to transfer this error also to the divine dogma.

    St. Gregory of Nyssa gives this argument in greater detail in his other treatise To the Greeks, on the commonality of concepts. As we will see, this is not his final answer to the problem, but it’s still worth looking at. In both works, he rejects the Neoplatonic view that universals (i.e., nature/substance) are divisible collections of particulars, in favor of the view that universals are one and indivisible. [2] This is because universals (like “human”) refer to what is common: what it is to be human is the same in Luke and Stephen (hence we can’t pick them out of a crowd by saying “human”), and even though Luke has the whole “human,” for Stephen to be human is not for Stephen to be Luke. Furthermore, adding and subtracting human beings doesn’t change what it is to be human, which shows that human nature can’t be a (mere) collection.

    If this argument is correct, then common nouns that signify universals (like “human”) can only properly be used in the singular. St. Gregory appeals to collective nouns (“crowd,” “people,” “army,” “assembly”) as similar examples. [3] These nouns are collective because they refer to items whose proper parts can’t be referred to by the same name (i.e., a member of the crowd is not also a crowd). Likewise, universals don’t have proper parts that can be referred to by the same name, because they are indivisible and have no proper parts at all. [4] The whole universal is present in each particular, and can’t be divided between them. Therefore, Luke is a human and Stephen is a human, but they are not parts of “human,” hence strictly speaking there is only one human.

    St. Gregory goes on to say that even though referring to “many humans” is strictly wrong, it isn’t dangerous (“no harm results from the mistaken use of the name”). However, referring to “three gods” is dangerous, and we are constrained by Scripture (he cites Deut 6:4) to confess “one God.” In his treatise To the Greeks, he explains that because humans are born and die, we are constrained to count humans, but there is no such change in the Trinity. Furthermore, humans come from different causes, whereas the Trinity comes from the Father alone. “Therefore... we proclaim one God, one Cause [the Father] together with those who are caused by him [the Son and the Holy Spirit], since he co-exists with them.”

    Does St. Gregory of Nyssa’s argument here succeed? I’m not so sure that it does, and even if it does, it seems precarious to tie the doctrine of the Trinity to both metaphysics and grammar that were just as controversial in the fourth century as they are today. Fortunately, his final answer (which is directed not to the uneducated, nor to Neoplatonist philosophers, but to Christian philosophers like himself and Ablabius) doesn’t rely on such controversial metaphysics.

Most people think that the word “divinity” [theotēs] is based in nature. And as the heaven and the sun or another of the elements of the cosmos are denoted by those particular words that indicate the subjects, thus, also in reference to the supreme and divine nature, they say that the word “divinity” was fittingly adapted to that which is manifested, as a sort of proper name. But we, following the teachings of the Scripture, have learned that the divine nature cannot be designated with any name, and is ineffable. And we say that any name, either formulated by human usage or transmitted by the Scriptures, is useful to interpret that which is thought of the divine nature, but does not include the signification of the nature itself.

    St. Gregory’s final answer to the question starts from the apophatic assertion that the divine nature is ineffable, hence “divinity” and “God” don’t apply to the nature in itself. Rather, they refer to “the things around the divine nature” (tōn peri tēn theian physin). For example, when we say the divine nature is “incorruptible,” we say that the nature doesn’t undergo corruption, but we don’t say what it is that is not corrupted. Likewise, when we say “life-giving,” we indicate an action, but not what it is that performs the action. These names tell us what we can and can’t know about the divine nature, but they don’t tell us what that nature is in itself.

Therefore, considering the diverse activities [energeias] of the supreme power [dynameōs], we adapt the appellatives from the activities known to us. And we say that one of the activities of God is also the activity of watching and observing and, so to speak, to see, by which he sees all from above and regards all, seeing the thoughts and penetrating with the power of his gaze to the invisible things. Therefore we think that “divinity” [tēn theotēta] has received its name from vision [tēs theas] and that he who has the regard [tōn theōron] on us is called God [theos] both by custom and by the teaching of the Scriptures.

    The etymology of “God” (theos) from a verb like “to behold” (theaomai) was common in the ancient world. Gregory takes this to the logical conclusion that “God” and “divinity” are agent nouns, referring to the doer of a certain action (beholding), rather than a proper or common noun. Elsewhere he adduces Scriptural support for this claim, since other beings – including mere humans like Moses – are called gods (Exod 7:1; Num 22; 1 Sam 28:13; Ps 96:5; Jer 10:11), “god” can’t refer to an individual or a nature (Ad Eustathium). However, neither is the term “god” entirely disconnected from nature, since in metaphysics, natures ground certain powers (dynameis) which are expressed in certain activities (energeiai). [5] This is made clear in a passage from St. Gregory’s To the Greeks:

For [”God”] signifies the substance, not in that it represents what the substance is (that is obvious, since the “what” of the divine substance is beyond our understanding and mental grasp), but in that it hints at the appropriate characteristic by which we can lay hold of it – just as being able to neigh or to laugh, being what we call “natural characteristics,” signify the natures of which they are characteristics [idiomata].

Now it is a characteristic of the eternal substance to which Father and Son and Holy Spirit belong to survey and understand [theōrein] and know all things: not just what takes place in action, but even what is grasped in the mind. This is proper to that substance alone, since it is the cause of all things, has made all things, and reigns over all things as its own productions, presiding over all human affairs by some appropriate but ineffable word of command. Understood on this basis, the noun “God” signifies, properly speaking, that substance which truly rules all things as creator of all.

    Natures or substances, like hypostases, have their own characteristics (idiomata) which are powers and activities. Although to be divine, that is, to behold all things, is not what the divine nature is, it is a proper characteristic of the divine nature. Therefore, St. Gregory’s second and third answers to the question are not disconnected; but the question of the number of gods in the Trinity is, properly speaking, a question about activity and not nature. Thus, he asks:

Consider whether this activity is properly of only one of the persons affirmed by faith to be in the Holy Trinity, or if the power extends to the three persons... Scripture attributes the act of beholding equally to Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. David says, “Behold, O God [i.e., the Father] our defender” [Ps 84:9], and from this we learn that beholding is a proper activity of God, so far as God is conceived, since he says, “Behold, O God.” But Jesus also sees the thoughts of those who condemn him and question why by his own power he pardons people’s sins. For it says, “Jesus, beholding their thoughts” [Matt 9:4]. And of the Holy Spirit also, Peter says to Ananias, “Why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit?” [Acts 5:3] showing that the Holy Spirit was a true witness, aware of what Ananias had dared to do in secret, and by whom the manifestation of the secret was made to Peter.

    In response to this, St. Gregory of Nyssa anticipates that someone will point out that three people who perform the same kind of action are still called three – e.g., three philosophers, three farmers, three shoemakers – and so all the more we should refer to “those who are contemplated in the same activity” (i.e., the Trinity) as “three gods.” He begins his answer by articulating an account of how activities are individuated in the case of humans:

For humans, even if they exercise in much the same activity, complete their own affairs separately, each one alone, without participating exactly, in the proper activity, with those that exercise the same profession. For, even in the case of different orators, the profession, which is one, has the same name in the different orators, while those that exercise it act each one alone, one and the other pronouncing discourses in their own way. Therefore among humans, the activity of each being divided inside the same profession, one speaks in a proper way of many humans, since each one is separated in a proper environment, according to the particular conditions [idiotropon] of activity.

On the other hand, regarding the divine nature, we have not learned that the Father accomplishes something by himself, in which the Son does not participate, or that the Son in his turn operates something without the Spirit. But every activity which from God is propagated to creation and is called according to the various conceptions, has its origin from the Father, continues through the Son, and is accomplished in the Holy Spirit. For this reason the name of activity is not divided in the multiplicity of those who act, since the care of something is not exclusive to each one in particular. But all that is realized, regarding either our providence or the economy and order of the universe, is realized in a certain manner by the three, but the things that are realized are not in fact three.

    Just as in the case of beings, activities can belong to the same kind (e.g., oration), but are individuated by their own particular conditions. We can properly speak of multiple orators because, although their activities are of the same kind, each one has a different style of oration and does so at a different time and place. This is precisely what is not the case in the Trinity, because each activity of God is the same one from the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit.

    For example, the Scriptures tell us that our life is from the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but we don’t have three lives (nor does each divine person give us one-third of a life), therefore there is only one action and properly speaking one life-giver. Likewise, we read that God the Father judges all things through the Son in the Holy Spirit (Isa 4:4; Matt 12:28; John 5:22; Rom 3:6), yet there is only one judgment. St. Gregory concludes, “the name derived from activity cannot be divided among many where the result of their mutual activity is one.”

Therefore, every good reality and every good name, depending on the power and will without principle [i.e., the Father], are carried to completion in the power of the Holy Spirit by means of the Only-Begotten God, without interval of time or of space, since there does not exist any duration in the movement of the divine will from the Father through the Son to the Spirit, nor is it thinkable; and one of the good names and good concepts is that of “divinity.” Thus it would not be reasonable to divide the name in a multiplicity, since the unity in activity impedes the plural enumeration... Thus neither are they three gods, according to the meaning assigned to the term “divinity,” even though this appellation belongs to the Holy Trinity.

    This is the conclusion of St. Gregory of Nyssa’s third (and final) answer to the question of the number of gods in the Trinity. Because “God” properly refers to an activity, and every activity of the Trinity is one (proceeding from the Father through the Son in the Holy Spirit), the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit are one God (and one Creator, one Savior, one Judge, etc.). Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit are not additional deities who could potentially disagree with or thwart the will of God, but they are precisely the ones through whom and in whom the will of the Father is accomplished (hence, they are “the Word of God” and “the Spirit of God”).

    Does this agree with the customary use of language (unlike Gregory’s second argument)? I think so, even though the activity of the Trinity is far removed from what we’re used to as humans. The activities of humans are necessarily divided up because of our materiality: two people cannot act in the same way at the same place and time. But consider this example, given by Beau Branson in his dissertation. [6] Suppose, per impossibile, that there were three human beings unbound by the constraints of materiality, who always did (exactly) the same thing with one result, and they work for a general contractor. Would he be justified in telling you that he has “three painters” and charging you triple the man-hours for their one activity of painting? This would be extremely misleading if not false. But this scenario, which is impossible in the human case, is precisely the case for the immaterial persons of the Trinity.

    St. Gregory continues his letter to Ablabius by returning to his second answer, in case Ablabius’ opponents refuse to concede that “God” refers to activity rather than nature. Whether “God” refers to one or the other, the result is the same: “The Father is God; the Son is God; and yet by the same proclamation there is one God, because no difference of either activity or nature is contemplated in the divinity.” Finally, he considers whether this argument leads to the identity of persons in the Trinity (i.e., modalism). It does not, because there is a difference of cause between the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit; this difference belongs to “the how it is” (to pōs einai), rather than the nature, “the what it is” (to ti einai). Therefore, we rightly proclaim the distinction between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, while confessing them to be one God.

Unity of will and activity

    St. Gregory of Nyssa’s argument in Ad Ablabius shows in what sense the Trinity is one God, and how the relationship between the three divine persons is relevantly different from three human beings or pagan polytheism. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit share numerically one activity and will, which is impossible in the case of humans and certainly unlike the Greek gods. Because “God” according to its etymology refers to an activity, the Trinity is one God and not three. Therefore, although “God” as a proper noun refers to the Father as the sole cause of everything else, each of the divine persons are equally predicated “God” since they share the divine nature and activity, and together the three are one “God” since their activity is one (cf. Gregory of Nazianzus, Or 31.14).

    The collective use of “God” to refer to the Trinity isn’t found in the New Testament or the early Fathers prior to the fourth century. However, the gospel of St. John does explain the unity of God the Father and Jesus Christ in terms of the unity of their works (e.g., John 5:17-30; 10:25-38; 14:8-12). The view that “God” (theos) refers to an activity goes back to Plato, who derived it from theō, “to run” (Cratylus 397d), and was picked up by Philo of Alexandria, who interpreted it as “the creative power” (Abr 121). St. Justin Martyr understood “God,” among other titles, as “appellations derived from his good deeds and works” (2 Apology 6). St. Theophilus of Antioch derived theos from tithēmi, “to place,” or theō, “to run” (Autol 1.4-5). Clement and Origen of Alexandria likewise understood the divine names, including “God,” to refer to his power and activities (Clement, Stromata 5.12; Origen, On Prayer 24.2-3; De Princ 1.1.6). [7]

    St. Justin Martyr says that the reason the Word (i.e., Jesus) is called various names, including “God,” is because “he ministers to the Father’s will, and was begotten by an act of the Father’s will” (Dial 61). Likewise, St. Theophilus of Antioch states that the Word, “being God,... whenever the Father wills, he sends him to any place” (Autol 2.22). St. Irenaeus of Lyons says that the Son is named “God” because “he is the visible of the Father” (Adv Haer 4.6.6), yet “in the substance and power of his [i.e., the Father’s] being there is shown forth one God” (Epid 47). St. Hippolytus of Rome insists that although we speak of three persons, we “shall not, indeed, speak of two gods but of one,” because:

The Father decrees, the Word executes, and the Son is manifested, through whom the Father is believed on. This economy of harmony leads back to the one God [i.e., the Father], for there is one God. (Against Noetus 14)

I do not mean that there are two gods, but that it is only as light from light, or as water from a fountain, or as a ray from the sun. For there is but one power, which is from the All; and the Father is the All, from whom comes this power, the Word. (Against Noetus 11)

In his dialogue with Heraclides, Origen of Alexandria stated that there is a sense in which we refer to two gods (i.e., the Father and the Son), but they are one God because “the power is one.”

    In the Nicene period, St. Athanasius describes the unity of Father and Son in terms of icon theology: the Father is the one God, while the Son as his perfect image is called the one God (Orat c. Ar 3.3-6). This is not to the exclusion of identity of activity, since he goes on to explain the numerical identity of activity between the Father, Son, and Spirit (3.10-15). St. Basil also uses icon theology to describe how there are not three gods (De Spir Sanct 18.45-47), but affirms that all of God’s names refer to his activities rather than his substance (Letter 234), and that “in every activity, the Holy Spirit is indivisibly united with the Father and the Son” (De Spir Sanct 16.37-40). St. Gregory of Nazianzus says that God’s nature cannot be defined, but we know about him by the things he has made (Or 28.3-17), and derives “God” (theos) from theō, “to run,” or aithō, “to burn” (30.17-19). He explains the unity of the Trinity not only in terms of nature, but also “a union of mind and an identity of motion” (29.2), and that they aren’t “divided in will or parted in power” (31.14).

    In summary, all of the elements of St. Gregory of Nyssa’s answer in Ad Ablabium were present in Christian theology before him, although he was the first to clearly articulate them in this way. After the fourth century, the identity of will, power, and activity in the Trinity was widely agreed upon, [8] and was repeatedly affirmed at the ecumenical Council of Constantinople III in 681. [9] For example, Pope Agatho’s letter which was endorsed by Constantinople III states:

...as we confess the Holy and inseparable Trinity, that is, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, to be of one divinity, of one nature and substance, so we will profess also that it has one natural will, power, activity, dominion, majesty, potency, and glory. And whatever is said of the same Holy Trinity essentially in singular number we apprehend as from the one nature of the three consubstantial persons, having been so taught by canonical logic.

    Finally, St. John of Damascus writing in the eight century begins his Exposition of the Orthodox Faith by affirming the ineffability of God’s substance and nature (1.1-2). We can only make positive statements about “the things around the nature,” not the nature itself (1.4). The word God is “indicative of his activity” and is derived from theō, “to run,” or aithō, “to burn,” or theaomai, “to see” (1.9; all of these etymologies are found in the earlier Fathers). The Trinity, however, has no “difference of will, or intention, or activity, or power, or anything else that in us gives rise to a real and complete division” (1.8). At the end of his discussion of the Trinity, he says,

Owing to the three hypostases, there is no compoundness or confusion; while, owing to their being consubstantial and dwelling in one another, and being the same in will, and activity, and power, and authority, and movement (so to speak), we recognize the indivisibility and unity of God. For God and his Word and his Spirit are in reality one God. (Expos 1.8)

I don’t think there’s a better one-sentence summary of the doctrine of the Trinity than that. This sums up the monarchy of the Father (because the first person of the Trinity is “God” simpliciter); the unity of will and activity in the Trinity (because Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit are “his Word” and “his Spirit”); and the fact that this Trinity is really “one God.”

Conclusion

    The doctrine of the Trinity is not really metaphysically complex, at least, it’s not supposed to be. The statements of the Creed are enough: there is one God, the Father; and one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, true God from true God, consubstantial with the Father; and the Holy Spirit, the Lord, who proceeds from the Father and is conglorified with the Father and the Son. The purpose of this doctrine isn’t to idly speculate about God, but to explain how we can come to truly know him: only through his Son Jesus Christ, in his Holy Spirit, because Christ is the icon of the invisible God who perfectly reveals his will and activity to us.

    Any metaphysical speculation about the Trinity is only meant to defend and give substance to these basic affirmations. [10] In what ways are the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit similar and different? How are they one God and not three? Even so, St. Gregory of Nyssa’s answers to these questions don’t really rely on a lot of metaphysics. The similarity and difference in the Trinity is the same as the common human nature shared by individual human beings. The Trinity are one God because “God,” according to Scripture and reason, refers to an activity, and the will and activities of God the Father are perfectly and indivisibly enacted through Jesus Christ in the Holy Spirit.

    In conclusion, the doctrine of the Trinity is not a logical problem to be solved. It is the confession of the revelation of God the Father through our Lord Jesus Christ in the Holy Spirit, which is experienced in the liturgical life of the Church. The final word of the Church is therefore not analysis, but praise:

Come, O people, / let us worship the divinity in three persons: / the Son in the Father, with the Holy Spirit. / For the Father timelessly begot the Son, co-eternal and co-enthroned with him; / and the Holy Spirit was in the Father and is glorified with the Son. / We worship one power, one substance, one divinity, / and we say: “Holy God, / who created all things through your Son with the cooperation of the Holy Spirit; / Holy Mighty, through whom we know the Father, / and through whom the Holy Spirit came to dwell in the world; / Holy Immortal, comforting Spirit, / who proceeds from the Father and rests in the Son. / O Holy Trinity, glory to you!” [11]

______________________________

[1] Anna M. Silvas, Gregory of Nyssa: The Letters, 140-142, 187-189; although it’s not certain that all of these letters were written to the same individual.

[2] See both Richard Cross, “Gregory of Nyssa on Universals,” Vigiliae Christianae 56, no. 4 (2002): 372-410; and Johannes Zachhuber, “Once Again: Gregory of Nyssa on Universals,” Journal of Theological Studies 56 (2005): 75-98; who despite their differences agree that St. Gregory of Nyssa believed in the indivisible oneness of universals, and disagreed with the Neoplatonists on this point.

[3] Here he is once again drawing on the ancient Greek grammarians, who often used the same words as examples of collective nouns: Dionysius Thrax, Grammar 14; Apollonius Dyscolus, Syntax 1.67.

[4] This interpretation of St. Gregory of Nyssa is drawn from Beau Branson, The Logical Problem of the Trinity (2014), 123-134.

[5] Aristotle first made the distinction between dynamis (“power” or “potential”) and energeia (“activity” or “act”). This view is clearly articulated by St. Gregory of Nyssa in a fragment of a letter to Xenodorus preserved by St. Maximus the Confessor: “For we say that activity [energeian] is the natural power [dynamin] and movement of each substance without which a nature neither is nor is known.”

[6] Branson, Logical Problem, 191-193.

[7] David Bradshaw, Divine Energies and Divine Action: Exploring the Essence-Energies Distinction (2023), 119-122.

[8] However, the view that “God” refers to activity rather than nature fell out of popularity in the West after the fourth century. St. Ambrose of Milan, who was strongly influenced by the Cappadocians, affirmed that the name “God” (along with his other names) refer to his power and activity, and that the unity of divinity in the Father and the Son is a unity of activity (De Fide 1.1.6-3.25). St. Hilary of Poitiers, on the other hand, states that the name “God,” when applied to the Trinity, refers to the indivisible divine nature (De Trin 7.11-13). St. Augustine affirms that every name applied to God either refers to substance or relation, and “God” is a name of the substance (De Trin 5.2-8).

It’s hard for me to see how this doesn’t collapse into either tritheism or modalism. Unless we accept St. Gregory of Nyssa’s controversial metaphysics and grammar, according to which there is only “one human,” we would either have to say that there are three gods (i.e., three instantiations of the divine nature), or that there is only one instantiation of the divine nature. It seems like the latter is what later Latin theologians want to affirm, but not without difficulty (see for example the Fourth Lateran Council). On the other hand, if “God” refers to an activity, then the Trinity can be one God without any obvious danger of modalism.

[9] Scott M. Williams, “Discovery of the Sixth Ecumenical Council’s Trinitarian Theology: Historical, Ecclesial, and Theological Implications,” Journal of Analytical Theology 10 (2022): 332-362.

[10] Along these lines, it’s interesting to note that many of the later theological conflicts and dogmatic decisions of the Church are already present in ‘seed form’ in the fourth century. The Fathers wrote about the relationship between substance and hypostasis (cf. the Fourth and Fifth Ecumenical Councils), between will and activity, on the one hand, and substance and hypostasis, on the other (cf. the Sixth Ecumenical Council), icon theology (cf. the Seventh Ecumenical Council), and the distinction between God’s substance and activities (cf. the Palamite controversy). These later disagreements were not about idle metaphysical speculation, as opposed to the concrete matters of faith, but were precisely about how we can truly access God through faith in his Son Jesus Christ.

[11] Pentecost Vespers, Doxastikon (Tone 8, attr. Leo VI).

The orthodox doctrine of the Trinity (part 1 of 2)

“But the God who is over all has a special mark of his own hypostasis: that he is the Father” - St. Gregory of Nyssa, Letter to Peter 4

“For God and his Word and his Spirit are in reality one God.” - St. John of Damascus, On the Orthodox Faith 1.8

    In modern Christian theology, the doctrine of the Trinity is often equated with a certain set of propositions (that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are each God, that they are not each other, and that there is one God). The role of analytic and systematic theology is to figure out how these propositions are consistent with one another. [1] But this is a complete error! These propositions may be true, but the doctrine of the Trinity is not a sterile set of propositions. It’s a hard-won belief that is primarily defined in the Nicene Creed of 381 and experienced in the liturgical life of the Church.

    As a starting point, we should look at the Creed which originally defined the doctrine of the Trinity for the universal Church, and is still recited weekly by most Christians. Here are the relevant portions of the Creed:

I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth and of all things visible and invisible.

And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the only-begotten, begotten of the Father before all ages; light of light; true God of true God; begotten, not made; of one essence with the Father; by whom all things were made... [2]

And in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of Life, who proceeds from the Father; who with the Father and the Son together is worshipped and glorified...

This must be the starting point for any proper understanding of the doctrine of the Trinity. However, it’s not very detailed about the Trinity, apart from these basic points. Some questions still remain: for example, how can the Father and the Son both be “true God” if we believe in only “one God”? And to whom, or what, are Christians referring when we say “God”? [3]

     In order to better understand the doctrine of the Trinity, it’s important to look at its historical and theological background. In the aftermath of the Council of Constantinople I which produced the Creed, the orthodox Church was actually defined in terms of communion with certain bishops, including St. Damasus of Rome, Diodore of Tarsus, and St. Gregory of Nyssa. [4] It’s safe to say that if they don’t have the (or at least an) orthodox doctrine of the Trinity, then no one does. The one with the most (surviving) writings on this topic is St. Gregory of Nyssa, so we can turn to him to understand the meaning of the Creed in more detail. In these posts I will delve into two of his letters in particular, Ad Petrum and Ad Ablabium, to get a fuller understanding of the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity.

“The God who is over all... is the Father”

    The Creed begins with the dogmatic declaration that the “one God” is “the Father Almighty.” It also declares that Jesus Christ is “true God of true God” and “of one essence with the Father,” and that the Holy Spirit is “the Lord” who is “worshipped together with the Father and the Son.” This raises a few questions. What is the metaphysical relationship between God the Father and the Son such that “God” is truly predicated of both? (Likewise, that the Holy Spirit is “Lord” with the “one Lord Jesus Christ” and is also worshipped?) In what sense is the “one God” the Father if we believe in the Trinity? The letter of St. Gregory of Nyssa to his brother St. Peter of Sebaste helps answer these questions.

To his brother Peter, on the difference between ousia and hypostasis

    In order to understand the commonality and difference between the divine persons of the Trinity, the Cappadocian Fathers (including St. Gregory of Nyssa) brought in the metaphysical concepts of ousia (often translated as essence or substance) and hypostasis (often translated as person or subsistence). Today, these words are somewhat opaque since we don’t share the same philosophical background as the ancient theologians. Fortunately, there is a letter written by St. Gregory of Nyssa to his brother Peter that explains the meaning of ousia and hypostasis. [5] He begins by laying out the question at hand:

Since many fail to distinguish in the mystic dogmas the substance [ousia], which is common, from the principle of the hypostases, they fall into ambivalent notions and think that it makes no difference at all whether they say ‘substance’ or ‘hypostasis’. Consequently some who accept such notions uncritically are happy to speak of ‘one hypostasis’ in the same breath as ‘one substance’, while others who assert three hypostases think that they are bound by this confession to assert an equal number of substances. For this reason, so that you too may not succumb to similar notions, I have put together a short treatise for you as a memorandum on this topic. (Ad Petrum 1a-c) [6]

    He goes on to define substance and hypostasis in grammatical terms: 

In the whole class of nouns, expressions used for things which are plural and numerically diverse have a more general sense, as for example ‘man’. For anyone who employs this noun indicates the common nature, not limiting it to any particular man known by such a term. For ‘man’ has no more reference to Peter than it has to Andrew, John or James. The commonality of what is signified extends alike to all ranked under the same name and requires some further distinction if we are to understand not ‘man’ in general, but Peter or John.

But other nouns have a more individual signification, in that what is contemplated in the thing signified is not the commonality of nature but a circumscription of a some reality, which, as far as its individuality goes, has no communion with what is of the same kind, as for example, Paul or Timothy. For such an expression no longer has reference to what is common in the nature, but by separating certain circumscribed conceptions from the general idea, expresses them by means of their names.

When several are taken together, as for example, Paul, Silvanus and Timothy, and one seeks a definition of the substance of these human beings, no-one will give one definition of substance for Paul, another for Silvanus, and yet another for Timothy. No, whatever the terms used to indicate the substance of Paul they will also apply these to the others, and they are consubstantial [homoousioi] with one another who are designated by the same definition of substance. But when someone who has ascertained what is common turns his attention to the individual properties by which the one is distinguished from the other, the definition by which each is known will no longer tally in all particulars with the definition of another, even though it may be found to have certain points in common. (Ad Petrum 2)

    Up to this point, St. Gregory has just been describing the grammatical difference between common and proper nouns, as found in various ancient Greek grammarians. [7] The common noun refers to the ousia (substance), which has a shared definition between individuals of the same kind, whereas proper nouns refer to individuals which are distinguished by individual properties (idiomata) that are not shared. Individuals are consubstantial (homoousios) if they share a common definition of substance, and so two human beings such as Paul and Timothy are consubstantial.

This then is what we affirm: what is spoken of individually is indicated by the expression ‘hypostasis’. For when someone says ‘a human being’, it strikes upon the ear as a somewhat diffuse concept due to the indefiniteness of its meaning. Though the nature is indicated, that thing which subsists and is indicated by the noun individually is not made clear. But if someone says ‘Paul’, he shows the nature as subsisting in that which is indicated by the noun.

This therefore is the hypostasis: not the indefinite notion of the substance, which finds no instantiation because of the commonality of what is signified, but that conception which through the manifest individualities gives stability and circumscription in a certain object to the common and uncircumscribed. (Ad Petrum 3a-b)

    The ousia doesn’t have “standing” (stasis) outside of a hypostasis (“standing-under”), as for example humanity doesn’t exist outside of individuals like Paul. Gregory goes on to provide a Scriptural example: Job 1:1 refers to “a man,” but individualizes by saying “a certain one,” and giving the name, location, individual qualities (idiomata) of the soul, and external circumstances of Job, which distinguish him from other individuals such as his friends (Ad Petrum 3c-d). He continues: “Transpose then to the divine dogmas the same principle of differentiation which you acknowledge with regard to substance and hypostasis in our affairs, and you will not go wrong.”

Whatever your thought suggests to you as the Father’s mode of being for it is idle for the soul to insist on any discrete conception because of the conviction that it is above all conception you will think also of the Son, and likewise of the Holy Spirit. For the principle of the uncreated and of the incomprehensible is one and the same, whether in regard to the Father or the Son or the Holy Spirit. For one is not more incomprehensible and uncreated and another less so. (Ad Petrum 3e-f)

    Note that the divine nature, according to St. Gregory of Nyssa, is precisely “the Father’s mode of being” which is shared with the Son and the Holy Spirit. This mode of being isn’t defined by a positive attribute, since “it is above all conception,” but by the negations “uncreated” and “incomprehensible” (and “beyond... any such quality”: 3g). In addition to the common nature that is shared, “the distinction in the Trinity [must] be kept unconfused by means of the notes of differentiation” (Ad Petrum 3g).

    How do we find the individual properties of the divine persons? Gregory points to Scripture, which shows that every good thing comes from the Holy Spirit (1 Cor 12:6, 11); not only from the Holy Spirit, because “the author and cause of the supply of good things... is the only-begotten God” (John 1:3, 18; Col 1:17); and we are further led to the conclusion that “there is a certain power subsisting without generation and without origin which is the cause of the cause of all that exists. For the Son, through whom are all things, and with whom the Holy Spirit is always conceived of inseparably, is from the Father. For it is not possible for anyone to conceive of the Son if he has not been illumined beforehand by the Spirit” (Ad Petrum 4a-c).

    This order of revelation – in the Holy Spirit, through the Son, from the Father – lets us properly distinguish the persons and their idiomata:

Since the Holy Spirit, from whom the whole supply of good things flows forth upon creation, is attached to the Son with whom he is comprehended inseparably, and has his being dependent on the Father as cause, from whom indeed he issues, he therefore has this distinguishing sign of its individual hypostasis, that he is known after the Son and with him, and that he has his subsistence from the Father.

The Son who makes known “the Spirit who issues from the Father” [Jn 15.26] through himself and with himself, and who alone shines forth as the only begotten from the unbegotten light, has no communion with the Father or the Holy Spirit in the distinguishing marks of individuality. He alone is known by the signs just stated.

But the God who is over all has as a special mark of his own hypostasis that he is Father and that he alone has his subsistence from no cause, and again it is by this sign that he is recognized individually. (Ad Petrum 4d-f)

    The individual properties which define the divine persons are their internal relations, which we know by revelation, since God the Father is revealed through the Son in the Holy Spirit. It’s important to note that for St. Gregory of Nyssa, the members of the Trinity are the Holy Spirit, the Son, and God – whose particular property is to be the Father. 

    This is no accidental statement, since Gregory makes the same point in his response to the neo-Arian Eunomius, where he agrees with Eunomius’ statement that “he is always and absolutely one, remaining uniformly and unchangeably the only God” – that is, “if he is speaking about the Father,” because “he who confesses that the Father is always and unchangeably the same, remaining the one and only God, holds fast the word of godliness, if in the Father he sees the Son, without whom the Father neither is nor is named” (Contra Eunomium 2.5). The one God is the Father, and therefore cannot be conceived at any time apart from the Son, contrary to the Arian claim that the Son is an ex nihilo creation.

    St. Gregory has explained the distinctions between the persons, but he reiterates that “when it comes to being infinite, incomprehensible, uncreated, uncircumscribed by any place and all such qualities, there is no variation in the life-giving nature—of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit I mean” (Ad Petrum 4g-h). The ousia which is beyond all comprehension is shared invariably between the persons.

    Furthermore, there is no other uncreated reality or ‘void’ which could separate the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and so they are undivided and cannot be properly conceived apart from one another (Ad Petrum 4i). We know the Spirit only as the Spirit of Christ and of God (Rom 8:9; 1 Cor 2:12), so anyone who mentions the Spirit also confesses the Father and the Son (4k). The Son cannot be conceived apart from his Father, nor apart from his Spirit in whom he works all things (4l). And the Father cannot be properly conceived apart from his own Son and Spirit (4m). Gregory uses the (imperfect) analogy of a rainbow, which clearly has different colors, yet there is no intervening space that we can point to as a definite division between one color and another (4n-5g).

     Gregory ends this explanation by concluding: “Therefore, since reason has contemplated in the Holy Trinity both that which is common and that which is distinctive, the principle of commonality is to be referred to substance, while hypostasis is the distinguishing mark of each” (Ad Petrum 5h). He proceeds to offer an exegesis of Hebrews 1:3, which isn’t totally relevant for our purpose here, but is nevertheless interesting – see footnote for more details. [8]

The monarchy of God the Father

    St. Gregory of Nyssa’s explanation shows exactly what is the metaphysical relationship between the divine persons and their nature: it’s the same as the relationship between human individuals and their human nature. “God” as a name applies uniquely to the Father, since he is the ultimate cause of everything else including the Son and the Spirit – in fact, Gregory says that God is the person with the individual property of being the Father. This doesn’t contradict Nicene orthodoxy, since what the orthodox say is that the Trinity is equal in nature (homoousios), not in causal priority. The unbegottenness of the Father is his individual property, not a property of the nature, hence he can cause the Son and the Spirit and share his own nature fully with them. Thus the Creed says that the Father is God simpliciter, while Jesus Christ is “true God from true God... of one essence with the Father.”

    The belief in one God who is the Father can be traced back to the New Testament, where “God” (ho theos), when used as a proper noun, nearly always designates the Father of Jesus Christ. [9] This pattern of usage continued into the Apostolic Fathers. [10] The second-century Christian apologists and third-century theologians continued to use “God” (ho theos) in the sense of a unique title of the Father, but expanded the predicative usage of “God” (theos) for Jesus Christ, which is already found in the New Testament as well. [11] The Arian controversy at the outset of the fourth century was not about whether the Son is also the one God, but whether the one God is intrinsically the Father or not. Arius actually took the negative position, since his claims entailed that God is only extrinsically the Father insofar as he creates and begets the Son at some time. [12]

    This view was upheld by St. Basil the Great, the first of the Cappadocian Fathers and the brother of St. Gregory of Nyssa. In his homily against the Sabellians and Eunomians, he argues that John 1:1 (with its predicative use of theos for the Word) and 14:9 (“he who has seen me has seen the Father”) imply both the consubstantiality and distinction of the Son from God the Father (Sab 2). But in response to the Sabellians who claim that this implies two gods, he states:

There is one God because there is one Father. But the Son is also God, and there are not two gods because the Son has identity with the Father. For I do not behold one divinity in the Son and another in the Father... But when I say “one substance,” do not think that two are separated from one, but that the Son has come to subsist from the Father, his principle [archē]. The Father and the Son do not come from one substance that transcends them both. For we do not call them brothers, but confess Father and Son. There is an identity of substance because the Son is from the Father, not made by a command but rather begotten from his nature, not separated from him but the perfect radiance of the Father, who himself remains perfect... There are not two gods because there are not two Fathers. Whoever introduces two first principles introduces two gods. (Sab 3-4)

Basil’s position is clear: the Father is the one God because he is the sole first principle (mono-archē), which is known as the monarchy of the Father. The Son is predicatively God because he shares the nature of the Father (not an abstract divine nature, which would make them brothers), but this doesn’t introduce another first principle.

    St. Basil was also the first to use ousia and hypostasis to describe the Trinity, and he defines them as his brother does: “the distinction between substance and hypostasis is the same as that between the general and the particular, as for instance between the animal and the particular man” (Letter 236.6). But just like his brother St. Gregory of Nyssa, he does not see God as an abstract nature but a particular person. Basil lists the members of the Trinity as “one God and Father, one Only-Begotten Son, and one Holy Spirit” (De Spir Sanct 18.44).

    St. Gregory of Nazianzus, the other Cappadocian Father, also upheld the monarchy of the Father. [13] He clearly states, “There is one God because the Son and the Spirit are referred back to a single Cause” (Or 20.7). [14] “The three have one nature: God. The principle of unity is the Father, from whom the other two are brought forward and to whom they are brought back” (Or 42.15). The Theologian “define[s]... our orthodox faith” in this way:

...one God, unbegotten, the Father; and one begotten Lord, his Son, referred to as God when he is mentioned separately, but Lord when he is named in conjunction with the Father, the one term on account of the nature, the other on account of the monarchy; and one Holy Spirit proceeding, or, if you will, going forth from the Father, God to those with the capacity to apprehend things that are interrelated, but in fact resisted by the impious though so recognized by their betters and actually so predicated by the more spiritual. (Or 25.15)

The Father is the one God because he is the first principle (the monarchy), and is uniquely referred to as “God” when mentioned alongside the Son and the Spirit. But the Son and the Spirit are also referred to as “God” on account of their shared nature with the Father.

    In light of these statements, we can interpret the more controversial passages from St. Gregory of Nazianzus’ orations:

We have one God because there is a single divinity, and the things that issue from the One refer back to him, even if Three are believed in. For one is not more or less God; nor is one before and another after; nor are they divided in will or parted in power; nor are there any of the properties of divisible things, even if it is possible to perceive them. But if we have to put it succinctly, the divinity is undivided among things that are divided, as if among three suns that are related to one another there were a single co-mingling of their light. So when we look at the divinity and the First Cause and the Monarchy, what appears to us is One; but when we look at the things in which the divinity exists, and the things that exist from the First Cause timelessly and with equal glory, there are Three that are worshipped. (Or 31.14)

Each one is God when considered in himself; as the Father so the Son, as the Son so the Holy Spirit; the Three are one God when considered together; each one God because consubstantial; one God because of the Monarchy. No sooner do I conceive of the One than I am illumined by the glory of the Three; no sooner do I distinguish them than I am carried back to the One. When I think of any one of the Three I think of him as the whole, and my eyes are filled, and the greater part of what I am thinking of escapes me. I cannot grasp the greatness of that one so as to attribute a greater greatness to the rest. When I contemplate the Three together, I see but one torch, and cannot divide or measure out the undivided light. (Or 40.41)

The three most ancient opinions about God are anarchy [atheism], polyarchy [polytheism], and monarchy [monotheism]... Monarchy is that which we hold in honor. But it is a monarchy that is not limited to one person, for it is possible for Unity if at variance with itself to come into a condition of plurality; but one which is made of an equality of nature and a union of mind, and an identity of motion, and a convergence of its elements to unity – a thing which is impossible to the created nature – so that though numerically distinct there is no severance of substance. Therefore Unity having from all eternity arrived by motion at Duality, found its rest in Trinity. This is what we mean by Father and Son and Holy Spirit. (Or 29.2)

These passages could be taken to interpret, contrary to St. Basil, that the divine nature is the first principle and the three divine persons derive from it. But interpreted in light of the monarchy of the Father, it’s clear that when Gregory refers to “the One” from whom the others are derived, he is referring to the Father. He is the Unity who, by sharing his nature, moved to Duality (with the Son) and rested in Trinity (with the Holy Spirit; cf. Maximus the Confessor, Amb 23).

    In a characteristically dense and difficult passage (Or 40.41), St. Gregory of Nazianzus distinguishes three senses in which we speak of “God” (see italicized, bolded, and underlined above). There is a sense in which the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit together are truly (the) one God; each one is predicatively God because they share one nature; and the Father is the one God because of his monarchy.

    Sometimes a dichotomy is made between the “Western” view that the Trinity is (the) one God and the “Eastern” view that the Father is the one God, but both views are articulated by Sts. Gregory of Nazianzus and (as I will show in my next post) Gregory of Nyssa. Both statements are orthodox and true in different senses, but after the doctrine of the Trinity was clearly laid out in the fourth century, it became more common to speak of the Trinity as (the) one God. I think this manner of speaking was overemphasized in the West to the detriment of the monarchy of the Father, but Western theologians like St. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas still used “God” to refer to the Father in a unique sense. [15]

    The first anathema at the Council of Constantinople II in AD 553 insists “that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit have one power and authority, that there is a consubstantial Trinity, one divinity to be worshipped in three hypostases... There is only one God and Father, from whom are all things, and one Lord Jesus Christ, through whom are all things, and one Holy Spirit, in whom are all things.” This statement from the sixth-century ecumenical council still clearly equates the one God with the Father, as the first person of the Trinity, and insists that the Trinity is three hypostases which share one substance and divinity.

    Finally, let’s look at St. John of Damascus from the eighth century and his Exposition of the Orthodox Faith. Like the earlier Fathers, he starts by arguing for the existence of God, and then argues for the hypostatic reality of the Word of God and the Spirit of God (Expos 1.3-7). Thus, he says,

We believe in one God, one principle without principle [archēn anarchon], uncreated, unbegotten... one substance, one divinity, one power, one will, one energy, one principle, one authority, one dominion, one sovereignty, made known in three perfect hypostases and worshipped with one worship... (We believe) in Father and Son and Holy Spirit, in whom we have also been baptized. (Expos 1.8)

The “one God” here is unbegotten (agennētos), which John later in the same passage affirms to be a property of hypostasis and not substance. Therefore, he affirms that the one God is an individual (the Father), whose substance, divinity, power, etc., are shared between three individuals, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. He concludes his discussion of the Trinity:

Owing to the three hypostases, there is no compoundness or confusion; while, owing to their being consubstantial and dwelling in one another, and being the same in will, and activity, and power, and authority, and movement (so to speak), we recognize the indivisibility and unity of God. For God and his Word and his Spirit are in reality one God. (Expos 1.8)

    “For the Christian faith there is, unequivocally, but one God, and that is the Father” (Fr. John Behr, The Nicene Faith, II:307). This is certainly the view which is found in the New Testament, in the Nicene Creed, and in the early Fathers who formulated the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity. The trinitarian faith is a faith in the one God and Father, who eternally begets the Only-Begotten Son, Jesus Christ, and produces the Holy Spirit, with whom he shares his divine nature. [16]

The orthodox doctrine of the Trinity (part 2 of 2)

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[1] For example, see my old post (from when I was a unitarian) arguing against the logical consistency of trinitarianism – in which I made the ridiculous claim that the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity can be formulated while “ignoring claims about eternal generation and procession” – or my more recent post arguing for the consistency of a Thomist-inspired theory of the Trinity.

[2] The removal of the section of the Creed about the Incarnation is unfortunate, since the foundational hypothesis of all Christian doctrine is the person of the crucified and risen Jesus Christ. Note that the second person of the Trinity, according to the Creed, isn’t “the Word of God,” or any other such title abstracted from the concrete historical life of Jesus of Nazareth, but precisely “one Lord Jesus Christ.” However, my purpose here is to explain the doctrine of the Trinity only, so the section about the Incarnation isn’t directly relevant.

[3] Or rather, to whom should we be referring, since Christians may disagree about to whom or what the name “God” most properly refers.

[4] Clyde Pharr, The Theodosian code and novels and the Sirmondian constitutions (1952), 440.

[5] This letter is attributed by some manuscripts to Gregory’s brother, St. Basil of Caesarea, but the scholarly consensus today is that the manuscripts which attribute it to St. Gregory of Nyssa are correct. Even if it was written by Basil, his brother Gregory shared the same metaphysical framework.

[6] Translation from Anna M. Silvas, Gregory of Nyssa: The Letters: Introduction, Translation and Commentary (2007), 249-250.

[7] Apollonius Dyscolus, Syntax 2.22, 45; Diogenes Laertius, Lives and Opinions 7.57-58.

[8] St. Gregory of Nyssa seeks to answer the question: if the individual property of the Father’s hypostasis is to be unbegotten, how can the begotten Son be the “imprint of his hypostasis”? He argues that this phrase is to be understood in light of the previous phrase, “the brightness of his glory,” that the Son is distinct from the Father but inseparable from him. Moreover, whoever sees the “imprint” of the Son becomes aware of the “hypostasis” of the Father, because whoever sees the Son sees the Father (John 14:9). He is the perfect image of the invisible God (Col. 1:16) and his Goodness (Wis. 7:26). Therefore, he must be exactly like the Father in all respects apart from his begottenness, so that we can discern “all that the Father has” (John 16:15) through the Son (Ad Petrum 6-8). This argument partially explains Gregory’s Scriptural reasoning for the Son’s consubstantiality with God the Father, through the lens of icon theology.

[9] Karl Rahner, Theological Investigations (1982), I:143-146; Murray Harris, Jesus as God: The New Testament Use of Theos in Reference to Jesus (1992), 40-47.

[10] See especially 1 Clement 46.6; 58.2; 59.2-4, along with the confessions in the Martyrdoms of Ignatius and Polycarp, but this usage is found all throughout their writings.

[11] See especially Justin Martyr, 1 Apol 13; 61; 2 Apol 6; Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autol 1.7; 2.15; Athenagoras of Athens, Legatio 10; 24; Tertullian, Against Praxeas 13; Irenaeus, Adv Haer 2.1.1; 28.1-4; 30.9; 3.6.1-12.15 (which is all about proving that the one God is the Father, against the Marcionites); 4.1.1-5.5 (likewise); Hippolytus, Against Noetus 14; Ref 10.28-30; Novatian, De Trin 30-31; Origen, De Princ 1.1-3; CommJohn 2.12-33. St. Athenagoras’ confession of “a God, and a Son his Word, and a Holy Spirit, united in substance [ousia], the Father, the Son, the Spirit” (Legatio 24) closely anticipates St. Gregory of Nyssa’s more detailed formulation in Ad Petrum.

[12] The very first charge which St. Alexander of Alexandria brings against Arius is that “God was not always a Father, but there was a time when God was not a Father.” Arius’ statement of faith notably does not include the confession of “one God, the Father,” but rather “one God, alone unbegotten, alone eternal” (Athanasius, De Synodis 16).

[13] Although this is not uncontroversial, see Christopher Beeley, “Divine Causality and the Monarchy of God the Father in Gregory of Nazianzus,” Harvard Theological Review 100, no. 2 (2007): 199-214.

[14] Translation from Beeley, “Divine Causality,” 211. For another translation see Martha Vinson, St. Gregory of Nazianzus: Select Orations (2003), 111: “The oneness of God would, in my view, be maintained if both Son and Spirit are causally related to him alone without being merged or fused into him and if they all share one and the same divine movement and purpose, if I may so phrase it, and are identical in essence.” The second part of this sentence corresponds to the argument in St. Gregory of Nyssa’s Ad Ablabium, which I will show in my next post.

[15] There are many instances where St. Augustine uses “God” as a name for the Father, in line with the convention of his time, even though he states that “the Trinity is the one and only and true God” (De Trin 1.2.4). Aquinas says that “Father” is applied to God as a personal name because “God is the Father of the Son from eternity” (Summa Theologiae 1.33.3).

[16] According to some definitions of trinitarianism and unitarianism, this would count as unitarian. For example, Dale Tuggy (“Tertullian the Unitarian,” 180) defines “trinitarian Christian theology” as the belief that there is one God which or who in some sense contains or consists of three persons, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, who are equally divine; and “unitarian Christian theology” as the belief that there is one God who is numerically identical with the Father of Jesus and is not numerically identical with anyone else. Tuggy elsewhere (“On Counting Gods,” 197) defines “god” in terms of ultimacy, that is, “all else comes from him, but he comes from nothing else.”

By these definitions, every Christian prior to the 1500s – when some Protestants began to claim that the Son exists a se just as the Father does – was a “unitarian”. That is, they believed in one person from whom all else (including the Son and the Spirit) comes, who comes from nothing else, who is numerically identical with the Father of Jesus and not with anyone else. Even the fourth-century Fathers who explained the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity turn out to be “unitarians” since they assert that the Father is the one God and the sole principle (mono-archē) of everything else. Clearly something has gone badly wrong in Tuggy’s definitions, and the identity of the one God with the Father is compatible with the orthodox, trinitarian faith.