'Quickly to Saint Elias'

Today, 20 July on the Church’s calendar, we celebrate the memory of the Prophet Elijah the Tishbite (believed to have lived in the 9th century BC). I did a full post on St Elijah way back in 2009 when I was still a relatively new blogger. This will not be a full post in the old Logismoi style, but merely a couple of things I thought of posting related to the Prophet. 

First of all, it has long been noted that St Elijah has been taken as a type of the Christian monk. William Harmless has, for instance, pointed out the Elijah typology in St Athanasius’s famous Vita Antonii (which David Hicks at the CiRCE conference called his favourite book by St Athanasius): 

The most significant biblical type for Antony is Elijah. Athanasius says that Antony ‘used to tell himself that from the career of the prophet Elijah, as from a mirror, the ascetic must always acquire knowledge of his own life’ (VA 7). [1] Like Elijah, Antony is called a ‘man of God’ (VA 70; cf. 1 Kgs 17:18; 2 Kgs 1:9-13). Like Elijah, he dwells in the desert and is described as ‘seated in his mountain’ (VA 59, 60, 66, 84, 93; cf. 2 Kgs 1:9). Like Elijah, he win [sic] duels against those who worship false gods and foretells the death of a military commander who comes out to the desert to seize him (VA 86; cf. 1 Kgs 18, 2 Kgs 1). In 2 Kings, Elijah hands down his cloak to his disciple Elisha; in the Life, Antony has two Elishas, so to speak, handing down one sheepskin and his cloak to Athanasius and the other sheepskin to Serapion (VA 91; cf. 2 Kgs 2:13 ff.). In the preface, Athanasius says that he learned all that he could of Antony from a longtime disciple who had ‘poured water over his hands’, an allusion to 2 Kgs 3:11, in which Elisha is described as pouring water into the hands of Elijah. This Elisha-like informant was, presumably, Serapion (VA praef.). [2] 

Somewhat along the lines of the comment Harmless cites from VA 7, St Macarius the Great seems to find a deeper significance to the connection between the Prophet Elijah and the monastic life than the external desert life per se. In Homily 6.2, St Macarius writes: 

It is not becoming a servant of God to live in a state of disturbance, but rather in all tranquility and wisdom as the Prophet said, ‘Unto whom shall I look but unto him that is meek and quiet and that trembles at my words?’ (Is 66:2). And in the times of Moses and Elijah we find that in the visions granted them, even though there was a great display of trumpets and powers before the majesty of the Lord, still, amidst all of these things, the coming of the Lord was discerned and he appeared in peace and tranquillity and quietness. For it says: ‘Lo, a still, silent voice and the Lord was in it’ (1 Kgs 19:12). This proves that the Lord’s rest is in peace and tranquillity. For whatever foundation a person lays and whatever beginning he makes, he will continue in that until the end. [3] 

So the experience of the Prophet Elijah on Mt Horeb is taken as a model of the contemplative (theoretic) life—indeed, of hesychia itself. 

It is interesting to note that in the West, the model of the Prophet Elijah eventually became connected especially with an order that—while it later became part of the movement of mendicant friars, along with Franciscans and Dominicans—was originally a collection of hermits living in the Holy Land on Mt Carmel itself during the Crusades. As Thomas Merton observes: 

The Carmelites were originally hermits. And of course their life was the traditional hermit life known to the East from the earliest centuries of the Church. They lived as the desert fathers had lived eight hundred years earlier....They were in fact simple laymen, living as solitaries in a loosely connected group, in caves and huts on the side of Mt Carmel. Their manner of life was not yet institutionalized, and even when [c. 1209-1214] they first asked for a Rule, from the hands of the [Latin] Patriarch of Jerusalem [Albert of Jerusalem], that Rule was, as we shall see, deliberately kept simple and uncomplicated....In the words of the Rule itself, [the purpose of the Carmelite life] was: ‘Let each one remain in his cell or near it, meditating day and night on the Law of the Lord, and vigilant in prayer, unless he is legitimately occupied in something else.’ [4] 

And on the connection with the Prophet Elijah, ‘the symbolic adoption by the Carmelites of the prophet Elias as their “Founder”’: 

It is quite true that the hermits living on the slopes of Mt Carmel, near the ‘spring of Elias’, where the prophet himself had prayed and dwelt alone, and where the ‘sons of the prophets’ had had a ‘school’, [5] could themselves claim to be descendants of the ancient prophets. It is quiet true that Elias, in a broad sense, was the ‘founder’ of this way of life since he had in fact been the inspiration of those countless generations that had lived there in the places hallowed by his memory and stamped with his indelible character. [6] 

Finally, Merton notes that the Carmelites too found a deep typology in the Prophet of what appears to an Orthodox reader as an almost hesychastic contemplative experience of their own: 

The author of that moving ancient text on the spirit of Carmelite prayer and contemplation, the Institution of the first Fathers, interprets the retirement of Elias in typical medieval style. To hide in the torrent of Carith (2 Kgs 17:3) is to embrace the ascetical life, which leads to the perfection of charity by one’s own efforts, aided by the grace of God. To drink of the torrent is to passively receive the secret light of contemplation from God and to be inwardly transformed by His wisdom: ‘...to taste, in a certain manner, in our heart, and to experience in our spirit the power of the divine presence and the sweetness of the glory from on high, not only after death but even in this mortal life. That is what is really meant by drinking from the torrent of the joy of God...’ [7] 

One wonders if these Latin pilgrims had perhaps learned something from Orthodox monks that may have been living in the area. 

Finally, to bring the consideration of St Elijah down to the level of the ordinary life of traditional Christian laymen, in her fascinating book, Cosmos, Life & Liturgy in a Greek Orthodox Village, Juliet du Boulay writes: 

...there is a hint, in a poem to the Prophet Elias (Elijah) quoted later, that mountain tops are regarded as openings to the heavenly world. This prophet customarily has his churches on the tops of hills and mountains, so the invocation of Elias is the invocation of one who, as the inhabitant of the mountain peaks, lives at the point where earth meets heaven. [8] 

Eventually, du Boulay makes good on her promise to quote the poem, sung by young girls who perform a traditional folk ritual in traditional Greek villages on 1 May: 

Quickly, quickly,
Quickly to Saint Elias;
And Saint Elias to the sky
So that God will send rain
For the wheat, for the barley,
For all the grains of God.
Holes, holes for the wine,
Channels, channels for the water.
The farmer with his mattock
To stop the water running out. [9] 

In du Boulay’s words: 

The song takes the form of a call to the village to appeal to the Prophet Elias, previously noted as having his churches on mountain tops in reflection of his vision of God on Mt Horeb, so that he will intercede ‘for all the grains of God’, and its structure is parallel with a similar prayer made every week in the Divine Liturgy during the Litany of Peace: ‘For temperate weather, for abundance of the fruits of the earth, and for peaceful seasons, let us pray to the Lord.’ The structure in both is of an intercession made directly to a holy figure, and what is prayed for, translated as temperate weather (εὐκρασία ἀέρων), means precisely a good mixture or a good balance of the atmosphere, whose consequence is fruitfulness. Thus the symbolic language, which could be ambiguous on its own, is in the song and the mime that accompanies it made into a pattern of words and actions which is continuous with the pattern of prayer offered in church. [10] 

Although I’ve never witnessed this little ritual, I did have the good fortune once to attend a Divine Liturgy on the Feast of the Prophet Elijah at one of these little hilltop churches du Boulay mentions. My chief memories are of a woolly Pontian priest whose Greek dialect I couldn’t understand at all, and of the lingering breakfast in the cool shade just outside of the church. 

[1] This remarkable comment is found on p. 37 of Robert Gregg’s translation—St Athanasius the Great, The Life of Antony & The Letter to Marcellinus, tr. Robert C. Gregg (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist, 1980), p. 37. 

[2] William Harmless, Desert Christians: An Introduction to the Literature of Early Monasticism (Oxford: Oxford U, 2004), p. 70. I've added the citations from VA and from Scripture to the text, whereas Harmless had them in endnotes. 

[3] St Macarius the Great, Pseudo-Macarius: The Fifty Spiritual Homilies & The Great Letter, tr. George A. Maloney (NY: Paulist, 1992), p. 76. 

[4] Thomas Merton, ‘The Primitive Carmelite Ideal’, Disputed Questions (NY: The New American Library, 1965), p. 168. 

[5] Merton notes here: ‘Schola not only in the sense of a place where one learns, but in the more original and etymological sense of a place of leisure, quiet and retirement, where one can think deeply’ (ibid., p. 169, n. 2). 

[6] Ibid., p. 169. 

[7] Ibid., p. 172. 

[8] Juliet du Boulay, Cosmos, Life, & Liturgy in a Greek Orthodox Village (Limni, Evia, Greece: Denise Harvey, 2009), pp. 33-4. 

[9] Ibid., p. 88. 

[10] Ibid., p. 89.

Unexpected Communists in Books

The John Masefield collection I acquired Saturday at the McKay bookshop in Tennessee features a delightful little preface by the poet himself. Among other things, Masefield tells an interesting anecdote about one of his early influences, Pre-Raphaelite poet, Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909): 

...Afterwards, while I was still playing with words and measures, I met with the work of A.C. Swinburne. Like most young writers of ath time I at once succumbed to his talent. He could do easily and supremely all those tricks with words and measures which the young craftsman longed to be able to perform. In my enthusiasm for him I paid pilgrimages to Putney and watched outside ‘The Pines’ until the little figure of the Master appeared and went trotting up the hill. 

I never spoke with him. A few years later, when he had ceased to seem the miraculous Master of the art, it was my fortune for many days together to sit at the same table with him in the reading-room of the British Museum. He was then very old, frail, and deaf. The magnificent head was all that remained of the prophet and seer; the rest was a little shrunken stalk. The late Mr Watts-Dunton [critic and poet who rescued Swinburne from alcoholism] used to bring him there, see him to his chair, and order his books for him; he would then bellow in his ear that he would return at one o’clock and take him out to lunch. This message had to be repeated several times before the old man could grasp it, and by that time the reading-room was aroused. Grave heads from every table turned to watch. Presently, after Mr Watts-Dunton had gone, Swinburne would turn to his books. I know not what they were, but imagine that they were of a merry impropriety, for the old man used to roar with laughter over them and, being deaf, never knew what disturbance he was causing. An Anglican Bishop and an Abbot of the Roman Church haunted the same table, and from time to time in that room a little, smiling, erect, cynical man, with a face which none could forget, would pass. This was Lenin, then studying, I believe, the psychology of revolution. [1] 

The collection of personalities at the British Museum at any given time is positively staggering. One wonders who the Bishop and Abbot might have been. But the big surprise of course was Lenin. Not that I’d never heard of him visiting London or the library (on which visits there is an interesting article here), but simply because Masefield and Swinburne, especially when followed swiftly by clerics bearing mediaeval titles, don’t naturally lead one to expect the next figure to be the leader of the Russian Revolution.

But this was not my only encounter with communism this week. Looking through Fr John Romanides’s Patristic Theology during the work on my last post, I came across once again the Greek theologian’s interesting comments about communism there. In a lecture entitled ‘Metaphysics & Empiricism’, he writes:

Today all the Marxists who live in Greece are empiricists. Of course, they do not realize this, because Greek ideological Marxists are not familiar with the Marxist family tree like their counterparts in Europe and America are. Overe here they just mechanically memorize their lessons in Marxism like a Jehovah’s Witness would. 

I think it is a real tragedy—and I am not talking about a tragedy fo Aeschylus, but about something shameful [Trans. note—‘Here, Father John is making a play on the words Aischylos and aischos.’]—that there are not any intellectually compelling Marxists in Greece. OF course, their absence is a windfall for the police, the political Right, and Modern Greek theologians, but it is a misfortune for the pursuit of the truth. Marxism started out with principles taken from experience and ended up where it ended up. From a scholarly point of view, Marxism and Patristic theology share the same foundation, so that if Marxists and Patristic theologians would come together, they would be able to communicate with each other. 

Although it is true that Marxism came into conflict with religion, we need to ask ourselves, with what kind of religion did it come into conflict? It did not come into conflict with revelation, but with religion that is identified with metaphysics.... [2] 

Make of that what you will. Although they have much nostalgia for Byzantium, in my experience, Greeks seem to remember so strongly the tyranny of the Turkish Yoke, followed by the tyranny of the German kings imposed on the country after the Revolution in 1832, followed later by the Military Junta in 1967-1974, that even devoutly Orthodox Greeks are much more sympathetic to leftist politics than their counterparts have been in, say, Russia.

It is of course ironic, though I do not plan it this way, that I have posted this on the Fourth of July. On one level, there are those who would argue that communism is unpatriotic, and they are probably right. But on another level, there is the fact that today Americans are celebrating a Revolution. True, the American Revolution was not as radical as those traditionally advocated by communism, but still I fancy I see some irony in the fact that many who would condemn communist revolution will nevertheless celebrate a violent rebellion against a traditional government in order to end oppression and set up a new and experimental form of government.

[1] John Masefield, ‘Preface’, Poems (NY: Macmillan, 1941), pp. v-vi.

[2] Protopresbyter John S. Romanides, Patristic Theology: The University Lectures of Fr John Romanides, tr. Hieromonk Alexios (Trader), ed. Monk Damaskinos Agioreitis (Thessaloniki: Uncut Mountain, 2008), pp. 178-9.

'The Light of Thy Virtues Has Shone in the World'—St Macarius of Corinth

Today, 17 April on the Church’s calendar, we celebrate the memory of St Macarius (Notaras) (1731-1805), Bishop of Corinth. In the words of Constantine Cavarnos, ‘St Macarios was not only a great reformer of the Church, an inspirer, enlightener, helper and spiritual guide of men, but also a great ascetic, who strove to perfect himself and attain union with God.’ [1] Chrestos Yannaras refers to him as an example of ‘a conscious Hellenic presence’ which ‘from time to time across the centuries . . . shines through, linking Gregory Palamas to the present day.’ [2] Furthermore, Yannaras concludes his study of the history of modern Greek theology by referring to St Macarius as one of a series of ‘signposts . . . pointing to the real Hellenism, the historical embodiment of the Church’s Gospel.’ [3] Finally, Basil Skouteris writes:

In the person of St Macarius, we have a combination of many qualities: his saintliness, his innate wisdom, the support of the ancient tradition, and the ability as a speaker and a writer. His social activity, his philanthropy and spirit of renewal are certainly something wondrous. [4]

I posted at great length on the life of St Macarius last year (here), including first and foremost his rôle in the editing and publication of the Philokalia and Evergetinos, so I won’t try to rehash all of the details today. But I did find Skouteris’s description one aspect of his life on Chios rather interesting. Skouteris tells us:

At that stage of life we see St Macarius as he is about to create a circle of intellectuals around him, who were distinguished for their austere lives. Some were from Chios and some from other areas. Among them first and foremost was Athanasius of Paros with whom he had a close relationship and together they tried to repel the later innovations that entered the Church. They strove for the return to the traditions of the Ancient Church. There were others who demanded those things also: (a) Neiolos Calognomus, a native of Chios and a monk of Mt Athos, who was a close friend and fellow ascetic of Macarius. To Calognomus is attributed the building of St George at Resta wereNicephorus of Chios stayed after St George’s death, who was his student; (b) Joseph of Agrapha at Phournas, who followed Niphon from Mt Athos to Samos, Icaria, and Patmos, where he met Macarius and followed him to Chios; Joseph was an archimandrite, an intellectual and a writer for the Great Church; he composed a liturgical service to the Righteous Newmartyr Nicholas; for a while he was a teacher at the School of Chios; Nicephorus was also a teacher of that school as was Dorotheus Proios under Athanasius of Paros; (c) Meletius of Nicomedia, another Chiote and native of Prousa; (d) Joseph of Rhodes, a preacher, and author of many sacred poems. [5]

I note this passage because one of the things that fascinates me most about St Macarius is the extent to which he devoted his life to inspiring, encouraging, and guiding others. It also interested me that while Skouteris described this circle as ‘intellectuals’, they are also characterised by the austerity of their lives and their commitment to ‘the traditions of the Ancient Church’. It strikes me that the Church in America could really use such a circle in our own day, but while intellectuals and even traditionalists surely abound, I’m afraid austerity might be rather harder to come by!

I conclude with two things from Cavarnos’s wonderful book on St Macarius: a passage from the Saint’s New Martyrologium, and a hymn from the Akolouthia for the Saint by Nicephorus the Chian.

Now the Christians of the present age hear from Church histories the martyrdoms, the tortures that were endured by the Demetrioses, the Georges, the James’s, and in a word by all the other exceedingly brave old Martyrs—those who lived between the time of Christ and that of Constantine the Great; and they have to believe all these things as true, as a duty in matters of simple faith, which, according to Paul, ‘is a confirmation of things not seen’ (Heb. 11:1). But the antiquity of the period, the long time that has intervened from then to the present, can cause in some, if not unbelief, at least some doubt or hesitation. One may, that is, wonder how men, who by nature are weak and timid, endured so many and frightful tortures. But these new Martyrs of Christ, having acted boldly on the scene of the world, uproot from the hearts of Christians all doubt and hesitation, and implant or renew in them unhesitating faith in the old Martyrs. Just as new food strengthens all those bodies that are weak from starvation, and just as new rain causes trees that are dried from drought to bloom again so these new Martyrs strengthen and renew the weak, withered and old faith of present-day Christians. [6]

Finally, as Cavarnos writes, ‘Among the many hymns chanted in his honor, contained in the service by Nikephoros the Chian, is the following characteristic one’:

The voice of the Lord in the Gospels has found fulfillment in thee, as it found in the holy Ascetics and Hierarchs of old, O holy Father, Hierarch Macrios. For the light of thy virtues has shone in the world after the manner of the sun, O admirable one; and the heavenly Father, together with the Son and the Spirit—the Holy Trinity, our God—is glorified by all. [7]

[1] Constantine Cavarnos, tr. & ed., St Macarios of Corinth, augmented ed., Vol. 2 of Modern Orthodox Saints (Belmont, MA: Institute for Byzantine & Modern Greek Studies, 1993), p. 39.

[2] Chrestos Yannaras, Orthodoxy & the West: Hellenic Self-Identity in the Modern Age, tr. Fr Peter Chamberas & Norman Russell (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross, 2006), p. 252.

[3] Ibid., p. 308.

[4] Basil Skouteris, ‘Macarius Notaras & his Movement of Reform’, tr. Leo Papadopoulos, Orthodox Life, 54.4 (July—August 2004), p. 44.

[5] Ibid., p. 36.

[6] Cavarnos, pp. 87-8.

[7] Ibid., p. 41.

'An Illustrious Image of the Virtues'—St Philothei of Athens

Today, 19th of February on the Church’s calendar, we celebrate the memory of St Philothei of Athens (1522-1589), ‘the protectress of Athens and of its imperiled citizens, especially of oppressed women and virgins.’ [1] Last year I wrote a rather lavish post for St Philothei, my sister’s patron Saint, and I do not have much new material this year. But here is what I have, and I also refer readers to the previous post (here).

First, the account of St Philothei’s life from The Great Horologion:

Saint Philothei was born in Athens in 1522 to an illustrious family. Against her will, she was married to a man who proved to be most cruel. When he died three years later, the Saint took up the monastic life and established a convent, in which she became a true mother to her disciples. Many women enslaved and abused by the Moslem Turks also ran to her for refuge. Because of this, the Turkish rulers became enraged and came to her convent, dragged her by force out of the church, and beat her cruelly. After a few days, she reposed, giving thanks to God for all things. This came to pass in the year 1589. She was renowned for her almsgiving, and with Saints Hierotheus and Dionysius the Areopagite is considered a patron of the city of Athens. [2]

In last year’s post I referred extensively to the Life of St Philothei compiled by Holy Apostles Convent, which includes a translation of a very early Life of the Saint—apparently written somewhere from 1598 to 1602 [3]—as well as the following excerpt from the ‘Introduction’ to the Life & Service of the Saint published by the Archdiocese of Athens. Speaking of the charitable works of St Philothei, N.B. Tomadakis of the University of Athens writes:

Certainly, philanthropy was one of her main motives. At a time when there were no hospitals, no shelters for the poor, no homes for the elderly, and asylums for the protection of women, their place was taken by monastic institutions. In addition to her dedication to a virtuous life, practicing philathropy by offering protection, giving alms and ministering to the poor and sick, providing Christian training by teaching everyone ecclesiastical letter and liturgical knowledge, the holy woman contributed the following.

First, she founded schools for the children of the Athenians, to open their eyes to the tradition and renown of their ancestors. ‘Lay hold of instruction, lest at any time the Lord be angry’ (Ps. 2:12). Philothei brought this scriptural quote to reality. Within her flickered the hope of the rebirth of the Byzantine Empire and . . . the early deliverance from the bestial yoke of the conquerors.

Second, Philothei aimed at protecting the daughters of Athens from the disgrace of conversion to Islam. . . . The danger of being subjected to conversion existed not only for the noble daughters who were forcibly abducted by the Turks because of their beauty and grace, but also for the simple ones, the peasant girls, who were forced to work in Turkish homes and farms in order to sustain themselves. Pressure, necessity, and ignorance (the great deceiver) were causes in forcing the maidens into submission. However, Philothei, with her convent of virgins (Parthenona), her schools, her convent’s metochia (metochia) and family ties, was capable of either strengthening those under duress or sending them away and hiding them. This was done until their consciences recovered or the danger subsided; and, until fear was replaced by a spirit of faith and sacrifice for the sake of the Christian faith . . . . [4]

On the subject of the Life & Service of the Saint, Kontoglou tells us that the mysterious author was ‘some wise and pious man called “the Hawk” [!]’, and cites as an example of the beautiful encomia therein, ‘For thou, honoured one, didst possess the meekness of David, the wisdom of Solomon, the manliness of Sampson, the hospitality of Abraham, the patience of Job, the divine ascesis of the Forerunner . . .’ [5] One can find the entire Greek text—in an edition predating Tomadakis’s intro—here, and an English rendering of just a sampling of the texts here. The English translation does not strike me as nearly as faithful as it could have been. Nevertheless, in conclusion here are two stichera from Vespers for the Saint, such as they are:

O all-laudable Philothei, * we extol thee in songs of praise * as a habitation of every excellence; * as an illustrious image of the virtues; the bond of love; * the renowned and good report, * as the crown fair with many gems; * the most tranquil port; * the delightful and gentle mouth of wisdom; the bright light among monastics; * the holy river of sympathy.

As a brilliantly beaming star * in the darkness thou didst shine forth; * as a fragrant flower exhaling sweet perfume * in mystic meadows, O Philothei, didst thou blossom beautifully; * as the light and as the sun * thou in Athens didst brightly rise, * heating
with thy warmth * and enlight’ning all them that had been darkened in the somber gloom of bondage; * wherefore, we honour thy memory.

[1] The Lives of the Spiritual Mothers: An Orthodox Materikon of Women Monastics and Ascetics Throughout the Year, According to the Church Calendar, tr. & comp. Holy Apostles Convent (Buena Vista, CO: HAC, 1993), p. 73.

[2] The Great Horologion (Boston: HTM, 1997), p. 425.

[3] Lives, p. 73.

[4] Ibid., pp. 78-9.

[5] Photios Kontoglou, ‘Ἡ Πολιοῦχος τῶν Ἀθηνῶν Ἁγία Φιλοθέη’ (here).

Many years to my sister, Philothei!

'Vouchsafed the Intelligence of the Rhetors'—St Maximus the Greek

Today, 21 January on the Church’s calendar, we celebrate the memory of St Maximus the Greek (c. 1475-1556), the ‘Enlightener of the Russians’. [1] Pierre Kovalevsky calls him ‘the great Orthodox humanist’, and observes that he ‘was one of the most erudite men of his period’. [2] In this post on his life in Greek at the Vatopaidi blog, he is referred to as ‘a most learned monk, distinguished as a theologian, philosopher, writer, and poet during the 16th century’, and as ‘an enlightener and reformer of the Russian nation’. Here is the excruciatingly brief account of St Maximus’s life in the Prologue:

He was born in Greece, whence he was called to the court of Russian Tsar Vasilii Ivanovitch as Imperial librarian and translator. He laboured much and also suffered much for the truth. He spent a long time in prison, where he wrote the well-known Canon to the Holy Spirit which is still used in church, and entered into rest in the Lord in the year 1556. [3]

There is a great Life of St Maximus here, at the website of the St John the Baptist Cathedral (ROCOR) in Washington, DC. Also, in my post on St Maximus last year, I did my best to sketch a more substantial Life of this little-known Saint based largely on Fr Georges Florovsky’s Ways of Russian Theology and James Billington’s The Icon & the Axe—the two most substantial sources on St Maximus that I had at the time. As regular readers will know, however, I have since acquired a copy of Sir Dimitri Obolensky’s invaluable Six Byzantine Portraits, which dedicates a whole chapter to St Maximus. [4] Although my account of St Maximus’s life on the Holy Mountain and in Russia still stands, Obolensky has enabled me to expand greatly on the years he spent in the West, prior to his tonsure at Vatopaidi. It is worth quoting Obolensky’s own words about our historical knowledge of this period.

. . . In 1942 the Russian scholar Élie Denissoff published in Louvain a book entitled Maxime le Grec et l’Occident. In it he proved conclusively that Maxim was none other than Michael Trivolis, a Greek expatriate who frequented the humanistic schools of Italy in the late fifteenth century. It is not often that the biography of a major historical figure is so unexpectedly enlarged by a scholarly discovery; and Denissoff could justifiably claim that, thanks to his book, the life of Maximos the Greek assumed the shape of a diptych, of which Mount Athos is the hinge, and Italy and Muscovite Russia are the two leaves.

There is no need to rehearse here Denissoff’s arguments. They are based on compelling historical, literary, and graphological evidence, and are generally accepted today. [5] Thus, in any account of the life and work of Maximos the Greek, we must start with Michael Trivolis. [6]

Now, to my mind the most fascinating information we gain from this is precisely all of the detail of St Maximus’s life in the West. For instance, Obolensky points out, ‘In Florence, where he [probably moved in 1492 and] remained for three years, his vocation as a scholar was shaped by the teaching of the Greek philologist John [aka ‘Janus’] Lascaris and by the influence of the great Platonist Marsilio Ficino.’[7] Lascaris was a librarian and book-collector for Lorenzo de’ Medici, and one of the men responsible for the flourishing of Greek studies in Renaissance humanism. [8] Ficino, for those who do not know him, is the ‘most central and most influential representative of Renaissance Platonism . . . , in whom the medieval philosophical and religious heritage and the teachings of Greek Platonism are brought together in a novel synthesis.’ [9] Ficino produced the first complete translations of Plato and Plotinus into Latin, as well as the Corpus Hermeticum and the writings of St Dionysius the Areopagite.

Another important influence is the Dominican reformer, Savonarola, whom I mentioned briefly in my earlier post. Obolensky writes:

He probably never met him personally; but he certainly heard him preach. The full impact of this influence was to come later, after Savonarola’s execution in 1498. Later still, in Moscow, he wrote for the Russians a detailed account of Savonarola’s life, describing his famous Lenten sermons, his conflict with the pope, and his grisly execution in Florence. He extolled him as a man ‘filled with every kind of wisdom’, and added, perhaps with a touch of tactful self-censorship, that, had Savonarola not belonged to the Latin faith, he would surely have been numbered among the Church’s holy confessors. . . . [T]he influence of the Italian friar [is easily identifiable] on Maxim’s later concern with moral problems, on his love of poverty, and perhaps too on his outspokenness and courage in adversity. [10]

Obolensky also mentions a name which should be familiar to all true bibliophiles: that of Aldus Manutius (1449-1515), the famous humanist printer who invented italic type. The Aldine Press in Venice was set up ‘primarily for the printing of Greek texts’, both classical and patristic. [11] When St Maximus went to Venice in 1496, he ‘became associated with Aldus’. Indeed, ‘He later told a Russian correspondent that he often visited Aldus for reasons which had to do with books.’ [12] Obolensky points out that it is possible St Maximus may actually have been employed at the press, ‘and that he worked on the edition of Aristotle which Aldus was then preparing in Venice; but we cannot be certain of this. His later work . . . suggests that he had been trained to edit texts . . . .’ [13] It is interesting to note too that according to Dennis Lackner’s brilliant article on the Camaldolese order and humanist Platonism, ‘Five humanists associated with the Aldine circle . . . either were or became Camaldolese hermits’, that is, hermits in the tradition of St Romuald of Ravenna (about whom I have blogged here and here). [14] In this light, the decision of young Michael Trivolis to join the Dominicans, and his later departure for Mt Athos, acquire new interest.

Next, in 1498, in his apparent quest to meet all of the important figures of Renaissance Italy, St Maximus came into ‘the service of another Italian, the distinguished Hellenist Gianfrancesco Pico della Mirandola, nephew of the celebrated Platonist Giovanni Pico’. [15] Obolensky writes:

The four years which he spent at Mirandola were an important landmark in his life. Gianfrancesco Pico was not only a classical scholar, a true ελληνομανής, as Michael wrote to a friend in March 1500. He was also a convinced Christian, a student of patristic writings, and a great admirer of Savonarola. The news of Savonarola’s execution was received at Mirandola while Michael was there. [16]

But perhaps the most surprising fact brought to light by Denissoff’s discovery—which was entirely unknown to me at the time of the writing of my earlier post and first brought to my attention in a comment there by my good friend Esteban Vázquez—is that under the influence of Savonarola, the young Michael Trivolis actually joined the Dominican Order. Obolensky notes that around 1500, the influences of Platonic philosophy and classical scholarship, the patristic tradition, and Savonarola must all have been competing somewhat in him, and the one that won out at the time was the last. Obolensky writes, ‘A note in an unpublished chronicle of the monastery of San Marco in Florence states that in 1502 Michael (‘Frater Michael Emmanuelis de civitate Arta’) was professed as a monk of that monastery. It is worth noting that this was the very house of which Savonarola had been the prior.’ [17]

Already by 1504, however, Michael had abandoned the Order. Though vague about his reasons, in a letter to a friend ‘he compared himself to a ship tossed by the waves in the midst of the sea, and begged for help in his present affliction’. In 1505 or 1506, he became a monk at Vatopaidi Monastery on the Holy Mountain and was ‘back in the Church of his fathers’. Many Greeks at the time had in Obolensky’s words a ‘tolerant attitude towards the Latin Church’, but this was not true of Vatopaidi, ‘where a harsher attitude towards the Latins prevailed’. [18] Obolensky writes:

In his Russian writings Maximos severely criticized several Latin beliefs and practices, which he roundly denounced as heretical. Foremost among them was the doctrine of the Filioque, the major bone of theological contention between the Greek and Latin Churches since the ninth century. The other major issue, the claims of the papacy to exercise direct and universal jurisdiction throughout the Christian Church, is touched upon more lightly by Maximos. Most of his strictures are directed at what he considered to be the popes’ arrogant desire to extend their own power. On the whole, Maximos’s criticism of the Latin Church was measured and courteous, and lacked the emotional overtones of the anti-Latin pronouncements of many of his contemporaries, Greek and Russian. [19]

I surmised in last year’s post that St Maximus had gone to the Holy Mountain wanting ‘something more than worldly learning and glory’, and this is no doubt true, but when I wrote those words I was ignorant of his two years as a Dominican. In the Order of Preachers, and particularly in the priory of Savonarola, he had presumably already sought something more than these. To go to the Holy Mountain, St Maximus must also have wanted the Orthodox Faith and, perhaps, the Eastern tradition of unceasing prayer.

While noting that St Maximus’s ten or so years on the Holy Mountain are ‘the least well documented’ of his life, Obolensky writes about them at some length:

A few writings by him have survived from this period, mostly Greek epitaphs in verse. They are distinguished by elegance of form and a liking for classical imagery. On a deeper level, there is no doubt that on Mount Athos Maximos immersed himself in Byzantine literature, both religious and secular. . . . It was almost certainly in Vatopedi that Maximos studied in depth the works of John of Damascus, the Byzantine theologian who seems to have been the most congenial to him, and whom he later described as having reached ‘the summit of philosophy and theology’. Among the early Fathers Gregory of Nazianzus appears to have been his favourite. Of the secular Byzantine works, the one he used, and translated most frequently in Russia, was the encyclopædia known today as Suda and formerly believed to have been written by a certain Suidas. [20]

. . . To judge from his later Russian writings, he was fully aware, from a strictly orthodox standpoint, of the pitfalls of Platonism; and he explicitly rejected some of Plato’s teachings, such as the belief he ascribed to him in the coeternity of God and the world. Maximos’s views on the relationship of faith to knowledge were unimpeachably orthodox. ‘Do not think’, he wrote in Russia, ‘that I condemn all external [i.e. secular] learning that is useful . . . I am not so ungrateful a student of this learning. Although I did not long remain on its threshold, yet I condemn those who pursue it through excessive rational inquiry.’ . . . [21]

To conclude this lengthy addendum to my earlier post, it is interesting to note the words of a man who must have known St Maximus well during this period. In a letter to Tsar Vasili III, St Maximus’s own abbot at Vatopaidi refers to him as ‘our most honourable brother Maximos . . . , proficient in divine Scripture and adept in interpreting all kinds of books, both ecclesiastical and those called Hellenic [i.e. secular], because from his early youth he has grown up in them and learned [to understand] them through the practice of virtue, and not simply by reading them often, as others do.’ [22]

As I have mentioned, there is not much material in English on St Maximus. A kind reader by the name of Symeon pointed out the Obolensky book to me last year, as well as the ‘unfortunately very scarce’ (and thus, prohibitively expensive) study by Jack V. Haney, From Italy to Muscovy: The Life and Works of Maxim the Greek, according to Obolensky ‘the only book in English on Maxim’. [23] I know of at least one book on him in Greek—Άγιος Μάξιμος ο Γραίκος ο Φωτιστής των Ρωσών [St Maximus the Greek, the Enlightener of the Russians], by the Holy Monastery of Gregoriou, Mt Athos, which contains an introduction, a Life, and a brief anthology of some of his writings translated into Modern Greek. [24] On the Internet there are a few things. In English, there is the short Life at the DC cathedral website (here), as well as this article on discovery of his fragrant remains in 1996. In Greek, there is this brief Life and this longer one (from the Vatopaidi Synaxarion) at the Vatopaidi blog. There is a blog devoted to him in Russian (here), the most recent post of which—as of today—links to a fascinating sort of dictionary of names written by the Saint (here). There is also a website in Russian (here), which contains a long Life, links to his works in Russian, plus a canon to the Saint in Slavonic and two lengthy prayers of the sort printed at the end of Akathists, as well as a megalynarion. Perhaps next year I will have translated some of the Saint’s writings from Modern Greek, or I could post more on his Russian career. Who knows? Perhaps some holy person will even send me a copy of Haney’s book!

In conclusion, I offer the (rather wordy) Russian Troparion and Kontakion of the Saint: [25]

Troparion Tone 8

Made brilliant by the radiance of the Spirit, through divine wisdom thou wast vouchsafed the intelligence of the rhetors, enlightening with the light of piety the hearts of men, which were darkened by ignorance; and thou was shown to be a most splendid lamp of Orthodox, O venerable Maximus. Wherefore, having become a stranger and wanderer in thy zeal for Him Who seeth all things, thou was a sojourner in the land of Russia, suffering imprisonment and incarceration at the command of the sovereign; yet thou art crowned by the right hand of the Most High, and workest all-glorious miracles. Be thou also a true mediator for us who honor thy holy memory with love.

Kontakion Tone 8

With divinely inspired writings and the preaching of theology didst thou denounce the vanity of the heretics, O thou who art most rich; and establishing them firmly in Orthodoxy, thou didst guide them to the path of true understanding. And like a divinely melodious harp thou didst delight and unceasingly gladden the minds of those who hearkened unto thee, O right wondrous Maximus. Wherefore, we beseech thee: Entreat Christ God, that He send down remission of sins upon those who with faith hymn thy most holy dormition O Maximus our father.

[1] According to the title of Άγιος Μάξιμος ο Γραίκος ο Φωτιστής των Ρωσών, by the Holy Monastery of Gregoriou, Mt Athos (Athens: Armos, 1991).

[2] Pierre Kovalevsky, St Sergius & Russian Spirituality, trans. W. Elias Jones (Crestwood, NY: 1976), p. 142.

[3] St Nicholas (Velimirović), The Prologue from Ochrid, Vol. 1, trans. Mother Maria (Birmingham: Lazarica, 1986), p. 83.

[4] Sir Dimitri Obolensky, Six Byzantine Portraits (Oxford: Oxford U, 1999), pp. 201-19.

[5] It is worth noting that what Obolensky says here is true, not only of Western scholarly publications, but even of the Vatopaidi Synaxarion (Monk Moses Agioreites, Βατοπαιδινό Συναξάρι [Mt Athos: Vatopaidi Monastery, 2007]) and the book mentioned in note 1 written by the Fathers of Gregoriou Monastery on the Holy Mountain (see for example Άγιος Μάξιμος, pp. 17-18).

[6] Obolensky, p. 202.

[7] [Ibid., p. 202.

[8] L.D. Reynolds & N.G. Wilson, Scribes & Scholars: A Guide to the Transmission of Greek & Latin Literature, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford U, 1974), p. 154.

[9] Paul Oskar Kristeller, Renaissance Thought & Its Sources, ed. Michael Mooney (NY: Columbia U, 1979), p. 58.

[10] Obolensky, p. 203. Concerning this last point, Obolensky later notes that St Maximus ‘unfavourably’ compared the ‘Possessing’ monks of 16th-c. Russia ‘with the Carthusians, Franciscans, and Dominicans he had known in Italy, who led a life of dedicated poverty’ (ibid., p. 216).

[11] Reynolds & Wilson, p. 138.

[12] Obolensky, p. 204.

[13] Ibid., p. 204.

[14] Dennis F. Lackner, ‘The Camaldolese Academy: Ambrogio Traversari, Marsilio Ficino & the Christian Platonic Tradition’, Marsilio Ficino: His Theology, His Philosophy, His Legacy, ed. Michael J.B. Allen & Valery Rees, with Martin Davies (Leiden: Brill, 2002), p. 43. Lackner’s article is a fascinating one, and its author a friendly fellow. He actually e-mailed me with compliments on this post on St Romuald, wherein I first made use of his article. He also graciously forgave me for misattributing it!

[15] Obolensky, p. 204. Concerning this Pico’s uncle, Russell Kirk has referred to his famous Oration on the Dignity of Man as ‘the most succinct expression of the mind of the Renaissance’ (‘Introduction’, Oration on the Dignity of Man, by Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, tr. A. Robert Caponigri [Chicago: Regnery Gateway, 1956], p. xi).

[16] Obolensky, p. 204.

[17] Ibid., p. 205.

[18] Ibid., p. 205

[19] Ibid., pp. 205-6.

[20] Ibid., p. 206.

[21] Ibid., p. 207.

[22] Qtd. in ibid., p. 208

[23] Ibid., p. 210.

[24] See note 1. Interestingly, among St Maximus’s writings included here is a ‘Discourse to Those who Want to Leave Their Spouses without a Legitimate Reason & Enter the Monastic Life’ (Άγιος Μάξιμος, pp. 150-3)!

[25] These hymns, from the Menaion translated from the Slavonic by Reader Isaac Lambertsen and published by St John of Kronstadt Press, were posted by Fr David Moser here. In Greek, there is a different set of hymns, which can be found here.

Yannaras's Orthodoxy & the West Reviewed

In his book Orthodoxy and the West: Hellenic Self-Identity in the Modern Age, trans. Fr Peter Chamberas and Norman Russell (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross, 2006), the Greek philosopher and theologian Chrestos* Yannaras is discussing the impact on Greek theology in the 1960s of Russian émigré theologians newly translated into Greek, when he comments, ‘Florovsky’s book in particular, Ways of Russian Theology, analyzed the Westernization of Russian Orthodoxy, stimulating awareness of the equivalent alienation of Orthodox thought and life in Greece’ (p. 292). The observation is significant. As the central focus of Orthodoxy and the West is precisely just that ‘equivalent alienation’, we are on solid ground in considering it as a kind of Ways of Greek Theology, but unlike Fr Florovsky’s book, giving ‘life’ nearly as equal a share of consideration as ‘thought’.

Yannaras begins documenting Greece’s ‘Western captivity’ earlier than many might expect: 1354, ‘when Demetrios Kydones, at the invitation of the Emperor John Kantakouzenos, translated into Greek the Summa contra Gentiles of Thomas Aquinas’ (p. 3). He then carefully and masterfully traces the course of that captivity throughout all of the succeeding centuries. It is, for the most part, a frustrating and tragic tale, and, like Fr Florovsky’s book, may prove rather disillusioning for many Orthodox readers. Yannaras finds a few bright spots amid all of the sell-outs and xenomaniacs: Patriarch Jeremias II, St Cosmas of Aetolia, St Macarius of Corinth, General Makriyannis, and Alexander Papadiamandis are the main figures he names as the ‘signposts . . . pointing to the real Hellenism, the historical embodiment of the Church’s Gospel’, and ‘the surprising exceptions to the story of decline now reaching the end of its cycle’ (p. 308).

It should also be pointed out that the last two chapters, ‘XVIII. Papadiamantis and His School’ and ‘XIX. The 1960s’, are devoted in general to positive figures and developments. Apart from those already named, as well as Kontoglou and several of the authors of the SVS ‘Contemporary Greek Theologians’ series, it was interesting to read Yannaras’s evaluation specifically of the often controversial figure of Fr John Romanides. The author lauds The Ancestral Sin unreservedly, crediting it with establishing ‘for the first time in Greek’ that the Western legalistic framework constituted a serious distortion of ‘the Church’s Gospel’ (pp. 275, 276). He is not so sanguine however about Fr Romanides’s more historically and culturally oriented works, calling them ‘too polemical’ and lamenting the ‘emphasis on intrigues and conspiracies’ (p. 277). Yannaras concludes by stating, ‘Before resigning his university chair in 1982, he taught a peculiar kind of neo-moralism, identifying the priesthood solely with a spiritual state leading to the vision of God, and disputing the ecclesiological validity of the contemporary Orthodox Church’ (p. 277). This is one of the few critical comments in a chapter full of praise for contemporary theologians.

But despite ‘the surprising exceptions’ and the promising writers described in these two chapters, the book is dominated by such figures as Kydones, who formally converted to Roman Catholicism in 1364 (p. 45), Patriarch Meletios (Pegas) of Alexandria (1550-1601), who fought ‘papal propaganda’ only to replace it with the Protestantism he had learned at Augsburg (p. 75), Theophilos Korydalleus (1570-1645), who replaced theology with scholasticism at the Patriarchal Academy in Constantinople (pp. 63-4), Adamantios Korais (1748-1833), an admirer of Voltaire who ‘attempted to reform Greek “religion” in accordance with his particular Enlightenment sensibilities’ (p. 148), Konstantinos Kontogonis (1812-1878), a product of Munich and Leipzig who singlehandedly taught every course at Greece’s only theological school from 1838 to 1852 (p. 196), Chrestos Androutsos (1869-1935), who rejected the essence/energies distinction (p. 203) and accepted ‘Anselm’s juristic interpretation of Christ’s crucifixion’ (p. 205), and Panagiotes Trembelas (1886-1977), whose hugely influential Dogmatics is ‘a non-Orthodox treatise compiled from Orthodox materials’ (p. 210) and who, as a member of the ‘Zoe’ Brotherhood, helped to disseminate an almost fascistic Protestant pietism that dominated Greek religious life in the mid-twentieth century.

Apart from the specific figures themselves, the Orthodox reader is dismayed to read of the invitations by Orthodox bishops to Jesuit missionaries and the founding of various Jesuit schools in Greece—even on Mt Athos—in the 17th century (pp. 59-62), of the destruction of seventy-two Byzantine or later churches to build the ‘neoclassical’ cathedral of Athens, designed by Theophil Hansen, built by Frederic Boulanger, and painted in the naturalistic Western style by the German artist, Alexander Maximilian Seitz (p. 167), or of the activities of the ‘Zoe’ Brotherhood mentioned above, which preached, catechised, opened schools, translated Protestant literature, and organised home Bible studies and discussion groups focusing on the Zoe magazine, called ‘Friendly Circles’, which met ‘not just in every neighborhood but virtually in every block’ (p. 231)—all on the basis of a blatantly Protestant and pietistic conception of Christianity.

It is a dreary tale, not just because it is so disheartening, but because it often seems like an endless parade of names, dates, and faulty ideas. Even at the book’s most difficult moments, however, one is acutely aware that one is getting much-needed, useful information. Yannaras has performed an invaluable service in documenting all of this, and Fr Chamberas and Norman Russel have done another in translating it for the Anglophone Orthodox world. Because Orthodox theology in the West has been so dominated by the Russian émigrés, Yannaras’s tale will be largely unfamiliar to many Orthodox readers. For one thing, it constitutes wonderful background for reading the St Vladimir’s Seminary Press’s ‘Contemporary Greek Theologians’ series, all of whom are mentioned by name in the last chapter—‘The 1960s’—in connection with the return of Greek theology to the path laid out by the Fathers, and particularly by St Gregory Palamas. But the book is also a good general introduction to the various historical problems of Orthodoxy in Greece. Indeed, I daresay it is an indispensable addition to the Orthodox theological library in English.

Yet Orthodoxy and the West is not entirely without defects, I fear. In another post, I have already touched on one of the more problematic passages of the book—Yannaras’s attack on St Nicodemus of the Holy Mountain (pp. 131-7). But having now read the entire book, I am afraid this attack is only a symptom of a deeper problem. In his response to Yannaras’s comments on St Nicodemus (‘Introduction’, Exomologetarion: A Manual of Confession, by St Nicodemus of the Holy Mountain, trans. Fr George Dokos [Thessalonica: Uncut Mountain, 2006], pp. 33-60), Fr George Metallinos refers to an ‘attempt to overstate the admittedly pernicious spirit of Pietism’, which ‘little helps those who ardently apply their anti-Pietistic criteria to approach the work of St Nikodemos with purely Orthodox ecclesiological criteria’ (Fr Metallinos, p. 42). That Fr Metallinos holds Yannaras’s anti-Pietism in some regard is illustrated by the fact that on ‘the essence of Pietism’, he refers the reader to Yannaras’s Freedom of Morality, pointing out, ‘In theological terms, the author quite rightly calls Pietism a heresy in the realm of ecclesiology’ (Fr Metallinos, p. 42, n. 38). But it is clear from the subsequent citations of Orthodoxy and the West that Fr Metallinos considers the latter book an example of ‘the attempt to overstate the . . . spirit of Pietism’.

Unfortunately, because, like many Western readers, my knowledge of many of the figures and works under consideration in Orthodoxy and the West is scanty if not altogether non-existent, it is difficult to say to what extent overstated anti-Pietistic criteria have effected Yannaras’s evaluation of others besides St Nicodemus. It is true that as I read, I occasionally questioned whether a quoted passage really suggested the complete capitulation of a given personality to Western notions, and it began to strike me that there could be a sort of subjectivity to the charge of ‘pietism’.

Furthermore, there is one other major figure of whom I had previously had a favourable impression, only to find Yannaras criticising him in no uncertain terms: Metropolitan Augoustinos (Kantiotes) of Florina (pp. 240-1). One of my favourite books, The Place of Blessed Augustine in the Orthodox Church, by Fr Seraphim (Rose) (Platina, CA: St Herman of Alaska Brotherhood, 1996), is dedicated to Met. Augoustinos, ‘a confessing Orthodox hierarch of the latter times, a zealous inspirer of the faithful, and a true shepherd who stands guard against the wolves, giving his life for his flock, in the footssteps of Christ, the chief Shepherd’ (Fr Seraphim, p. 9). In his ‘Preface’ to The Precious Pearl: The Lives of Saints Barlaam and Ioasaph, by St John Damascene, trans. Fr Asterios Gerostergios, et al. (Belmont, MA: Institute for Byzantine & Modern Greek Studies, ), Fr Gerostergios refers to him as ‘the renowned Metropolitan of Florina’ (Fr Gerostergio, p. v), and enthusiastically translates his notes and comments on the text. In his biography of his son, the missionary monk Fr Cosmas of Gregoriou, Demetrios Aslanidis writes warmly of Fr Cosmas’s ten years working with the Metropolitan (for part of that time an archimandrite), and quotes Fr Cosmas as having said, ‘I’ll remain a few years with Fr Avgoustinos, to strengthen myself spiritually [for foreign missionary work], because he’s the best I’ve come across in spiritual matters . . .’ (Demetrios Aslanidis and Monk Damascene Grigoriatis, Apostle to Zaire: The Life and Legacy of Blessed Father Cosmas of Grigoriou, trans. Fr Peter Alban Heers [Thessalonica: Uncut Mountain, 2001], p. 42). After all of this, it is dismaying to find Yannaras accusing him of pietism (p. 240), and, even worse, of ‘spiritual terrorism’ (p. 241) for his outspoken denunciations of ‘the bishops, the government, the palace and state officials’ (p. 240), as well as of various ecclesiastics and theologians, who ‘feared the unrestrained vituperation which he could heap on them with impunity’ (p. 241).

It is in part this zealous anti-Pietism and the suspicion that, as Fr Metallinos says, it hinders Yannaras from approaching these matters ‘with purely Orthodox ecclesiological criteria’, that also gives me pause over the third chapter, ‘The Ecclesial Framework’ (pp. 23-32). Here Yannaras expounds what he refers to throughout the book as ‘the Church’s Gospel’, in contrast that is with the ‘Gospel’ of the Roman Catholic or Protestant churches. Certainly, it would be difficult to find anything here that is simply not Orthodox. But it is on the basis of this exposition, with its particular formulas and emphases and with no direct quotation from the Scriptures or the Fathers, that Yannaras mounts much of his critique in the later chapters.

In this regard, a comparison with Fr Florovsky strikes me as fruitful, for I think a key difference is revealed. Ways of Russian Theology, Part One in particular, is an historical description throughout. True, Fr Florovsky does not hesitate to say, for instance, that ‘Skovoroda’s wandering led him away from the church’ or that ‘His return to nature is a variety of pietist Rousseauism’ (Ways of Russian Theology, Part One, by Fr Georges Florovsky, trans. Robert L. Nichols, Vol. 5 in The Collected Works of Georges Florovsky [Belmont, MA: Nordland, 1979], pp. 154-5). But this is very different to Yannaras’s chapter-long exposition of ‘the Church’s Gospel’ and repeated and explicit charges that various figures have distorted that Gospel as he has described it. Many, I feel, will prefer the more strictly historical-descriptive approach over the more decidedly theological-polemical one, and insofar as Yannaras gives us the former, I think his study is at its most valuable.

A word on the translation: although there seemed to be a few minor errors—mostly, I thought, toward the end—this is on the whole an exemplary translation of a modern Greek theological work, and it is interesting that in the ‘Translator’s Note’ we are given an idea of why: ‘Readers familiar with the 1992 Greek edition will notice a number of differences: the luxuriant prose of the Greek original has been pruned to adapt it to current English style . . .’ (p. xi). Let this be a lesson to future translators—do not give us slavish or literal renderings of modern Greek theological and spiritual writings. Such translations are insensitive to the English language and not only negatively impact the reading pleasure of a work but can also create a negative impression of Orthodoxy generally. Orthodox translations and publications need to be completely professional.

*I try consistently to spell the name with an ‘e’ to retain in English the difference between the name Χρήστος (Yannaras’s baptismal name) and Χριστός (our Lord’s Messianic title).

'Thou Didst Preach the Word of Truth to All Men'—St Cosmas of Aetolia

I’m a little late once again, but today, 24 August on the Church’s calendar, we celebrated the memory of the New Hieromartyr Cosmas of Aetolia (1714-1779), Equal to the Apostles. Chrestos Yannaras has written of him with great enthusiasm (Orthodoxy and the West: Hellenic Self-Identity in the Modern Age, trans. Norman Russell and Fr Peter Chamberas [Brookline, MA: Holy Cross, 2006], p. 114):

He was an extraordinary phenomenon, expressing the fundamental issues of Christian experience in simple but powerful language: the most important manifestation of the Church’s authentic spirit during the entire period of Turkish rule. Neither rationalistic nor moralistic, his word was a revelation of the Church’s Gospel: the flesh of life and the mode of true being.

St Cosmas writes of himself, ‘My false, earthly, and fruitless homeland is the province of Arta, in the district of Apokouro. My father, my mother, my family are pious Orthodox Christians’ (from Nomikos Michael Vaporis’s translation, here). He attended a number of schools, studying Greek, theology, medicine, and even teaching a bit before heading for the Holy Mountain in 1749, where he studied grammar, logic, and rhetoric at the Athonias Academy. Among others, one of his teachers here was Eugene Voulgaris, whom Yannaras calls the ‘leading figure in eighteenth-century Greek intellectual life’ (p. 102).

St Cosmas was tonsured at Philotheou Monastery, and eventually ordained a hieromonk. According to his own testimony (here) he spent seventeen years in repentance on the Holy Mountain. Here are St Cosmas’s words:

Among the countless gifts which my Lord has granted me, he made me worthy to acquire a little Greek learning and I became a monk. Studying the holy and sacred Gospel, I found in it many and different teachings which are all pearls, diamonds, treasures, riches, joy, gladness eternal life. Among the other things I also found this teaching in which Christ says to us: no Christian, man or woman, should be concerned only with himself, how he can be saved, but must be concerned also with his brethren so that they may not fall into sin.

Hearing this sweetest teaching spoken by our Christ, my brethren, to concern ourselves with our fellows, that teaching gnawed at me inside my heart for many years, just as a worm eats away at wood. Considering my ignorance, what could I do?

I sought the advice of my spiritual fathers, bishops and patriarchs, and I revealed to them my thinking, and I asked if such work was pleasing to God to do it. Everyone urged me to go ahead and they told me that such work is good and sacred.

In fact, urged on by his Holiness Patriarch Sophronios—may his blessing be upon us—and receiving his sacred blessing, I abandoned my own advancement, my own good, and went out to walk from place to place to teach my brethren.

Thus it was that St Cosmas began one of the many remarkable missionary endeavours in Church history—a mission to his own people. Yannaras has summarised his approach and the nature of his teaching quite well:

He would travel from village to village, staying two days in each, with a sermon the night he arrived, a second the next morning and a third that evening. In these three addresses he recapitulated the Church catechism’s basic truths briefly and elegantly, with simple examples to draw out the practical consequences of the Church’s teaching for daily living. Remarkably for the times, he linked theological truth with practical life, illuminating daily practice with his experience of revealed truth. (p. 113)

. . .

His style and the vigor of his language were inimitable. His wide vocabulary preserved the clarity of popular idiom. His teaching constituted a systematic theology, and his practical exhortations were sharp and realistic. His speech was the palpable expression of his holiness and beyond critical evaluation; his tender concern and anguished love for the people he met prove he understood their sufferings. The Greek nation was sunk in ignorance and misery, but his passion revived a real sense of the true life, a foretaste of participation in the Kingdom, a consciousness of the privileged possession of truth, and an awareness that painful and wretched lives had noble antecedents. (p. 114)

As Yannaras points out, apart from the theological teaching proper, St Cosmas also gave people practical advice about how to conduct their daily lives. For instance, he told men that they should wear beards—‘And may God enlighten you to let go of your sins as you let your beard grow. You, young men, honor those with beards. And if there is a man of thirty with a beard and one of fifty, or sixty, or a hundred who shaves, place the one with the beard above the one who shaves, in church as well as at the table.’ Vaporis notes that he also preached against ‘what today we would call male chauvinism’, saying, ‘If perhaps you men wish to be better than women, you must do better works than they do. If women do better works they go to paradise and we men who do evil works go to hell. What does it profit us if we are men?’


St Cosmas also opened, and encouraged the opening of, schools among the Orthodox Christians of the Ottoman empire, saying ‘for when your child becomes educated, then he is a human being.’ According to Yannaras, ‘Scholars have evaluated Kosmas Aitolos’s social and educational work: he founded ten Hellenic schools (where ancient Greek was taught) and two hundred elementary schools’ (p. 114).

Ultimately, St Cosmas’s stance against the wealthy and influential on behalf of the poor and downtrodden, his stance against the influence of Islam on behalf of Christianity and against Turkish cultural hegemony on behalf of Hellenism, and finally his moral opposition to the widespread defiance of the holiness of the Lord’s day through the holding of bazaars and fairs, caused a number of forces to conspire against him. In the year 1779, he was secretly arrested and hanged in the Albanian village of Kalinkontasi, his holy relics being dumped into the River Apso before being rescued by a local Orthodox priest. As Yannaras observes, ‘Kosmas Aitolos sealed his life with martyrdom’ (p. 115). Ironically, Vaporis points out that one of his greatest early venerators was the Muslim ruler of Albania, Ali Pasha, who ordered a church built in honour of the Hieromartyr.

For more on St Cosmas, I highly recommend Vaporis's wonderful account of his life and translation of his teachings, neatly presented here. As a longer sample of his teaching, here is an excerpt from the ‘Eighth Teaching’ of St Cosmas, translated by Vaporis here:

Priests should celebrate the Liturgy each day so that Christ will bless the people and guard their land from every illness and every abuse; so that God will bless your land, your fields, your vineyards, your place, and all the work of your hands. You should all, young and old, pray that the elders of your village live a long time, that God blesses them so they will take care of you well, for an elder is like a father. You should honor your priests and your betters. Wives, honor husbands; husbands, love your wives and your mothers. Daughters-in-law, honor your fathers-in-law and your mothers-in-law. Sons-in-laws, love your in-laws also and with this respect you will, prosper bodily and spiritually and you win partake of all the good things of the earth. And as long as you live on this earth, this temporary and brief life, you will gain all the blessings of paradise in the eternal life. Don't indulge yourselves, don't anathematize, don't curse. Brethren, may your blessing be upon me, and forgive me so God will forgive you, so that he will find us all worthy to enjoy paradise, to rejoice with the holy angels, and all of the saints. Amen.

In conclusion, here are the Troparion and Kontakion for the Saint, both in the 4th Tone, from The Great Horologion, trans. Holy Transfiguration Monastery (Boston: HTM, ), pp. 584-85:

With odes let us acclaim the renowned Cosmas, who gloriously excelled among the choirs of the martyrs, priests, and ascetics, and let us gather; for he dispenseth healing to them that have recourse to him with faith, since, as an equal of the Apostles, he hath boldness before Christ.

Come from Aetolia, O God-bearing Father, thou didst become a righteous monk on Mount Athos; and as a true initiate of the glory of God, thou didst preach the word of truth to all men, O most blest one, and didst bring them all to Christ as a true emulator of the Apostles’ choir, and thou didst prove a hieromartyr in shedding thy sacred blood.

A City of Completed Projects

In her delightful book (I’m accustomed to thinking of her as a ‘her’, and I’ve no doubt that’s what she prefers), Oxford, rev. ed. (Oxford: Oxford U, 1988), Jan Morris refers to the eponymous town as ‘a city of uncompleted projects’ (p. 73), where every ‘worthy records . . . an ill-defined malaise that unhappily prevented the completion of his commentary on the Second Epistle to the Thessalonians’ (p. 71). I have heard independent confirmation that this is true of England’s most scholarly city. But I’m happy to announce that, despite its humid climate, Oklahoma City by contrast has treated me well. It certainly has its own distractions, not the least of which are, in my case, a wife and two little kids, most of my living family (within a 2-hour drive), and nearly twenty years worth of friends, apart from the usual continuous diversion of the Internet and the beckoning blog I have begotten. But despite all of this, I am happy to announce that as of this afternoon, I have completed the first draft of my master’s thesis, entitled, ‘Reading Imaginative Literature: A Study in Orthodox Moral Theology’ (in Greece they seem to go for plain titles—no plays on words or fancy lines of poetry). It is a feat I might not have accomplished had I found myself with many another unfortunate in ‘that sweet city of dreaming spires’ rather than here, in the place God put me. I’ll be accepting congratulatory comments over the next day or so. Gifts of books are also welcome. (For some years, I’ve occasionally added to a small wish list here. One can follow with amusement some of the little kicks I’ve been on!)

Yannaras's Orthodoxy & the West

Yesterday I received a review copy of Chrestos Yannaras’s Orthodoxy and the West: Hellenic Self-Identity in the Modern Age, trans. Fr Peter Chamberas and Norman Russell (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross, 2006), courtesy of Aimee Cox Ehrs, Managing Editor of Holy Cross Orthodox Press. It arrived in fine condition, a nicely designed volume featuring a painting of the contemporary Greek iconographer and painter, George Kordes, entitled ‘Ο Ήλιος ο Ηλιάτορας’ (1997). Here is the publisher’s description from the back cover:

From the fourteenth century to the present day the Greek Church has either willingly adopted Western religious ideas or had them forced upon it by authoritarian Greek governments. This book tells the story, from a Greek perspective, of the penetration of Orthodoxy by Western theological attitudes, beginning with the first translations of Thomas Aquinas and ending with the tradition of academic theology of the modern Greek universities. The unfolding of the story, punctuated by many vivid portraits of the chief personalities of the times, raises searching questions about the nature of Hellenic self-identity.

I requested this book, in part because of my admiration for Yannaras based on his brilliant The Freedom of Morality, trans. Elizabeth Briere (Crestwood, NY: SVS, 1984), but also on the basis of Felix Culpa’s posted excerpts on Papadiamandis here. Yannaras’s appreciation of the great Skiathan as ‘the most important figure in modern Greek literature’ (Orthodoxy, p. 252), but also as ‘the most important and most authentic modern Greek theologian’ (p. 254), even if it may be ever so slightly hyperbolic, and particularly in the second statement, is an important testimony from a giant in modern Greek theology and philosophy. His evaluation is quite valuable and full of insight. Here is a passage that did not appear on Ora et Labora:

Papadiamantis excels at telling stories that bring the kingdom of the Gospels to life, enabling us to experience it in the popular holiness of a still-surviving eucharistic community. Old island women who love the Church services and simple priests with the common faults of human nature, goatherds and sailors unaware of their own sanctity, drunkards and petty criminals of childlike innocence, are all justified and made resplendent within the eucharistic body which was then still a living reality. (p. 254)

Of course, the observations about Papadiamandis are offered in the context of a wholly invaluable study of contemporary Greek theology, whether expressed in academic theology, philosophy, or literature, and its relationship with the piety of the Greek people. Thus, we also find discussions of Kontoglou, Fr Romanides (he strongly applauds Ancestral Sin, but is less enthusiastic about Fr Romanides’s subsequent work), Panagiotes Chrestou, George Mantzarides, Metropolitan John (Zizioulas), and others. Yannaras's study promises to contribute much to the acquaintance of English-speaking Orthodox—whose acquaintance with contemporary theology is so often limited to the Russian émigrés—with the trends and overall context, as well as the specific figures of Greek theology. It is thus in some ways a fuller, but also more impassioned, presentation of some of the information in Yannaras’s article ‘Theology in Present-Day Greece’, trans. Angeline Bouchard, St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 16.4 (1971) pp. 195-214 (I’m not familiar with his article, ‘Orthodoxy and the West’, of the same year, and so cannot comment on its relation with the present book). Here is his concluding paragraph on Mantzarides, the retired head of my department at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki:

Mantzaridis published other studies on Palamite theology which were later collected in a volume entitled Palamika. As Professor of Christian Ethics at Thessalonica, he transformed the legalistic character which this branch of theology had acquired through Ch. Androutsos, B. Antoniadis and their imitators. In Mantzaridis’s writings Christian ethics insists on theosis as humanity’s goal, and appeals to the witness of the patristic experience for every subsidiary aspect of moral teaching. The morality of the ecclesial person is restored to its real existential dimensions of freedom from death. It is a morality revelatory of true life: Christian ethics is ‘a revelation of God’. (p. 280)

Until it arrived, however, I’d forgotten that I had already been exposed to one unfortunate defect of Orthodoxy and the West: Yannaras’s almost wholly negative evaluation of St Nicodemus of the Holy Mountain (pp. 131-7), which is only hinted at in the earlier ‘Theology’ article (p. 197). It’s true that Yannaras grants, ‘St Nikodemos’s theological originality is obvious; he is the theologian of ecclesiastical worship, drawing his main themes from the Liturgy’ (pp. 130-1). But immediately afterward, I’m afraid he falls into the trap of being so vigilant against ‘Western captivity’ that he does not hesitate to cry ‘J’accuse!’ when he finds—particularly in St Nicodemus’s Εξομολογητάριον and Χρηστοήθεια των Χριστιανών—the sort of language that he doesn’t care for even in the Holy Fathers and Saints of the Church. Thus, his treatment of St Nicodemus consists mostly of individual phrases taken out of context and assumed to prove that ‘the books remain Roman Catholic in their theology and language’ (p. 131).

Fortunately, Fr George Metallinos has produced a wonderfully apt response, diplomatically addressing Yannaras’s objections to the Saint, and reverently re-evaluating and explaining the latter’s writings in accordance with the undeniably valuable insights Yannaras has provided into the ethos of Orthodoxy. One can read an earlier version of it here, at the Orthodox Christian Information Center, and a revised version published as the ‘Introduction’ to the beautifully done English translation of the Εξομολογητάριον, St Nikodemos the Hagiorite, Exomologetarion: A Manual of Confession, trans. Fr George Dokos (Thessalonica: Uncut Mountain, 2006), pp. 33-60. Having granted that the language to which Yannaras objects is indeed a feature of the Saint’s writing in places, Fr Metallinos concludes:

However, we should not confuse language with the spirit of Holy Tradition, which is preserved, not simply by language and intellectual expressions, but above all by the practice of asceticism and the entire spiritual struggle. St Nikodemos, despite the language of the Exomologetarion and other related works of his, is faithful to the Hesychastic tradition and is a successor to St Gregory Palamas, by virtue of the ascetical experience to which he fully adhered. (p. 45)

Given Yannaras’s concession that St Nicodemus ‘was brought up surrounded by Orthodox worship, studied patristic texts, especially [St] Gregory Palamas, and had theological knowledge of the ascetic fathers’ (p. 131), one can’t help but wonder, with Fr Metallinos, why we do not then read him within the context of this Tradition and interpret him accordingly, rather than in the context of a Western scholasticism and pietism with which, by contrast, he had very little to do.

Anyway, I feel quite certain that this unfortunate opinion does not mar the work as a whole, and I greatly look forward to reading it through.

'The Lady Schoolmistress of Athens'—St Philothei the Venerable Martyr

On this day, 19 February, we celebrate the memory of St Philothei (sometimes ‘Philothea’) of Athens (1522-1589), the Ὁσιομάρτυς, or ‘Monastic Martyress’, although it appears she is not officially so named in the Services. According to the Life printed in The Lives of the Spiritual Mothers: An Orthodox Materikon of Women Monastics and Ascetics Throughout the Year, According to the Church Calendar, trans. and comp. Holy Apostles Convent (Buena Vista, CO: Holy Apostles Convent, 1993), p. 87, her status as a martyr was not mentioned at her glorification (in Constantinople c. 1600) due to fear that the Turks would inflict their wrath on the many monasteries and hospitals she founded.

St Philothei was born as an answer to prayer to Angelos and Syriga Benizelos, a well-to-do and pious Athenian family, and given the name ‘Revoula’. According to her Life, ‘As a God-given child, the blessed Revoula foreshadowed all those virtues and godly accomplishments she was to attain later’ (p. 74). But while the Saint thus wished ‘to preserve her virginity and to live an austere life’ (p. 75), out of obedience to her parents she agreed at the age of twelve to be married to a certain nobleman. Unfortunately, the latter proved to be terribly abusive, and though the young girl ‘admonished and censured him’ and prayed fervently that God would change him, all was in vain. ‘Indeed, three years passed with many tribulations and sufferings until God, seeing her patience and his incorrigibility, reaped him with the scythe of death’ (p. 75).

As she was still only 15, the parents of the young widow wanted her to marry again, but St Philothei resisted more strongly this time and ‘remained at home, offering incessant prayers, as a sacrifice of praise, to God’ (p. 75). After ten years, her parents fell asleep in the Lord, and straightaway, ‘With humility, she began to lead a much more austere life, striving with abstinence, vigilance and prayer, like an industrious bee gathering the honey of virtue’ (pp. 75-6). According to Photios Kontoglou, she also ‘catechised her housemaids and made them receptacles of the Spirit’ (‘Ἡ Πολιοῦχος τῶν Ἀθηνῶν Ἁγία Φιλοθέη’).

Soon, our holy Mother had a vision of St Andrew the First-called, commanding her to build a convent dedicated to him. St Philothei used her wealth and lands to build not only a central convent in Athens, but also dependencies in outlying areas and even the islands. When the initial building was complete, she was tonsured into the Schema and received the name ‘Philothei’, or ‘friend of God’. According to her Life:

Immediately, thereafter, Mother Philothei abandoned all the perishable things of the world and eagerly entered the stadium of asceticism. She took in her company all of the maidservants of her father’s house. . . . In addition to them, many other wealthy and noble virgins forsook all the temporal and perishable things of this life. (p. 77)

While St Philothei, of course, was not deficient in the usual monastic virtues, such as vigils and continence (Life, p. 83), and even built a convent with greater solitude at Patesia where at times ‘she would struggle alone in a nearby cave’ (Life, p. 84), she is primarily remembered for her abundant philanthropy. She built hospitals for the sick, homes for the elderly, schools for children, the Saint herself ‘providing Christian training by teaching everyone ecclesiastical letters and liturgical knowledge’ (qtd. in Life, pp. 78-9). According to Kontoglou, she was known as κύρα δασκάλα, ‘lady schoolmistress’ (the caption of the icon above reads ‘St Philothei, Teacher of the Greek Girls’). She took in women who were beaten by their husbands, abducted by the Turks, or pressured to convert to Islam, even enduring imprisonment and the threat of death for protecting some women who had been enslaved by the cruel Turks. As her biographer writes:

Who could listen to Philothei’s salutary words and not perceive the meekness of hier spirit and all her other virtues, and not be attracted to her? Who could possibly praise her worthily for the sympathy, philanthropy, and daily concern that she manifested towards the needy and the sick? She followed St Paul, who said, ‘Who is weak, and I am not weak?’ (2 Cor. 11:29). The infirmaries and hostels that she built, not too far from the convent, were a reflection of her compassionate soul.

Naturally, St Philothei was also granted the grace of performing miracles. Her biographer records, for example, that she healed a young shepherd who had become demonised—‘Through long and ardent prayer, she released him from the demonic scourge. After properly admonishing him, she tonsured him a monk. He then lived the remainder of his life in penitence, to the amazement of all’ (p. 83).

The Turks, however, could not long tolerate her activities on behalf of her Christian sisters. On the feast of St Dionysius the Areopagite (her fellow patron of Athens), during the all-night vigil at the monastery at Patesia, a gang of Turks seized our holy Mother and beat her quite nearly to death. St Philothei of course rejoiced that, according to Kontoglou, ‘she was made worthy to be paid with evil for the good things she had done to men and to resemble Christ in this way, according to the words of the Apostle Peter who says: “rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings” (I Pet. 4:13)’.

Although the sisters tried to treat her wounds and carried their eldress to a safer monastery, St Philothei never recovered from this beating. As Kontoglou writes, ‘On the 19th of February, 1589, she gave her pure soul over to the Lord, who endured such torments for love of Him.’ Her incorrupt relics were eventually placed in the cathedral of Athens, where they remain to this day, bringing grace to the city of which St Philothei is an acknowledged protectress. One Greek biography concludes:

Abbess Philothei (Venizelos), saint and martyr of Christ, was also a handmaid of the nation’s dignity and of the city that gave her birth, Athens. Having united her efforts, that is, of leading a saintly life with education and preservation of her heritage, her memory assumes a double meaning for that celebrated, violet-crowned city. (qtd. in Life, p. 85)

On her sepulchre is engraved these lines (followed by my poor attempt at a translation):

Φιλοθέης ὑπὸ σῆμα τόδ᾿ ἁγνῆς κεύθει σῶμα,
ψυχὴν δ᾿ ἐν μακάρων θήκετο Ὑψιμέδων.

The body of pure Philothei is hidden under this marker,
But her soul is kept among the blest, ruling on High.

St Philothei is also my own sister’s patron Saint, and I will never forget the great blessing of taking her myself to the cathedral to venerate the relics of her Saint. I wish her many years on this day, as well as safe travels!

Dismissal Hymn of the Righteous One

Plagal of the First Tone. Let us worship the Word

The famed city of Athens doth honour Philothei, the righteous Martyr, whose relics it now revereth with joy; for while living in sobriety and holiness, she hath exchanged all earthly things for the everlasting life through great contests as a Martyr; and she entreateth the Saviour to grant His mercy unto all of us.