Theodoret of Cyrus, one of the very greatest theologians of early Christianity, was born at Antioch in Syria ca. 393. In 423 he was elected Bishop of Cyrus, a town near Antioch, and he remained as bishop with the care of over 800 parishes until his death in around 460. His work is of decisive importance in the classic formulation of Christology, and this careful, detailed, wonderfully documented edition with translation of his letters is a milestone in patristic theology, taking, as John Petruccione says, sixteen years to complete. The volumes include an extensive introduction to the Greek text (including the Syriac epistle 86) and a magnificent, detailed, context-setting introduction by István Pásztori-Kupán.
In what is a short review, I will concentrate on Professor Pásztori-Kupán’s introduction and even then will pick out only four illustrative strands to show the introduction’s breadth. These are Pásztori-Kupán’s precision in showing how confusion over key terms bedevilled the elaboration of early doctrine; how an instinct for the soteriological importance of the full humanity of Christ was a key thread throughout the many debates; how imperial overreach and non-theological factors had a part to play; and the role of the empress Pulcheria.
Although it is often taught that Nicaea 325 and Constantinople 381 ‘settled’ the doctrine of God, and that Ephesus 431 and Chalcedon 451 likewise ‘settled’ the doctrine of Christ, this is over-simplistic; the disputes with Nestorius and Eutyches are shaped by Apollinaris’ application to Christology of terminology previously restricted to Trinitarian theology. Nicaea contributed to terminological confusion which led to ‘persistent suspicion of Greek trinitarian doctrine among the bishops of the Latin-speaking West’ (p. xl). Origen introduced the language of one essence and three hypostases. In his attempt to deny that the essence of the Son was the same as that of the Father, Arius equated the terms οὐσία and ὑπóστασις and insisted that they were three hypostases. The equivalence of οὐσία and ὑπóστασις (the ‘old-Nicene’ terminology) and the monolingualism of the bishops of both East and West (with Hilary an exception) led to persistent suspicion. Even Athanasius at times used the old-Nicene terminology, and it was the Cappadocians who established the ‘neo-Nicene’ terminology of οὐσία (and φύσις) to denote the oneness of God, while πρóσωπον and ὑπóστασις were used to refer to the individual properties of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Neo-Nicene terminology was crucial to the emerging christological vocabulary of the Cappadocian and Antiochene theologians. As Pásztori-Kupán notes. ‘Whatever was ‘three’ in the Trinity became ‘one’ in Christ, and whatever was ‘one’ in the Trinity became ‘two’ in the person of the incarnate Word’ (p. xlvi). In Christ there were two essences (οὐσίαι) and two natures (φύσϵις), but he is a single person (πρóσωπον) – yet, as Pásztori-Kupán notes, before the outbreak of the Nestorian controversy, the term ὑπóστασις belonged to the Trinitarian, not the christological vocabulary, of the orthodox fathers. It was Apollinaris who first applied ὑπóστασις to Christology. Again as Pásztori-Kupán notes, those who attempt to expound the christological vocabulary used by Cyril of Alexandria in the 430s often overlook or dismiss this fact. Cyril himself mistakenly took as Athanasian Apollinaris’ formula ‘one incarnate nature of God the Word’ (μία φύσις τοῦ θϵοῦ λóγου σϵσαρκωμένη) and Apollinaris’ characterisation of Christ as ‘one nature, one hypostasis, one operation, one person’ (μία φύσις, μία ὑπóστασις, μία ἐνέργϵια, ἓν πρόσωπον). This was the wrong kind of unity – Christology required something more complex, lest the full humanity of Christ was to be diminished or absorbed as in the Apollinarian or Eutychian models. The contemporary opponents of Apollinaris were the forerunners of those in the fifth century who insisted on two natures in Christ in which the Word assumed a human soul. This reached an armistice at Chalcedon, but continued to be fought by the post-Chalcedonian Miaphysites (e.g. Severus of Antioch), but with an even more refined terminology which today has perhaps reached virtual coincidence with that of the Chalcedonians.
As Pásztori-Kupán, I think rightly, argues, the role of the human rational soul in the work of salvation lay at the heart of the argument – the Alexandrians tended to affirm that Christ possessed a human rational soul, but this soul was no more than a ‘physical factor’ playing no part in the work of salvation. The Antiochenes understood the soul’s importance in the key events of Jesus’ passion, and for them the soul was a truly theological factor.
The understanding of ‘union according to hypostasis’ was a key issue in the fifth century and another casualty of terminological misunderstanding. Although Cyril claimed that Athanasius was the source of this concept, his opponents knew he was quoting from Apollinarian forgeries. In his Third Anathema, Cyril wrote, ‘If anyone, in the case of the one Christ, divides the hypostases after the union and joins them only by conjunction in terms of worthiness or authority or rule, and not rather by a combination in terms of natural union, let him be anathema’. As Pásztori-Kupán notes, this illustrates Cyril’s ignorance of pre-Ephesian orthodox Christology. He targets the term ‘conjunction’ (συνάφϵια), which had long been used as the valid equivalent of ‘unmingled union’ (ἀσύγχυτος ἕνωσις) by orthodox as well as Antiochene fathers.
The correspondence of Theodoret of Cyrus also informs us about the involvement of emperors in ecclesiastical and doctrinal affairs, and thus shows that the shaping of the long Christological debate was not entirely theological. The Council of Nicaea was convened in 325 by the as-yet unbaptised Emperor Constantine I. Constantine opened the proceedings and advocated the key term ὁμοούσιος from which so much else followed. Thereafter, ecumenical councils, even those initiated by church leaders, would be convened by imperial letters, and the emperors (or their representatives) would participate at or preside – and exert influence to ensure that conciliar decisions would serve their political interests. And the church did not provide the universal spiritual bond that Constantine had hoped for. The Arian controversy erupted soon after the Edict of Milan, and although the emperor had championed the introduction of the term ὁμοούσιος into the Nicene Creed, only a few years later he began to support the growing faction of Arian bishops. The political ascendence of the Arians, lasting almost fifty years, came to an end with the accession of Theodosius I on 19 January 379. In November 380 Theodosius I travelled to Constantinople and installed Gregory Nazianzen as patriarch and obliged the Arians to hand over all their churches to the orthodox.
In the West, in 418, following their debate with Augustine, Pelagian bishops were deposed by the western emperor Honorius, and some sought refuge with Theodore of Mopsuestia. Theodosius I convened three councils in Constantinople in three successive years, embedding an example and precedent for his grandson Theodosius II (408–50). As Pásztori-Kupán notes, although Theodosius I had a strong personality and kept his own council, Theodosius II was hesitant, credulous and much influenced by his elder sister Pulcheria. After the death of Theodosius I, his son Arcadius continued his father’s support for Antiochene theologians, appointing John Chrysostom (who went on to incur the enmity of the empress Eudoxia for criticising her vanity) as patriarch of Constantinople in 397.
As Pásztori-Kupán describes, the eastern empress Pulcheria had lasting influence. Born in 399, she was two years older than her brother Theodosius, who succeeded their father the emperor Arcadius in 408 at the age of seven. In 414 Pulcheria assumed the regency, took a vow of virginity and became Theodosius’ tutor in princely bearing, horsemanship, urbanity and attendance at church. As is well known but is amusingly recounted in some detail by Pásztori-Kupán, Pulcheria and Nestorius had a massive falling out at Easter 428, and this destroyed Nestorius’ influence with the emperor. Pulcheria appointed herself a guardian of orthodoxy and shaped an imperial policy highly favourable to Cyril of Alexandria.
Eutyches had the support of his godson, the imperial eunuch Chrysaphius. Around 440, he persuaded Theodosius to liberate himself from the influence of his sister, and Pulcheria withdrew to Hebdomon, a seaport seven miles from Constantinople, enabling Dioscorus and Chrysaphius to persecute the opponents of Monophysitism. In 449 Leo of Rome became aware of Pulcheria’s decision to return from her partial retreat at Hebdomon and wrote to her asking her to urge her brother to convene a new council in Italy. This reconciliatory effort failed, and Theodosius II confirmed the decisions of the 449 Latrocinium in Ephesus. However, Pulcheria had come to realise that her brother’s divisiveness encouraged pressure on the empire from outside.
In December 447, Attila’s Huns had reached the outskirts of Constantinople. Theodosius bought him off by means of an increase in tribute, but accepted the foolish council of Chrysaphius to attempt Attila’s assassination. This ended in debacle and disgrace, creating a situation in which Theodosius was overwhelmed and isolated, and Leo redoubled his requests for Pulcheria’s assistance. As is well known, on 26 July 450, Theodosius fell from his horse and died a few days later. As he was without a male heir, Pulcheria became his successor and swiftly married the widower, general and senator Marcian. Chrysaphius was executed soon afterwards and the eastern empire underwent a rapid transformation. We all know what happened in 451.
These two volumes are a truly wonderful addition to patristic scholarship. The translation is excellent and the many, very full notes in the Introduction are a joy to read. No other work that I know provides such a comprehensive and engaging contextual background.
To understand the 200-year-long debate we need both the terminology and the shifting, opportunistic political history. The terminology was forged and re-forged to attempt to express something which is unfathomable. Drawing on Theodoret, Chalcedon wisely relied on negative adverbs. Yet this was still rejected by the non-Chalcedonians who, as heirs of a long suspicion, unwisely mistrusted Leo, but through Severus of Antioch slowly and more creatively later came to understand hypostatic union less as a kind of frozen moment, a photographic still or a chemical compound and more as a dynamic recreative process as they better appreciated the soteriological dimension of the incarnation.
