The Foundations of Christian Philosophy in Eastern Patristics of the 4th Century: The Cappadocian Circle

Following the apologists, a new era emerged marked by Christian writers who significantly contributed to the development of Christian worldview. As a result, they earned the esteemed titles of Church Fathers and Teachers, and their work came to be known as "patristics" (from Greek patres meaning "fathers"). While the Christian authors of the 3rd century, such as Clement and Origen, served as transitional figures from apologetics to patristics, the 4th-century writers represent mature patristics. We will explore the history of philosophical views in the Eastern (Greek) branch, beginning with the figures of the so-called Cappadocian Circle.

This circle included prominent Christian writers of the 4th century: Basil the Great, or of Caesarea (named after his birthplace in Caesarea of Cappadocia); his friend Gregory the Theologian, or of Nazianzus (named after his birthplace near Nazianzus in Cappadocia) (they studied together in Athens); and Gregory of Nyssa (named after Nyssa, where he served as bishop), Basil's brother. Their significance in the history of philosophy lies in their establishment of three arguably crucial sections of Christian philosophy: ontology, or natural philosophy (Basil the Great), epistemology (Gregory the Theologian), and anthropology (Gregory of Nyssa).

Basil the Great proposed his Christian ontology, more precisely natural philosophy, through a commentary on the Book of Genesis, focusing on the six days of creation, briefly referred to as the "Hexaemeron" (from Greek hex meaning "six" and hemera meaning "day"). Thus, Basil became a Christian continuator of Philo of Alexandria's work.

Basil’s aim was to recount the story of the creation of heaven and earth, which did not occur by itself but had its cause in God. He proclaims the foundational thesis of religious natural philosophy: creation is an act of Divine will. The Creator brought all visible things into existence with a mere command. Thus, Basil argues that thought, word, and deed of God are one.

In the act of creation, God relies on an originally created ideal model of the world, similar to Philo's view. Before creation, writes Basil, there existed a state beyond time, eternal and ever-lasting, in which the Creator made the intellectual light, rational and invisible natures, and the contemplatable creatures. When God conceived the world in His mind, He created matter that corresponded to the world’s form.

Basil interprets the creation of the world as an action outside of time, echoing Plotinus and the Neoplatonists who contrasted the concepts of "beginning" and "time": "The act of creation is instantaneous and not subject to time because a beginning is something not composed of parts and not extended in time. Just as the beginning of a path is not yet a path, and the beginning of a house is not yet a house, so too the beginning of time is not yet time, nor even the smallest part of time." This position eliminates any inconvenient questions about when exactly God wished to create the world. However, the issue of reconciling instantaneous creation with the six days of creation remains.

Basil views the creation of heaven and earth as the establishment of the foundation of the universe. These are the two extremes defining the essence of the cosmos. To form the heavens, a subtle substance was used; its outline is the vault. The earth was created filled with water, air, and fire, as evidenced by water in wells, vapors from the earth, and fire struck from stones. The burden of the earth is in God’s hand. Basil describes the creation of heaven and earth as a sort of gradual process, meaning their progressive formation and perfection. For instance, the heaven "at first had no complete formation because it was not illuminated by the moon and sun, nor crowned by the multitude of stars. All this was still absent."

The arrangement of the earth after its creation proceeds as follows. God gathers the dispersed water into seas, and dry land appears. Dry land is the earth itself, as Basil considers dryness the primary attribute of the earth: "What is essentially dry is called earth, just as what essentially possesses the ability to neigh is called a horse." Subsequently, the earth is commanded to produce plants for its perfect arrangement, and "this command immediately became a great nature," meaning the earth gained the ability to generate.

Basil’s commentary on this stage of creation contains two ideas of significant importance for the history of religious philosophy. On one hand, the Divine command is placed above any natural forces and opposed to them. Basil writes that the earth should produce vegetation by itself, without needing sunlight. It does not require external assistance—a notion already familiar from Philo. On the other hand, Basil seeks to reconcile the Divine command with the natural order and human experience, giving it the sense of a kind of genetic program. He states: "God commanded the earth not to produce seed and fruit suddenly, but first to produce sprouts and greenery, and then to complete it with seed, so that the initial command served as a lesson for nature to maintain order in subsequent times." This marks a significant departure from Philo, and a response to philosophers like Lucretius who believed that creation meant the emergence of already mature plants.

Thus, God’s command becomes the law of nature, the Divine transitions into the natural, which Basil articulates clearly: "The first command became like a natural law and remained on earth for subsequent times, granting it the power to generate and bear fruit." This statement of Basil deserves attention, as it expresses a crucial aspect of the Christian "theory of creation," such as the continuity of creation through the transmission of Divine creative power (energy) to nature, which then transforms into natural laws, serving as the basis for the Christian religion’s use of scientific data. Moreover, Basil himself, as his writings show, turns to various fields of natural science to support religious positions.

The further development of the created heavenly firmament can be partially attributed to the creation of light, leading to the distinction between night and day. The final adornment of the heavens—the creation of celestial bodies—is intended, according to Basil, to give real astronomical expression to this light, day, and night: "Now this solar body is being prepared to serve as a chariot for that primordial light." The relationship between light and the sun is explained by Basil through a comparison with a lamp: the fire shines, while the lamp is a device for illumination. God commanded the sun to measure the day, and the moon to lead the night.

To summarize Basil's account of the Hexaemeron (and we have only discussed the creation of the forms of being, leaving aside many of his reflections on physical, botanical, and zoological matters), we find that the stage of creating and adorning the non-living nature in the form of heaven and earth is completed, and the stage of creating living nature, beginning with the adornment of the earth with plants—the first form of life—has begun. Further development of this stage is connected with the appearance of animals, living creatures. The first of these are produced by the waters, as the waters, compared to heaven and earth, have not yet received "proper adornment." Notably, Basil constantly refers to God as the Artist and emphasizes the aesthetic aspect of creation—the beauty of what has been created.

Thus, "by God's command, the waters were given the ability to give birth to living creatures." It is possible that this ability was specifically granted by the Holy Spirit, who, according to Basil, was actively involved in the act of creation. The Spirit hovered over the waters, meaning He warmed and vivified the watery nature like a bird incubating eggs and imparting life-giving power to the heated matter. Thus, the Spirit prepared the watery nature for the birth of living creatures. As soon as the command was issued, the waters produced fish, frogs, mosquitoes, and also birds.

Now God will give the earth a new command and power to produce living beings; it receives an additional adornment: it starts producing beasts of the earth and reptiles. Basil emphasizes that, in essence, it is God who does this, not the earth: "God's word creates the nature of creatures. The earth does not produce the soul that is already in it, but the one given to it by God through His command."

Regarding the creation of man, Basil did not provide any philosophical-anthropological commentary, limiting himself to a theological analysis of the formula "Let us make man," as related to the second person of the Trinity, the Son of God.

Overall, Basil's Hexaemeron allows us to conclude the following. Unlike Platonism and Neoplatonism, which described the emergence of the cosmos as a regressive process, Basil describes the creation of the world as a progressive development from the lower to the higher, from the non-living to the living, from the lowest form of life (plants) to living beings.

To lend credibility to his interpretation of Divine creation, Basil draws on a vast body of natural philosophy, even natural-scientific material available to late antiquity, and thus attempts to reconcile religious cosmogony with philosophical and scientific views. Naturally, he could not eliminate the objective contradictions between science and religion, and his religious perspective includes many anti-scientific judgments. For example, day and night existed before the creation of the celestial bodies; changes in the moon’s phases were devised by the wise Creator to show that nothing human is permanent.

In conclusion, from Basil the Great’s Hexaemeron (and we have discussed only the creation of forms of being, leaving aside many of his reflections on physical, botanical, and zoological issues), we quote his words, which can be seen as a summary of any religious worldview: "Behold the heavens adorned, the world brought to perfection, and everything is ready to serve man. God’s work is truly wondrous, and the Divine thought is not subject to time."

Thus, the inexpressibility of God in words pertains to His essence but does not exclude statements about Him in other respects. Gregory examines and reconciles both apophatic (negative) definitions of God and kataphatic (affirmative) ones. To illustrate apophatic definitions, he refers to terms such as “unbegotten, without beginning, unchanging, and incorruptible.” The limitation of these definitions lies in their ability to describe God's attributes without revealing what He is in Himself. Gregory argues that one who wishes to "define the conceivable satisfactorily" must name the subject of these predicates. He asserts that the term "unbegotten" only indicates that there is no birth in God, without explaining His nature or what it means to be without birth. Furthermore, apophatic judgments are logically cumbersome, as Gregory rightly observes: “It is much easier and quicker to explain the subject by stating what it is and what it is not, rather than showing what it is by excluding what it is not.” He illustrates this with an example: answering “What is two times five?” with “not two, not three, not twenty,” instead of simply stating “ten.”

Ultimately, Gregory supports the use of both apophatic and kataphatic judgments. He explains: “One who explores the nature of Being does not stop by saying what It is not, but rather adds what It is, so that through the exclusion of what It is not and the assertion of what It is, the conceivable may become comprehensible.”

Regarding kataphatic definitions of God, Gregory highlights the name “Being” (or “Existing”), not only because God revealed Himself to Moses in this way but also because this name seems most fitting for God. Indeed, God is absolute Being, to which the name “Being” or “Existing” can be fully applied, since all other relative beings dependent on Him can be called non-existent. Gregory notes: “We seek a name that expresses the divine nature or self-existence, and Being indeed belongs solely to God, to Him alone, without being limited or interrupted.” In his affirmations about God, Gregory also rejects the ancient mythological anthropomorphism of depicting God as sleeping, waking, or being angry, as these are projections of our own bodily experiences.

In summary, we do not know God as He is in Himself, but we know that He exists. Therefore, we turn to understanding God's existence through His creations, which is the only means accessible to humans. Gregory writes: “Since every rational nature, although it seeks God and the first cause, cannot grasp it as explained by me, it turns to a new voyage to recognize God through the beauty and order of the visible.” Here, both senses and reason find their full and positive application, with reason no longer needing to overcome corporeality. Gregory calls vision “a guide to the invisible,” our teacher in recognizing that “God is the creative and sustaining cause of all things.” He also uses a common analogy: just as a person who sees a lyre infers its maker, so too the creative power that moves and sustains the created is evident to us, though it is understood through thought. Unlike pagan worship of the visible, reason does not stop at it but elevates us to God.

As we concluded our review of the natural philosophy of Basil the Great, let us summarize Gregory of Nazianzus's epistemology with his own words, showing what religious knowledge of nature leads to. After describing the diversity of the natural world, he questions and answers: “Why does the earth stand firm and unshakable? What supports it? What is its foundation? ... Reason finds nothing to support this except the divine will.” Everything on earth “serves as the clearest proof of God's omnipotence.”

In Gregory of Nyssa’s work “On the Creation of Man,” the Christian philosophical anthropology is elaborated in detail as a complement to what was lacking in Basil the Great’s “Hexaemeron.” It is clear that Nyssa’s description of man is a religious anthropology, similar to other religious anthropologies, but it also includes what is specific to the Judeo-Christian view of man.

Starting with the general premise of religious anthropology—the creation of man and his “material” provision by God, akin to how parents care for a newborn—Gregory writes: “The perfect form of God's goodness consists in bringing man from non-existence to existence and making him abundant in blessings.” According to Gregory, God, as a hospitable host, introduces man into His home, giving him the ability to enjoy what is present rather than acquiring what is lacking. To explain God’s care for man, Gregory compares it to parental care for an infant but connects it to man’s royal status in the world: “It was fitting for the ruler to appear after preparing the realm, not before. Thus, the Creator prepared a royal abode for the future king: the earth, the sea, and the sky were created by Him.” Here we see that in Christian anthropology, man is made the center of the universe, the king of nature, and the crown of creation, a notion absent in ancient religious anthropology.

This special royal status of man is emphasized by how he was created—both thoughtfully and in the image of the Creator. In addition to these points, Gregory also posits that man is the first and last earthly living being created directly by God, while all other beings, plants, and animals were created indirectly through the command for the earth and water to bring them forth. Gregory notes that while the creation of the world seemed to be improvised, the creation of man was approached with care; a consultation occurred about how it should be arranged, what archetype it should resemble, and what its purpose and dominion would be.

Moreover, Gregory asserts that man’s greatness is “not in resembling the created world”—which contrasts with the ancient natural philosophical concept of man as a microcosm—but in being in the image of the Creator’s nature. The creation of man in the image of the Creator is specific to Judeo-Christian anthropology and can be considered one of its main tenets. Nyssa dedicates a significant portion to discussing the relationship between the archetype and the image, the correspondence of man to the image of the Creator.

His theoretical stance is as follows: “An image remains an image only as long as it does not lack anything known in the archetype.” Thus, the divine image in man must reflect the archetype, even in the “inaccessible essence” of the divine nature. Gregory further clarifies that the relationship between the image and the archetype is one of resemblance, not identity: “If the image possessed all the traits of the archetype’s beauty without any distinction, it would not be a resemblance but would be identical to the archetype.” This consideration is crucial as it allows Gregory to establish “a distinction between the divine itself and what is like the divine” in man.

Thus, man bears the image of the divine. However, this image is also augmented by earthly aspects, which Gregory explains as the purpose of man’s creation: to contemplate the world and understand the power of its Creator. Therefore, Gregory concludes that the Creator placed a “dual support” in man’s creation, “mixing the divine with the earthly, so that through kinship with both, he might experience God through the divine nature and earthly blessings through a sense akin to it.” Consequently, according to all the canons of religious anthropology, Gregory presents man as a contradictory, dual being.

He describes man’s duality as follows: “Human nature is a middle ground between two extremes—the divine and incorporeal nature and the irrational and brutish life.” “Just as among sculptures one can see two-faced images, so too man carries a dual resemblance: being transformed into divine beauty through rational understanding, while having traits of the brutish nature arising from passions.”

Now, let us specify these opposing aspects of man. The characteristics of the incorporeal, derived from the archetype, are the intellect (rational soul), speech, and virtues. Gregory states: “From the divine—speech and reason, which does not admit division into male and female.” “Our Creator, as if with colors, adorned the image with virtues, displaying His own beauty in us, revealing His own sovereignty.” However, these divine images in man differ from the divine, uncreated, and unchanging nature in that they are realized through creation and cannot remain without change.

On the other hand, what characterizes man apart from divine traits includes, first, his corporeality: “From the irrational—corporeal structure, divided into male and female.” The creation of male and female is beyond the archetype; it is a feature of the irrational nature, due to God’s foresight of man’s entry into life through biological birth. Second, the presence of the vegetative and animal souls in the human soul (following Gregory's adherence to Aristotelian teachings on the soul) which are unrelated not only to the divine but also, strictly speaking, to the soul itself: “Since the soul is perfected in intellect and speech, what is not so can only be similarly named to the soul, without being truly the soul, but merely a vital energy akin to the soul in name.”

With this, we conclude the discussion of man’s creation and move to the examination of his constitution—body and soul as primary components and their interaction. Nyssa associates the description of man’s external appearance (body) with the purposes of his creation, his role, and royal status in the world, and his divine attribute of possessing speech. He subtly compares man with the surrounding world and animals. Man lacks natural coverings, is unarmed, and needs everything necessary for sustaining life. Yet, the insufficiency of our nature provides an opportunity for dominion over animals and distribution of our life needs among the subjugated. For example, the slowness and immobility of the body led man to use horses and to invent iron weapons.

Gregory places significant emphasis on the hands. The theme of hands was already important in ancient philosophical anthropology, which rightly associated them not only with human activity—“hands of the minister,” as Seneca said—but also with reason. Gregory’s unique position on the function of hands is their connection to speech, language, and words: “Though one could count thousands of life needs for which these dexterous and versatile organs are used, above all, nature gave them to the body for the purpose of speech.” Gregory reasons that if man were without hands, his mouth, lips, tongue, and teeth would only serve the functions they serve in animals, without being adapted to the needs of articulation, and he would not have developed articulate speech. Thus, he concludes: “Therefore, hands are a feature of rational nature, designed by the Creator for the convenience of speech.” Moreover, hands also assist in speech by writing letters, essentially “talking with the hands,” and aiding in pronunciation.

In describing the internal structure of the human body, Gregory primarily adheres to the natural-scientific and medical knowledge of Antiquity, as presented in the works of the renowned physician Claudius Galen (2nd century CE). There are relatively few religious or theological positions in this discussion. Among the philosophical and biological issues, Gregory's understanding of the body's life is notable for its Heraclitean perspective: just as in a river, the water is never the same at any given point, "so in this life, the material is in constant motion and flow, changing through a continuous alternation of opposites, such that it is never possible to halt its transformation." Thus, the cessation of movement is also the cessation of being.

Turning to Gregory's psychology, the central focus is on the intellect, the divine element of the soul, which acts as the source, or rather, the driving force behind bodily and mental processes. In this context, it can be inferred that Gregory leans towards a rationalist model of humanity, akin to those proposed by several ancient philosophers (Plato, Aristotle, the Stoics). To denote the intellect, he even employs the Stoic term hegemonikon ("ruling principle").

Gregory posits that the essence of the intellect, like that of all divine matters, remains ultimately unknown to us. Consequently, we cannot precisely understand its connection with the body. He neither denies the scriptural location of the ruling principle within the body nor the anatomical experts' assertions, but he does not consider it proven that "immaterial nature is confined to any specific bodily location," such as the heart, brain, or kidneys. Gregory expresses the relationship between the intellect and the body in a manner reminiscent of Aristotle: "The intellect must be considered as being, through an unspeakable principle of union, equally present in every part." He explains that the intellect is not confined to a single member but is present throughout. Yet, "the interaction of the intellect with the body consists in an ineffable and incomprehensible contact," since the immaterial does not reside within or encompass the material, meaning it is neither inside nor outside the corporeal.

Nevertheless, the intellect interacts with the body through the body's nature, including its parts, organs, and senses, and in accordance with them: "The intellect... equally affects everything, causing movement in accordance with the nature of the part being influenced." For example, the intellect, akin to a bow, touches the "vocal organs" and produces sounds, thereby making hidden thoughts manifest. Gregory draws an analogy between the intellect and a musician, noting that "the intellect, through the arrangement of the organs, performs music within us," and we become articulate beings.

A crucial condition for the intellect's effect on the body is the state of the bodily nature. When it is in order, "the intellect becomes effective. But if it is disturbed, then the movement of understanding will also falter." Gregory elaborates: "The intellect... acts in parts that are in their natural state as is fitting, while in weakened parts, its skillful motion remains inactive and ineffectual."

Gregory describes the opposite states of the body's nature—order and disorder—in a manner that closely resembles the ideas and imagery of Plotinus, the founder of Neoplatonism. The intellect, nature, and the body's substance are presented as hierarchical levels of being, with the characteristic Neoplatonic image of a mirror applied.

Thus, the intellect, created in the image of the Beautiful (God), is adorned with the beauty of the archetype as its reflection in a mirror. Nature, governed by the intellect, is adorned with its beauty, becoming an image of an image, a mirror of a mirror. Consequently, everything is adorned through that which is higher, up to the substance (matter) of the body. This line of adornment from the lower to the higher implies that "the material within us is adjusted and submits when it is governed by nature," which is oriented towards the higher and more beautiful, that is, the intellect.

This order is disrupted when the superior begins to follow the inferior, "when nature turns backwards, inclined not towards the beautiful but towards that which needs beautifying," that is, towards matter. As a result, first, the substance of the body is disrupted due to its separation from the beautiful, and the matter, having deviated from nature, reveals its deformity, as matter itself is shapeless and unordered. Second, its shapelessness mars the beauty of nature, which is adorned by the intellect. Third, deformity in matter is transmitted through nature to the intellect itself, "for then the intellect, like a mirror, will create images (ideas) of the reverse side of the good." Specifically, the intellect follows natural inclinations, becoming their servant, a servant of passions. All these points made by Gregory are concluded with his pure Neoplatonic explanation of why the superior deteriorates when it follows the inferior: "For inevitably, everything that becomes akin to the poverty of matter, due to its deformity and unattractiveness, will itself be transformed in the same manner by its own form."

Gregory of Nyssa's views can be related to those parts of his anthropology that address the past and present of humanity. Thus, the final section pertains to the future of humanity. Gregory examines this question through the lens of eschatology. Eschatology (from Greek eschatos - last, extreme; telos - end, limit + logos - word, teaching) is the doctrine of the end (destruction) of the present existence, which is seen as final, and the transition to another form of existence, usually eternal and metaphysical; in short, eschatology is the teaching about the finitude of the finite and the eternity of the eternal. Gregory expresses his eschatological views with the words: "Through faith, we possess the divine word, which foretells the inevitable cessation of existence."

For humanity, this means that before the world's existence ends, human birth and reproduction will cease. God has foreseen "a proportional time... so that the duration of time will suffice for the birth of a certain number of souls... And when human birth ends, time itself will end, and thus everything will decompose into elements."

After the decomposition of their bodies into the elements of the universe, humans will transition to eternal existence through resurrection: "Humanity will be transformed from mortal and earthy into an impassible and eternal state." In this resurrection, individual existence is restored. Gregory justifies this by stating that despite changes to the body, its "form (eidos; appearance) retains the marks imprinted by nature." This eidos acts as a kind of imprint for the soul, which recognizes its body and gathers it back into one whole. The resurrection of the body is also accompanied by its transformation into an angelic semblance.

Overall, Gregory of Nyssa's treatise, his anthropology, represents a significant philosophical elaboration and expression of relatively simple and primitive religious-mythological biblical statements about humanity. Furthermore, Gregory enriches his religious-philosophical perspective on the problem of humanity by incorporating the scientific and medical knowledge of his time, thus laying the groundwork for the tradition of integrating religion and science in the Christian Middle Ages.