For Him Who Has Eyes to See: Beauty in the History of Theology

For Him Who Has Eyes to See

Beauty in the History of Theology

Edmund J. Rybarczyk

For Him Who Has Eyes to See

Beauty in the History of Theology

Copyright © 2016 Edmund J. Rybarczyk. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

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paperback isbn: 978-1-4982-7942-0

hardcover isbn: 978-1-4982-7944-4

ebook isbn: 978-1-4982-7943-7

Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

Names: Rybarczyk, Edmund J.

Title: For him who has eyes to see : beauty in the history of theology / Edmund J. Rybarczyk.

Description: Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2016 | Includes bibliographical references.

Identifiers: isbn 978-1-4982-7942-0 (paperback) | isbn 978-1-4982-7944-4 (hardcover) | isbn 978-1-4982-7943-7 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: 1. Aesthetics—Religious aspects—Christianity. | 2. Philosophical theology. | 3. Title.

BT 55 R625 2016 (paperback) | BT 55 R625 2016 (ebook)

Manufactured in the USA. 07/11/16

Table of Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1: Introduction

Chapter 2: Gregory of Nyssa (c. 330–395)

Chapter 3: Augustine of Hippo (c. 354–430)

Chapter 4: Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite (5th–6th Centuries)

Chapter 5: The Medieval Era and Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274)

Chapter 6: Post-Patristic Interlude

Chapter 7: The Reformation

Chapter 8: Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758)

Chapter 9: Immanuel Kant (1724–1804)

Chapter 10: Paul Evdokimov (1901–1970)

Chapter 11: Hans Urs von Balthasar (1905–1988)

Bibliography

Dedication

Across my life beauty has gently but gradually interposed herself into my own reality. Well, she was always there, but recently she has made herself known to me in intentional and even assertive ways. Primarily, I owe my awareness of beauty to my mother, Valerie Tenney. When I and my younger siblings—Jim, Bill, and Susan—were young, my mom would variously take us to cross-cultural celebrations, enormous but delicate gardens, Willamette Valley farms, the Pacific Ocean on the Oregon Coast, home-spun music concerts, college plays, movies and art shows. She was constantly exposing us to the beautiful world around us and although I did not know it then, an innate sensitivity toward and appreciation of beauty was being woven into my soul.

Some twenty-five years ago my mother and her husband, Michael Tenney, converted to Eastern Orthodoxy. In 1992 they invited me to attend a Russian Orthodox liturgy in St. Spyridon’s Cathedral in Seattle, Washington. It was there that I was enchanted by the beauty of a service that was strange to me. And yet, I encountered the Lord’s Spirit therein, and in very sensory ways at that. My nose smelled gentle but holy scents. My ears heard the priest’s haunting chants. My eyes observed both the people’s sincere kinesthetic adorations of the triune God and the visually stunning cadre of Russian icons. All in all I was introduced to a profound presence of beauty in Christian worship. That seminal experience opened my imagination to theological possibilities. What might beauty mean for we who proclaim Christ our Lord?

Today Valerie and Michael continue to bless me with beauty through their love of gardening and guitar playing. To you I dedicate this study. More, I extend my most sincere appreciation to both of you for having enriched my life with beauty!

This is an appropriate place for me to also thank the eminent scholar of theo-aesthetics Jeremy Begbie, Professor of Theology at Duke University, for his review of my list of chosen theologians. Mike Beals, President of Vanguard University, himself a philosophy professor, was also very kind to have reviewed my chapter on Kant. I am grateful for the help of these keen minds.

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Introduction

The Evangelical Problem with Beauty

Our vocabulary is often powerful. In many ways, we become the words we use. With our words we taste the recipe of reality. Using words, we sample together life’s peace, play, delight, humor, irony, toil, frustration, alienation, and wounding. And the words we use to process all those qualities actually shape the flavor of each. Or, to use another analogy, words are like automobiles: they take us places. Just like an automobile enables us to go and see things beyond our own neighborhood—the ocean, a mountain, a redwood forest, or an old college friend—words enable us to see more crisply life’s experiences.

With only that bit of setup at hand, here’s my premise: Evangelicals¹ have failed to employ the word beauty in our daily vocabulary. And that means we have failed to incorporate beauty variously into our everyday conversations, how we treat others, the way we navigate daily life, and our own lives in Christ. Frighteningly, it might mean we ourselves are not purposefully beautiful.

Oh, we like beauty. Some Evangelicals, owing to family proclivities or a personal sense of space, know how to decorate their homes with beauty. Regularly we enjoy the beauty of a well-crafted piece of furniture or jewelry. But when it comes to our faith, presumably that value above all others in our lives, we bar beauty. We don’t know how to include her. When we do think about including her our thoughts are clunky and jumbled. If that seems overstated, just think of the Evangelical church buildings you have attended. They are consistently clean but bare. Designed for utility, they enable crowds of Christians to sing, pray, and chiefly listen together. Some of those buildings might intrigue us with their sheer size or their reputation, but beauty is rarely one of their celebrated features. Frequently built on shoestring budgets, they are functional—lights, heating, sometimes comfortable seating, and visually clear lines of sight are consistently present—but aesthetically they are boring. They rarely have an intentionally beautiful aspect to them. They are too often merely gathering spaces, auditoriums, or worse, theaters for a kind of Christian show. Nobody thinks to go to an Evangelical auditorium just to be there, to pray or to contemplate God there, or to seek personal solace inside the walls. Yet it is just not natural to have worship spaces that are functional but aesthetically stark. Excepting Islam, which consistently forbids any aesthetic design other than two-dimensional painted geometric designs, all of the world’s religions intentionally employ beautifully designed sacred space to shape the experience of the religious concelebrant. More, the sacred space of those religions is consistently a mirror of ultimate and true reality (however understood) itself; sacred space design thus exemplifies something important about the world view, of the metaphysic, and of the ultimately valuable for those who spend time inside the walls.

The point here is, our very worship spaces—the very places we assemble to disciple, shape, renew, and enliven ourselves as we worship and glorify the triune God—betray the Evangelical inability to incorporate beauty into our way of being.

Concerning beauty and aesthetics we Evangelicals have an imaginative and theological vacuum. Vacuums do not cause anything. Rather, vacuums are empty spaces that are quickly filled with other things. Not surprisingly then we Evangelicals sate that hunger-for-beauty vacuum, that our attention must go toward something dynamic in church with substitutes: pastors as heroes, or worship bands as superstars. Outside of churchly space, we fill our beauty vacuums with items from pop culture, historical artifacts, antique furniture, trophies from our travels, the latest fashion fads, or even national symbols. Personally, I’m not against the collection of display of any of those things. (Please, Christians need not only have or collect Christian art!) It’s just that we do not think of or appreciate or speak together about the beauty in our lives either as a blessing from God himself or as a way to bless God and others.

Concerning beauty, we have a stunted theological vocabulary. Beauty is not a regular feature of our daily conversation. Beauty is not woven into the lyrics of our churchly music. Beauty is not integrated into our life and thought and prayer as Christians. My argument here, again, is that we Evangelicals do not know how to talk, think, or live for beauty in the affirmative. We do not have a vocabulary that roots beauty in and through our daily lives as Christians.

Our vocabularic stuntedness is one thing, but our prejudicial attitude is another. Evangelicals seemingly have a theological bias against beauty.² We are afraid beauty will distract from God’s word, preached or written; as will be shown in our chapter on the Reformation, that fear has historic, if unevenly understood, roots. We worry that beauty will become an idol; as our chapter on Gregory of Nyssa will reveal, that worry has ancient Christian historic roots. We shudder to think that beauty—merely a matter of personal preference as we believe it is, something addressed in our chapter on Immanuel Kant—might deter people from the more important matters of life: preaching the gospel, developing Christian character, ethics, justice, and communal responsibility. I am going to suggest, both implicitly and explicitly through the theologians surveyed herein, that all of those weighty matters are even more important, more truly themselves, more accurately understood, and more deeply loved and thus eagerly embraced, when beauty is folded into their mixture. Beauty is indeed a spice of life; beauty makes absolutely everything better. Yet, beauty is more than mere spice.

Beauty stems indirectly but purposefully from the very being of God. Yes, God is truth and light and life and love. But God himself is beautiful. Beauty exists because God exists. Beauty is an oversplash of God’s glory and love. As such beauty whispers to us something about God. It reminds us that God loves to share. Beauty, spilling onto the simplest of creatures, tells us that God is not a glory hog. Truly, God enjoys our enjoyment of his beautiful creation. If Genesis is correct, God made the entire cosmos for us! God exuberantly surrounds us with beauty almost every single day, if only we will train our eyes, or our mind’s eye, to see it and celebrate it. Beauty is God’s way of saying, There is so much more. This life is sometimes wonderful, but in me there is always more. Beauty is regularly present, but only for him who has eyes to see.

And that, too, is part of the Evangelical problem: we have not trained our eyes to see beauty. In truth, as William James once argued, our eyes require more than mere seeing.³ We need to know how to look, and for what to look. Our seeing itself is pre-shaped by our outlook on life, and some outlooks are more prone to recognizing and appreciating beauty than others. For instance, frequently beauty is subtle; we can travel right past it every day and miss its tender greeting. Beauty is unusual to our Western, rational souls precisely because the human perception of it is innate. We often feel it before we know how to articulate its presence. Yes, for some personality types, apparently trained from birth to be sensitive toward it, beauty gives deep joy. But for many Evangelical Christians beauty is not on our horizon precisely because it is less rational, or what I prefer to call a-rational: that quality which is decidedly indifferent to whether something makes sense. The a-rational in life is not predisposed against reason. The a-rational is not in a fight with reason! Yet, the a-rational elements of life just are not bothered to make immediate sense. Here are just a few things that don’t make immediate logical sense about Christianity:

• God is both three and one

• the eternal God became finite in Jesus

• the fountain-of-life God died in and as Christ Jesus

• each of us gains eternal life by dying to our former selves

• we are asked to cast our future and our entire identity on a God we cannot see

• God the Holy Spirit prays through us to God

• we can pray to God by speaking in unknown tongues

Each of those truths are resolutely biblical, but they only make sense after we give ourselves to the theo-logic, to quote Balthasar, the logic which ultimately transcends and frequently defies human logic, the logic of biblical revelation, or simultaneously of that which stems from God’s own being. The same is true with how we view beauty: we need some theo-logic.

And yet beauty doesn’t seem to concern herself with making logical sense. Frankly, sometimes her appearance at odd times is nonsensical! True, we can touch upon beauty with our words; I mean to do that in this study. Yet, beauty smiles without any defensive challenge toward her friend reason. Reason too is a God-given gift but beauty delights in not being imprisoned by reason. Beauty—that a-rational, elusive, peaceful, delightful, mysteriously oversplashing quality present in so many things, people, and places around us—is frequently free from reason, even though she has no war with reason.

The human nervous system structured the way it is, we often feel things profoundly faster than we can think about them. My contention is that we feel or intuit beauty before we know how to process or explain it. Beauty, because it is usually perceived before understood, can leap into our souls faster than we can reason or reflect upon it.⁴ Rationalists may not like beauty for that very cause: it is more felt than analyzed. Rationalists, God bless us, want to understand. Contrastingly, beauty frequently defies logic. Consistently, beauty eludes analytic certitude. Myself, I am a Pentecostal. Raised to be mindful of the presence and leading of the Holy Spirit, Pentecostals value intuition. We know the Holy Spirit can communicate with our souls in a-rational ways: he can speak to our hearts, give us dreams and visions, and even emotively motivate us to do good works. Nevertheless, for all that intuitive awareness, we Pentecostals too are sadly stunted when it comes to our vocabulary and sensitivity to the presence of beauty.

Oriented to words—itself a marvelous proclivity that has grown from the Reformation’s emphasis on reading the Bible and listening to sermons—our Evangelical souls are rather icy toward the warm embrace of beauty. We don’t understand it, or don’t want to understand it, so for generations on end we have taught ourselves that beauty is unimportant. We are like horses with blinders on; we have excellent direct-ahead foveal vision, but no peripheral vision. The problem is that beauty frequently comes to us from the peripheries, from the fringes of our awareness, so to speak. With foveal vision we look directly and narrowly forward to see the details of life. Foveal vision enables us to read books and think in reasoned ways. Less direct than foveal vision, peripheral vision makes us sensitive to the more nuanced matters of life. Beauty often comes to us from the edges, the less-direct places in life. But if we haven’t trained our peripheral vision, or perhaps more accurately if we have not trained our intuition, we will only be able to perceive what’s directly ahead.

Beauty invites. She never forces herself upon the human will. Praise God for truth and goodness, beauty’s two other ancient sisters! But both goodness (ethics, morals, behavior) and truth (philosophy, science, engineering, accordance with life) can be very coercive, very overpowering. For example, good deeds can win over people’s hearts and attitudes even when performed by ill-motivated government officials. Or to offer a personal example, when I was an eleven-year-old boy, the thrown softball that hit me square in the temple both knocked me onto the outfield grass and stung whether or not I had previously believed the truth that it would do so! Truth can hurt. Goodness and truth constantly have an either-or effect to their presence. The good can shape us even when we are not aware of it. Truth naturally pierces and divides even though many assume that truth is always beneficial. Beauty is a different kind of gift. Beauty, even though she can be overwhelming and even euphoric, consistently comes in peace.

And so, for me, beauty is a cause of both wonder and gratitude. How can something so profound be so peaceful? How can something that so marvelously fills me with hope have been so freely offered? How can something so transfixing daily surround me?

We do not perceive life from either nowhere or everywhere. All people do life from somewhere, from some time-bound, geographically situated, acculturated, linguistically informed, and world view-anchored vista. Christians, or so this historical theologian believes, ought to perceive life from, in, and through the God of their salvation. Still more carefully put, following Jesus Christ is not just a means to an end. God did not simply give us his Son so that when we die we can go to heaven (thank you, Father, for the hope of heaven!). Being a Christian is about all of life. This Christian way is not a private affair. (Private Christians were called heretics—alone ones—by the ancient church.) Private Christians unwittingly are practicing their faith in un-Christian ways. Being a theologian, or even being theologically minded, is about taking all of life and assessing that through the revelation of God. And that reception, that assessment, should include beauty.

At a minimum I want Evangelicals to declare a truce with beauty. I want us to stop being so suspicious of beauty. But I hope for far more: that we open our souls to beauty’s presence, and that precisely as an offering from God. As our chapters on Augustine, Edwards, and Balthasar will exemplify, beauty can beautify. If we will allow beauty into our way of being—and not just into our churchly space—and especially if we will allow beauty to serve as a signpost, a down payment, and a love offering from the triune God we ourselves may be beautified. On the lookout for beauty we can become aware of life’s delicate matters. Aware that beauty may just be around the corner we can train our souls to be open to life’s complexities, joys, and surprises. God is a transcendent God: he towers above and beyond our creation. Yet, he is so transcendent that he delights to shine in and through his creation. Our souls open to the beauty of God, we may find ourselves more alive, more full of peace, and therefore able to in turn offer the life and peace of Christ to others.

And that sentiment begs still further qualification. Aware that discussions about embracing and celebrating beauty can make one seem like a flight-of-fancy thinker, or a butterflies and daisies empath, I want the reader to understand my own biases. My own greatest theological commitment is to the triune God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This God has revealed himself in history. Most preeminently, that same living God sent his fierce-yet-peaceful Son to rescue, redeem, and restore both those whom will be saved and with them the entire earth. The authoritative treasure store of that historical revelation is the Bible, a collection of holy-if-earthy documents that are inspired of the Holy Spirit, the continually abiding presence of God who both lives inside a believer’s innermost self and who sustains our every breath of life. In short, I affirm the collective wisdom of the church’s confession of the eternally wise God. In that light, I am not seeking to supplant the long-standing theological categories of truth, goodness, grace, redemption, or holiness with beauty. I’m not arguing that beauty should trump love, though the two are inextricably woven. Beauty does not save. Only Christ does. Yet, as the chapters on Evdokimov and Balthasar especially will exclaim, Christ himself is beautiful.

And so I write first to share the insights of some of church history’s most formative theologians, but also to encourage the injection of beauty into our collective Christian imagination, world view, and action. We will be more effective in our grand mission, not less, for embracing beauty. Yes, beauty can be elusive. Yes, beauty is hard to describe and harder still to frame in some intellectual way. But my belief is that if Evangelicals perceived beauty as a godly attribute, if we could see that beauty is most accurately perceived from—not against—a biblical world view, we would more readily incorporate its presence into our daily lives, our sacred worship, and our gospel service.

In this study we will survey four Protestants: Martin Luther, Huldrich Zwingli, John Calvin, and Jonathan Edwards. Three Eastern Orthodox will be examined: Gregory of Nyssa, Pseudo-Dionysius, and Paul Evdokimov. We will also survey three Roman Catholics: Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, and Hans Urs von Balthasar. And because he so profoundly changed the aesthetic game, we will study Immanuel Kant, himself representing the dawn of a muted Christian take or even an agnostic perspective within Christendom, and a subjectivizing turn. Modernity, and with it now postmodernity, still have not recovered from Kant’s eye of the beholder position.

In order to denote some historical flashes of theo-aesthetic reflection I will follow a chronological order, but in the chapter surveys herein I do not force these theologians to fit either my own questions or some preconceived theological system. I also do not at all presume any kind of development of aesthetic theology over the centuries; there is no continuous progression of theologians who reflect on beauty.⁵ What I do herein is arrange the chapters around the three broad rubrics of God’s beauty, the beauty of or made by humankind, and nature’s beauty; after all, we consistently encounter beauty in those categories. Yet, I have diligently sought to allow each theologian to speak about beauty as he desired. There were times when I was surprised by the perspective of one of our theologians. Frequently I was delighted in how a theologian wove beauty into his perception of a given rubric. All along I myself learned deeply about beauty and the ways it appears in both life and in theology.

The reader should know this book is chiefly about visual beauty. There is almost no effort herein toward analyzing a theologian’s literary or poetic quality, although frequently I found myself being moved by a thinker’s prose. It also deserves clarifying that my first interest is to learn how these eminent theologians framed beauty. In other words, I wanted to learn about the lenses, the theological means of filtering beauty from our chosen theologians. There will be little examination of how a theologian’s thoroughgoing system or systemization was itself inherently beautiful. Similarly, I will not compare how perspectives vary between beauty through creational versus christological versus eschatological lenses. Beauty comes to us multi-formed so I am happy to consider it herein from varied and multi-formed Christian theological perspectives. Again, as a committed Christian disciple, I believe beauty makes the most sense inside a biblically informed and theologically cast world view, but this study is no comparison of theological systems and their ability to most accurately perceive, describe, and celebrate beauty. In all of this, the reader may decide on my accuracy and assessment of each theologian. The same is true of what I offer to Christians for whom beauty is mostly a foreign category; they may decide if what is suggested aligns or not with a fitting vision of God and his creation.

1. Evangelical is a sociological descriptor, not necessarily a specific Protestant denomination. Evangelicals traditionally emphasize the inspired truthfulness of the Bible, God’s sovereignty, the exclusive salvific nature of Jesus Christ, the need for personal conversion, preaching the gospel, the reality of the afterlife (heaven and hell), and the bodily resurrection. Those categories at work, there are Roman Catholics, Eastern Orthodox, and Protestants who are all Evangelical in orientation. My critique in this chapter primarily concerns low-church Protestants: those who do not have priests, sacraments, or follow the liturgical calendar.

2. The Roman Catholic theologian Balthasar calls us out on this: Contemporary Protestant theology nowhere deals with the beautiful as a theological category. Balthasar, Seeing the Form,

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3. James, Principles of Psychology, vol.

1

,

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4. Nemoianu, An Appreciative review of Peter Kivy,

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. Our perception as innate and beauty as leaping were taken from page

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. My thanks to Jerry Camery-Hoggat, my fellow colleague at Vanguard University for this lead.

5. Cf. Balthasar, Clerical Styles,

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Gregory of Nyssa (c. 330–395)

The Beauty of the Infinite God

Christians have used art in their worship for some eighteen hundred years. The catacombs⁶ in the outskirts of Rome reveal that Jesus’ Gentile followers painted religious artwork in the places where they buried their dead, and held occasional worship services, at least as early as the end of the second century.⁷ While it is true that history’s early Christians did not build church buildings as such until around the year AD 230,⁸ archaeology shows that ancient believers decorated their private dwellings and physical worship spaces with different biblical symbols representing Jesus—arks, shepherds, lambs, loaves of bread, and fish; over time ancient Christians also took pre-existing themes from pagan culture and Christianized those.⁹ Theirs was not artwork for the sake of evangelism, rather it was to shape, inform, and reinforce an understanding of their invigorating new way of life.¹⁰ So then, in the first couple centuries, whereas many church leaders, most famously the Latin father Tertullian (c. AD 160–225), were opposed to the use of images because images abounded in pagan religion;¹¹ Christians were nevertheless immediately making biblically themed art following the apostolic era. In part, they made and used art for spiritual reasons; they were competing for people’s souls. In part, they wanted to be diligent to secure people’s allegiance to Christianity through images.¹² And yet, careful reflection on beauty and aesthetics took a few centuries to burst forth. Why the discursive dearth? Why the lacuna concerning an element of human existence—beauty—that is central to so many cultures?

Certainly this absence of reflection on beauty is not due to scriptural portrayals. The Bible itself, besides being a stunning collection of glorious—if also poignantly earthy—literature, variously celebrates the beauties of God, physical creation, and human existence. There are several direct examples in this regard. The beauty and goodness of God’s creative handiwork are emphasized (Gen 1 and 2). There are descriptions of beauty regarding the Jewish community’s heartfelt construction of the tabernacle (Exod 35–40), followed by the richly detailed and elaborate accoutrements of the temple (1 Kgs 5–7, 1 Chr 28–29, 2 Chr 2–7); strikingly, Moses’s sanctuary (Exod 25:8–9), the ark of the Covenant (Ex. 35:34–5), and Solomon’s temple (1 Chr 28:19) are all built with design and beauty following God’s own directions. We should not miss the point regarding those Jewish worship sites: they were meant to be locations for a visual experience of the holy.¹³ The Psalms repeatedly note that God and his beauteous workmanship are a cause of rejoicing and prayerful reflection (27:4; 50:2; 96:11–13; 104:24–34). Jesus commented on the simple beauty of God’s creative and providential enterprise, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these [lilies] (Matt 6:29–30). Later, he let us in on something of the kingdom’s impending beauty when he said, the Son of Man will come in his glory and he will sit on his glorious throne (Matt 25:31). And the Revelation, rife with Jewish apocalyptic symbolism, isn’t the least embarrassed to describe both Jesus himself (1:12–16; 19:11–16; 22:1–2) and the eschaton (21–22:6) in categories bursting with beauty. All this to say, the centuries-later iconoclastic (Orthodox and Protestant) impulses to the contrary, the Bible is not against beauty or beauty’s use; it is against turning anything into an idol.¹⁴ The pagan world of Christian antiquity was replete with tactile images that were worshipped as gods, and so biblical prohibitions against idolatry were formative on the early Christian imagination.

And yet the primary reason the first Christian generations overlooked beauty in their theological and spiritual writings is simple: they had bigger fish to fry. In scattered places across the Roman Empire they were enduring severe persecution; that heart-wrenching challenge led to all manner of practical questions and pastoral crucibles to be resolved. In more peaceful times literate Christians spent their energies building apologetic bridges to the truths they discerned in Greek philosophy; they were evangelistically minded and wanted to show the glory of Christ to anyone who would stop, discern, and turn. Questions outside the Lordship of Christ, his divinity, his salvific ability, and God’s redemptive action in history¹⁵ were largely relegated to the back shelf. The time for reflection on beauty would have to wait for a different context.¹⁶ Moreover, beauty did not pose a philosophical problem for the early Christians. There is no major controversy about divine beauty in the early church; so there is no need for the Fathers to reach maximal clarity.¹⁷

We see the dawning of relational interface between theology and beauty with Gregory of Nyssa.¹⁸ Together with his brother Basil and his friend Gregory of Nazianzus, Gregory is known as one of the three Cappadocians: Eastern empire developers and defenders of Trinitarian theology. Their insistence on the simultaneous threeness and oneness of God was victorious at the Council of Constantinople (AD 381), a gathering of bishops where the Nyssan was regarded as a leading theological authority.¹⁹ Less pronounced across Christian history have been Gregory’s reflections upon beauty. This disconnect is interesting precisely because his Trinitarian reflections were based upon a certain aesthetic understanding of God. Robert Payne summarized Gregory’s perspective: to the end he persisted in seeing all things in the mirror of God, a mirror of crystal purity, tenuous and dazzling.²⁰ For Gregory, God was nothing if he was not beautiful.

Born into a privileged Christian family in Cappadocia (modern-day Turkey), Gregory was educated by his intensely devout older sister, Macrina, and then later by his older brother, Basil the Great, Bishop of Caesarea.²¹ Not much is specifically known about Gregory’s schooling, but his own writings manifest a vast knowledge about then regnant contemporary philosophy; like many of the educated Christians of the Roman Empire he thought it made sense to employ Greek philosophy to elucidate truth, even though it was finally God’s revelation that held authority over human reasoning.