On the Making of Man 1 part 1/7

To Peter, his brother and fellow-servant of God, from Gregory, bishop of Nyssa.

If those who excel in virtue ought to be honoured with gifts of money, then—as Solomon says—the whole world of riches would prove too small to be set as a counterweight to your virtue;

for the gratitude owed to your reverend self is something greater than any honour rendered in wealth.

But the holy Pascha calls for the customary tribute of love, which we offer to your magnanimity—a gift, O man of God, smaller indeed than is worthy to be brought to you, yet not falling short of our ability.

And the gift is a discourse—like some poor garment woven, not without toil, from our impoverished mind.

The subject of this discourse may perhaps seem to many a bold one, yet it has not been deemed beyond what is fitting.

For he alone worthily contemplated the creation of God—he who was truly created according to God and whose soul was formed in the image of its Maker: Basil, our common father and teacher, who through his own contemplation made the lofty ordering of the universe accessible to the many, and made the world, which was constituted by God in true wisdom, known to those who through his understanding are led toward contemplation.

And we, who fall short even of admiring him as he deserves, have nonetheless resolved to add to the great man's work what was lacking to his contemplations—not as adulterating his labour by our interpolation (for it would be impious that that lofty mouth should be dishonoured by having our words attributed to it), but so that the teacher's glory may not seem deficient among his disciples.

For if, since the Hexaemeron lacked the contemplation concerning man, none of his pupils were to bring any zeal toward supplying what was missing, then reproach might reasonably gain a hold against his great glory, as though he had been unwilling to engender in his hearers any faculty of understanding.

But now that we have ventured, according to our ability, upon the exposition of what was missing, if anything be found among our words not unworthy of his teaching, the credit will assuredly be referred wholly to the teacher;

but if our discourse does not attain to his magnificent contemplation, then he, for his part, will be free of such an accusation—escaping the censure of seeming unwilling that anything skilful should arise in his disciples—while we should reasonably appear answerable to those who scrutinize for faults, as not having had room in the littleness of our heart for the wisdom of our master.

The aim set before us for contemplation is no small one, nor does it take second place to any of the wonders in the world—indeed it is perhaps greater than each of the things we know, since nothing else among existing beings has been made like God except the creation that is man; so that among the fair-minded of our hearers, pardon for what is said will be readily available to us, even if our discourse falls far short of the dignity of the subject.

For our zeal would indeed be convicted of falling short of its promise if, with man set before us for contemplation, anything contributing to the subject were passed over.

But also those features which seem to be in conflict regarding man—because his nature is now seen, by some necessary sequence, not to be the same as in those who came into being at the beginning—

with things that seem to be in opposition being brought, in a connected order and arrangement, toward one and the same goal, so too the divine power discovers hope for what is beyond hope, and a way for what seems impossible.

For the sake of clarity I thought it well to set the discourse before you under headings, so that you may grasp the gist of each of the particular arguments of the whole treatise in brief.

In it there is a partial natural account concerning the world, and a somewhat more elaborate narrative concerning the things that came into being before the creation of man.

"This is the book of the generation of heaven and earth," says the Scripture;

when all that is visible had been completed, and each of the things that exist, having been distinguished, withdrew to its proper place;

when the heavenly body encompassed all things round about in a circle, and the heavy, downward-tending bodies—earth and water—held fast within one another, occupied the middle region of the universe.

And as a kind of bond and stability for the things that had come into being, the divine art and power was implanted in the nature of existing things, governing all things by means of twofold operations.

For by rest and motion it contrived coming-into-being for things that were not, and continuance for things that are: about the heavy and immovable core of the motionless nature, as about some fixed axle, driving the swiftest motion of the celestial pole round in a circle after the manner of a wheel, and through each preserving in both the indissolubility—while the revolving substance, through its swift motion, grips fast the solid mass of the earth round about, and the firm and unyielding element, through its immovable fixity, ceaselessly intensifies the whirling of the bodies that circle about it.

And an equal excess was wrought in each of the two activities that differ from one another—in the stationary nature and in the unresting revolution.

For neither does the earth shift from its own base, nor does the heaven ever slacken the vehemence of its motion or relax it.

These things, indeed, according to the wisdom of the Maker, were first prepared in advance as a kind of beginning of the whole mechanism of existing things—Moses the great showing, I think, by saying that "in the beginning God made the heaven and the earth," that all the phenomena in creation, which were brought forth into being according to the divine will, are the offspring of motion and rest.

Heaven, then, and earth standing apart from one another diametrically, in the opposition of their activity, the creation that lies between the opposites, partaking in turn of the things adjacent to it,

by itself mediates between the extremes, so that the mutual conjunction of the opposites through the middle term may become manifest.

For the air in some way imitates the ever-moving and subtle quality of the fiery substance, both in the lightness of its nature and in being well-suited for motion.

Yet it is not such as to be estranged from kinship with the stable elements—neither remaining ever motionless, nor perpetually flowing and being dispersed;

but by its affinity to the other it becomes, as it were, a kind of border between the contrariety of the activities, at once mingling and dividing within itself the things that are separated in nature.

By the same principle, the moist substance also, by its twofold qualities, is fitted to each of the opposites.

For by being heavy and downward-tending, it has much kinship with the earthy element;

but by partaking of a certain fluid and progressive activity, it is not wholly estranged from the moving nature; rather, through this too there is a mingling and union of the opposites, the heaviness being transferred into motion, and the motion not being fettered in the heaviness, so that the things which by nature stand apart at the furthest extremes come to coincide with one another, being united through the things that mediate between them.

Or rather, according to the precise account, not even the very nature of opposites stands wholly unmixed toward the other in its properties—so that, I think, all the phenomena in the world may incline toward one another, and creation may breathe in harmony with itself, being found amid the properties of opposites.

For motion is understood not only as change of place, but is also observed in turning and alteration;

yet motion does not admit of being itself altered.

Interchanging their properties, the wisdom of God wrought immutability into that which is ever-moving, and turning into that which is motionless—arranging such a thing, perhaps, by a certain forethought, lest the property proper to the divine nature, which is to be immutable and unchangeable, being seen in some one of the things within creation, should cause the creature to be reckoned as God.

For whatever happens to be in motion or undergoing alteration could no longer hold any supposition of divinity.

And the heaven, not having the mutability of the opposite, neither possesses fixity—so that the divine power, having interwoven turning into the nature that stands still, and motion into that which does not turn, has by the interchange of their properties made both akin to one another, and has estranged them from any supposition of divinity.

For neither of these, as has been said, could be reckoned as belonging to the more divine nature;

neither that which is unstable, nor that which undergoes alteration.

Now, then, all things have attained to their proper end.

For "the heaven and the earth and all that lies between were completed," as Moses says, and each particular thing was set in order with its corresponding beauty;

the heaven with the radiance of the luminaries, the sea and the air with the swimming and flying creatures, the earth with all manner of varieties of plants and grazing beasts—all of which, having been empowered all at once by the divine will, it brought forth together in a single act.

And the earth was full of fair things, putting forth fruits together with flowers;

and the meadows were full of all such things as overspread the meadows.

And all the rocky shores and mountain-ridges, and every sloping and level place, and all that lay in the hollows, were crowned with fresh-springing grass and with the varied bloom of the trees—which, having just risen from the earth, at once shot up to perfect beauty.

And all rejoiced, as was fitting, and the beasts that had been brought to life by the command of God leaped and frolicked, ranging in herds and kinds through the thickets.

And with the songs of the musical birds every shady and overarching place resounded on all sides.

And the aspect of the sea, too, as was fitting, was another such scene—just then settling into stillness and calm within the gatherings of the hollows, where anchorages and harbours, hollowed out of their own accord along the shores by the divine will, made the sea, as it were, neighbourly toward the dry land.

The gentle motions of the waves vied in beauty with the loveliness of the meadows, as they rippled delicately upon the surface beneath light and gentle breezes.

And all the wealth of creation, both on land and on sea, was made ready; but there was none to partake of it.

For not yet had that great and precious thing, man, taken his place amid the order of things that are.

For it was not fitting that the ruler should appear before those who were to be ruled; rather, the dominion having first been prepared, it was fitting that he who was to reign should then be revealed. Since, therefore, the Maker of all had beforehand made ready, as it were, a royal dwelling for him who was to reign,

and this was the earth and the islands, and the sea, and the heaven arched over them all like a roof;

and manifold wealth of every kind was laid up in this royal abode.

By wealth I mean all of creation: all that is in plants and growing things, and all that is sentient, breathing, and living.

And if one must also reckon among this wealth the various materials which, by reason of some fair hue, are esteemed precious in human eyes—such as gold and silver, and those stones which men so love—

then by the greatness of the things that are seen one may trace out the ineffable power of the Maker, a power that transcends all reason.

And just as a good host does not bring in his guest before the provision of food is prepared, but having made all things seemly and adorned the house, the couch, and the table with fitting decorations, then, when everything needful for the meal stands ready, welcomes the diner to his hearth;

in the same way, the rich and bountiful Host of our nature, having adorned our dwelling with beauties of every kind and prepared this great and manifold banquet, then brings in man, giving him as his task not the acquiring of what he lacks, but the enjoyment of what is already present.

And for this reason He lays down for him a twofold origin in his constitution, mingling the divine with the earthly;

so that through both he might have kinship and affinity with each form of enjoyment—enjoying God by means of his more divine nature, and the good things of earth by means of the sense-perception that is akin to them.

That the nature of man is more precious than all the visible creation.

It is worth not passing over this point unexamined: that whereas this whole world and the parts within it were laid down element by element for the constitution of the universe, creation comes into being, as it were, offhand, subsisting by the divine power together with the command.

But the fashioning of man is preceded by deliberation; and there is prefigured by the Artificer, through the writing of the word, what is to be: what manner of thing it ought to be, after what archetype it is to bear likeness, for what purpose it shall come to be, what it shall do once it has come to be, and over what things it shall hold rule.

The Word foresees all things, so that man should obtain a dignity prior to his very coming to be, having received the sovereignty over all that exists before he passes into being.

"For God said," it says, "Let us make man according to our image and likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and the beasts of the earth, and the birds of heaven, and the cattle, and over all the earth." O the wonder of it!

The sun is fashioned, and no deliberation precedes it;

likewise the heaven—and none of the things in creation is equal to these—yet by a word alone such a marvel is established, the Word indicating nothing of whence, nor how, nor any other such thing.

So too all things severally—the ether, the stars, the air that lies between, the sea, the earth, the animals, the plants—all are brought into being by a word.

But to the making of man alone does the Maker of all proceed with circumspection, so as both to prepare beforehand the material for his constitution, and to liken his form to a certain archetypal beauty, and, having set forth the purpose for which he is to come to be, to fashion a nature suited and proper to him for its activities, fitly disposed toward the appointed end.

That the making of man signifies throughout his ruling authority.

For just as in this present life the instrument is shaped by the craftsmen in accordance with its use,

so the supreme Artificer fashioned our nature as a vessel fit for the exercise of kingship, having made it such—both in the excellences of the soul and in the very form of the body—as to be well suited for royal rule.

set apart by being its own master and self-determining, governed in sovereign fashion by its own will.

For to whom else does this belong, if not to a king? And besides this, to have become the image of the Nature which holds dominion over all things is nothing other than to have been made forthwith a nature of royal rank.

For just as, according to human custom, those who fashion the images of rulers both mould the character of the form and, by the wrapping of the purple robe, append the royal dignity, and by custom the image too is called "king";

so too human nature, since it was fashioned to rule over others, was set up like a living image, sharing with the archetype both in dignity and in name, through its likeness to the King of all.

not wrapped in purple, nor signifying its dignity by scepter and diadem (for neither is the archetype found in these), but, instead of the purple robe, clothed with virtue, which is of all garments the most kingly;

and instead of the scepter, supported by the blessedness of immortality;

and instead of the royal diadem, adorned with the crown of righteousness—so that in all respects, in the rank of kingship, it is shown to have been precisely likened to the archetypal beauty.

That man is a likeness of the divine sovereignty.

But the divine beauty is not radiant by any shape, nor by the comeliness of form through some fair hue, but is contemplated in unspeakable blessedness according to virtue.

Just as, then, painters transfer human forms onto their panels by means of certain pigments, laying on the mimic copy the appropriate and corresponding tints, so that the archetypal beauty might be exactly transferred to the likeness;

so understand it also of our Fashioner, who, as it were with certain pigments, by the application of the virtues painted the image over with His own proper beauty, to show in us His own ruling power.

Manifold and varied are the colors, as it were, of the image, by which the true form is portrayed: not ruddiness and brightness, and a certain blending of these with one another, nor any outlining of black shading the brow and eyes, and by some mixture casting shadow upon the hollows of the features, and all such things as painters' hands have contrived;

but, instead of these, purity, freedom from passion, blessedness, estrangement from all evil, and all that is of this kind, by which there is formed in men the likeness to the Divine.

With such flowers did the Maker engrave our nature with His own image.

And if you should examine also the other features by which the divine beauty is characterized,

you will find the likeness to them too precisely preserved in the image that is according to us.

Mind and Word are the Godhead;

"for in the beginning was the Word."

And the prophets, according to Paul, have the mind of Christ, who speaks within them.

Nor is the human far removed from these.

You see in yourself both reason and thought, an imitation of the very Mind and Word.

Again, God is love, and the fountain of love.

For this is what the great John says, that "love is from God," and, "God is love." This too the Fashioner of our nature has made to be our countenance.

"For by this," He says, "shall all know that you are my disciples, if you love one another." So then, when this love is not present, the whole stamp of the image is transformed into something else.

The Divine beholds all things, and hearkens to all things, and searches out all things.

You too possess the apprehension of existing things through sight and hearing, as well as the mind that searches out and investigates the things that are.

An examination of the kinship of the mind with the nature, in which the doctrine of the Anomoeans is also refuted in passing.

…by some such activity, to say that the Divine touches upon existing things through differing powers.

For it is not possible, within the simplicity of the Godhead, to conceive of the variegated and manifold character of an apprehending activity.

Nor indeed do we ourselves possess many separate powers for apprehending things, even though we touch them in manifold ways through the senses that belong to life.

For there is one single power—the mind itself that dwells within—which passes through each of the sense-organs and lays hold of the things that are.

This mind beholds what appears by means of the eyes;

this same mind understands what is spoken through hearing, loves what is agreeable and turns away from what is not pleasing, and uses the hand for whatever it wills—through it grasping or thrusting away whatever it judges to be expedient, employing the instrument as a fellow-worker to that end.

If, then, in man—even though the organs fashioned by nature for sense-perception happen to be different—the one who works through them all, who moves and uses each one suitably toward the matter at hand, is one and the same, not altering his nature along with the differences of the activities;

how could anyone, in the case of God, descry a multiplicity of essence through diverse powers? For He who formed the eye, as the Prophet says, and He who planted the ear, has impressed upon the nature of men these activities—as certain distinguishing marks—after the patterns that are in Himself.

For "Let us make man," He says, "after our own image." But where now, for me, is the heresy of the Anomoeans? What will they say in reply to such a word? How will they preserve, amid these statements, the emptiness of their doctrine? Will they dare to say that it is possible for one image to be made like to differing forms? If the Son is unlike the Father in nature, how does He fashion one single image of natures that differ? For He who said, "Let us make man after our image," and by the plural expression revealed the Holy Trinity, would not have mentioned the image in the singular, if the archetypes were unlike one another.

For it was not possible that things which do not agree with one another should be displayed in one single likeness;

but if the natures were diverse, He would assuredly have established their images as diverse also, fashioning the one appropriate to each.

But since the image is one, while the archetype of the image is not one and the same…

But what is the purpose of the upright posture of his form? And why are the powers needful for life not connate with the body? Rather, stripped of natural coverings, man is brought into life as a creature unarmed and poor, lacking all that is needful for use—seeming, to outward appearance, more worthy of pity than of blessing—not armed with thrusting horns, nor with sharp claws, nor hoofs, nor teeth, nor any sting bearing by nature a deadly venom, such as many of the animals possess within themselves for defense against those that harm them.

nor is the body clothed with a covering of hair;

and yet, surely, one would think that he who was set in advance to rule over the rest ought to have been fenced about by nature with his own weapons, so that he should not need the help of others for his own safety.

But as it is, the lion, the wild boar, the tiger, the leopard, and any other such beast, has from nature a power sufficient for its preservation;

and there has been implanted in it by nature a means of safety.

But man alone of all is slower than the swift-running creatures, smaller than the bulky ones, and more easily taken than those secured with connate weapons.

"And how, then," someone will ask, "has such a creature been allotted dominion over all?" But I think it is not at all hard to show that this seeming deficiency of our nature is in fact a means toward ruling over those subject to us.

For if man had such bodily power that he could outrun the horse in swiftness, and have a foot untiring through hardness, propped on certain hoofs or cloven hooves, and bear within himself horns and stings and claws—

first, he would be a kind of beast, savage and hard to deal with, with such things connate to his body;

and then he would have despised dominion over the others, needing nothing of the cooperation of those subject to him.

But as it is, for this very reason the needs of life have been distributed among each of the creatures yoked under us, so as to make our rule over them necessary.

The slowness and unwieldiness of the body brought the horse into our service and tamed it.

The bareness of our flesh made the keeping of sheep necessary, supplying what is lacking to our nature from the yearly yield of their wool.

The fact that the resources for our life are brought to us also from elsewhere yoked the beasts of burden to such services.

Moreover, our inability to feed on grass after the manner of the grazing animals rendered the ox subject to our life, making our living easier for us by its own labors.

And since there was need of teeth and biting for overcoming some of the other animals, the dog, by the injury its teeth inflict, has furnished its own jaw together with its swiftness for our use, becoming as it were a living sword for man.

And mightier and sharper than the thrust of horns or the point of claws, iron has been devised for men—iron that is not always connate with us, as those weapons are with the beasts, but, having served as an ally in time of need, thereafter remains by itself.

And in place of the crocodile's scaly hide, it is possible even to make that very creature into armor, putting on its skin as occasion requires.

Or if not, iron too is shaped for this purpose by art; and having served for war in time of need, it again leaves the warrior free of its burden in time of peace.

The wing of birds, too, serves our life, so that not even in winged swiftness are we left behind, thanks to our ingenuity.

For some of them become tame and assist those who hunt;

while others, by means of these, are brought into the service of our needs through our ingenuity.

Indeed, art, having by ingenuity made our arrows winged, bestows winged swiftness upon our needs by means of the bow.

But the fact that our feet are delicate and easily worn for travelling makes the cooperation of the subject creatures necessary.

For it is from them that we are able to fit sandals about our feet.

…wherein there is also some philosophizing concerning the difference of souls.

Upright is the form given to man; it is stretched toward heaven and looks upward.

These too are marks of rule, and they signify the kingly dignity.

For the fact that man alone among existing beings is of this kind, while the bodies of all the rest are bent toward the ground, clearly shows the difference of dignity between those that stoop beneath the dominion and the authority that rises above them.

For in all the other creatures the fore-limbs of the body are feet, because what stoops downward needed in every way something to prop it up;

but in the construction of man the limbs became hands.

For the upright form had, sufficient for its use, a single base, supporting the stance securely upon two feet.

And the service of the hands is a fellow-worker to the use of reason (logos).

And if one were to call the service of the hands the special property of the rational nature, he would not wholly miss the mark—not only running in thought to that common and obvious point, that we signify our speech by letters through the dexterity of the hands (for indeed this too is not without a share of rational grace, namely that we utter through letters and in a certain manner converse by means of the hand, preserving our spoken sounds in the characters of the alphabet);

but I, looking to something else, declare that the hands cooperate with the utterance of speech;

or rather, before examining these matters in detail, let us first take note of the argument that was set aside.

For we have nearly overlooked the meaning that lies in the order in which created things came to be;

namely, why the growth of things that spring from the earth comes first, while the irrational animals come afterward, and only after the fashioning of these does man appear.

For perhaps it is not only the obvious lesson that we learn from this,

namely that the grass was shown to be useful to the Creator for the sake of the animals, and the cattle for the sake of man;

for which reason, before the grazing herds there came their food, and before man there came that which was destined to serve human life.

But it seems to me that by these things Moses is intimating one of the hidden doctrines, and conveying through mysteries that philosophy concerning the soul which the learning of the outside world also imagined, yet did not clearly comprehend.

For one kind of soul is merely augmentative and nutritive, supplying what is suitable for the growth of the things nourished; this is called natural (vegetative), and is observed in plants.

For one may discern even in growing things a certain vital power that has no share in sensation.

Besides this there is another form of life, which possesses this also, and has further received the power of being regulated by sensation; and this is found in the nature of the irrational animals.

For it not only is nourished and grows, but also has sensory activity and perception.