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Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy - http://www.iep.utm.edu

Gregory of Nyssa (c.335—c.395 CE)

Gregory of Nyssa spent his life in Cappadocia, a region in central
Asia Minor. He was the most philosophically adept of the three
so-called Cappadocians, who included brother Basil the Great
and friend Gregory of Nazianzus. Together, the Cappadocians
are credited with defining Christian orthodoxy in the Eastern
Roman Empire, as Augustine (354 – 430 CE) was to do in the
West. Gregory was a highly original thinker, drawing inspiration
from the pagan Greek philosophical schools, as well as from the
Jewish and Eastern Christian traditions, and formulating an
original synthesis that was to influence later Byzantine, and
possibly even modern European, thought. A central idea in
Gregory’s writing is the distinction between the transcendent
nature and immanent energies of God , and much of his thought is
a working out of the implications of that idea in other areas–
notably, the world, humanity, history, knowledge, and virtue.
This leads him to expand the nature-energies distinction into a general cosmological principle,
to apply it particularly to human nature, which he conceives as having been created in God’s
image, and to rear a theory of unending intellectual and moral perfectibility on the premise
that the purpose of human life is literally to become like the infinite nature of God.

Table of Contents

1. Life
2. God
3. World
4. Humanity
5. History
6. Know ledge
7. Virtue
8. Conclusion
9. References and Further Reading

1. Life
Gregory of Nyssa was born about 335 CE in Cappadocia (in present-day Turkey). He came
from a large Christian family of ten children–five boys and five girls. Gregory’s family is
significant, for two of the most influential people on his thought are two of his elder siblings–
his sister Macrina (c. 327 – 379) and Basil (c. 330 – 379), the oldest boy in the family. Along
with Basil and fellow-Cappadocian and friend Gregory of Nazianzus (c. 329 – c. 391), Gregory
of Nyssa forms the third of a trio of Christian thinkers, collectively known as the
Cappadocians, who established the main lines of orthodoxy in the Christian East. Basil, who
became the powerful bishop of Caesarea, was the most politically skilled churchman of the
group. He appointed his younger brother to the see by which he is now known, and rightly
predicted that Gregory would confer more distinction on the obscure town of Nyssa than he
would receive from it. Gregory of Nazianzus was a brilliant orator, best known for his five

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“theological orations,” which succinctly summarized the Cappadocian consensus. But the
deepest thinker of the three was Gregory of Nyssa. Gregory stands at a crossroads in the
theological development of the Christian East: he sums up many of the ideas of his great
predecessors, such as the Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria (c. 20 BCE – c. 54 CE) and the
Christian Origen (c. 185 – 254 CE), and initiates the development of themes that will appear in
the most prominent of the later Byzantine thinkers, notably the Pseudo-Dionysius (c. 500) and
Gregory Palamas (1296 – 1359).

As the eldest boy, Basil was the only one of Gregory’s siblings to receive a formal education. So
Basil in all probability became the teacher of his younger brother. If so, he certainly did an
excellent job, for in this case the pupil went on to outshine the teacher. Gregory is thoroughly
at home with the philosophers that were in vogue in his day: Plato (427 – 347 BCE)–especially
as “updated” and systematized by Plotinus (204 – 270 CE)–Aristotle (384 – 322 BCE), and the
Stoics . On reading his works, one cannot but be struck by the abundance of allusions to the
Platonic dialogues. Yet it would be a mistake to say, as Cherniss famously does, that “Gregory .
. . merely applied Christian names to Plato’s doctrine and called it Christian theology” (The
Platonism of Gregory of Nyssa: 62). As will be seen below, there is a pronounced linear view of
history in Gregory’s thought, which can only be of Hebrew provenance. Moreover, the reader
will discover an originality in Gregory that anticipates not only his Byzantine successors, but
also such moderns as John Locke (1632 – 1704) and Immanuel Kant (1724 – 1804).

The turning point in Gregory’s life came about 379, when both his brother Basil and his sister
Macrina died. The burning issue at the time was the Arian heresy, which by then had entered its
last and most logically rigorous phase. Arianism was a Christological heresy, named for its
founder Arius (c. 256 – 336), that held that Christ was neither divine nor human, but a sort of
demigod. The principal defender of Arianism at the time, Eunomius of Cyzicus (c. 325 – c.
394), argued that the Arian doctrine could even be derived from the very concept of God, as
will be seen below. For most of this period, the brunt of the battle for orthodoxy had been led
by Basil; but when he died, and shortly thereafter Gregory’s beloved sister, Gregory felt that
the responsibility for defending orthodoxy against the Arian heresy had fallen on his
shoulders. Thus began the most productive period of one of the most brilliant of Christian
thinkers–far too little known and appreciated in the West.

That period was launched by the publication of his Against Eunomius, Gregory’s four-book
refutation of that last phase of the Arian heresy. It was followed by many more works, the most
significant being On the Work of the Six Days, Gregory’s account of the creation of the world;
On the Making of Man, his account of the creation of humankind; The Great Catechism, the
most systematic statement of Gregory’s philosophy of history; On the Soul and the
Resurrection, a dialogue with Macrina detailing Gregory’s eschatology; Biblical commentaries
on the life of Moses, the inscriptions of the Psalms, Ecclesiastes, the Song of Songs, the
Beatitudes, and the Lord’s Prayer; theological works on Trinitarian and Christological
doctrine; and shorter ascetic and moral treatises. Many of these will be discussed below.

Gregory was present at the final defeat of Arianism in the Council of Constantinople of 381.
Nothing more is heard from him after about 395 CE.

2. God
Gregory’s concept of God is born out of the Arian controversy. Arianism arose out of the need
to make sense of the apparently conflicting Biblical depictions of Christ. For example, how is
one to understand Jesus’ claim that “I and the Father are one” (John 10:30) when it seems to be
contradicted by the admission that “the Father is greater than I” (John 14:28)? This sort of
problem prompted Arius to postulate that Christ was neither divine nor human, but something
in between–a demigod, the oldest and most perfect created being, to be sure, but created
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nonetheless. By Gregory’s day, the leading spokesman for Arian theology was Eunomius of
Cyzicus, who argued for Arianism on strictly philosophical grounds. The created nature of
Christ could be derived by an analysis of the very concept of God, Eunomius argued; for it is
God’s essential nature to be unbegotten, whereas Christ is confessed to be “begotten of the
Father.” If this sort of argument were allowed to stand, what was to become the orthodox
faith–the faith enunciated at Nicaea in 325 CE that Christ was literally “of the same substance”
with the Father–would be radically transformed.

Gregory counters Eunomius, not by simply staking out the opposite position and defending it
with Scriptural artillery, as most of his fellow Nicenes had done, but, more interestingly, by
repudiating the central presupposition of Eunomian theology–that one can derive by a process
of analysis concepts that are essentially predicated of God. God is incomprehensible; thus, it is
presumptuous in the extreme to suppose that God can be defined by a set of human concepts.
When we are speaking of God’s inner nature, all that we can say is what that nature is not
(Against Eunomius II [953 - 960, 1101 - 1108], IV 11 [524]). In saying this, Gregory anticipates
the negative theology of the Pseudo-Dionysius and much medieval thought.

Nevertheless, if that were the whole story–if we were left with God’s utter incomprehensibility
and nothing more–then Gregory’s theology would be a very much stunted exposition of
Christianity. After all, in the Beatitudes Christ promises, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they
shall see God.” (Matt. 5:8) If God’s inner nature is knowable only negatively, how is this
possible? More generally, if God is simply some remote, unknowable entity, what possible
relation to the world could God ever have? Gregory answers these questions by distinguishing
between God’s nature (phusis) and God’s “energies” (energeiai)–the projection of the divine
nature into the world, initially creating it and ultimately guiding it to its appointed destination
(Beatitudes VI [1269]). The idea of God’s energies in Gregory’s theology approximates to the
Western concept of grace, except that it emphasizes God’s actual presence in those parts of
creation which are perfected just because of that presence. By distinguishing between God’s
nature (sometimes he uses the word “substance”–ousia) and God’s energies, Gregory
anticipates the more famous substance-energies distinction of the fourteenth century
Byzantine theologian Gregory Palamas.

Does all of this have any sort of rational basis? Though he frequently appeals to Scripture to
support his claims, Gregory does in fact argue for the existence of God. And although he
concedes that God’s inner nature will always remain a mystery to us, Gregory holds that we can
attain some knowledge of God’s energies. This does not mean, however, that God does not have
a transcendent nature. As will be seen below, for Gregory everything that exists has an inner
nature that cannot be known immediately and is knowable only through its energies. God is
only the most striking instance of this. If it can be shown that God exists, it follows necessarily
in Gregory’s mind that God has a nature. But God’s existence is derived from our knowledge of
God’s energies, and those energies are in turn known both indirectly and directly.

The indirect route relies on the order apparent in the cosmos. The fact that the universe is
orderly indicates that it is governed according to some rational plan, which implies the
existence of a divine Planner (Against Eunomius II [984 - 985, 1009, 1069]; Great Catechism
Prologue [12], 12 [44]; Work of the Six Days [73]; Life of Moses II 168 [377 - 380];
Ecclesiastes I [624], II [644 - 645]; Song of Songs I [781 - 784], XI [1009 - 1013], XIII [1049 -
1052]; Beatitudes VI [1268]). In noting this, Gregory is relying on an argument that had been
around since the early Stoics–the argument from design (cf. Cicero , Nature of the Gods II 2.4
– 21.56). Now there are several things to notice about this argument. In the first place it is an
analogical one: just as a work of art leads us to infer the existence of an artist, so the artistry
displayed in the order of nature suggests the existence of a Creator. But if Gregory’s argument
is nothing more than a generalized appeal to the harmony of the universe, it is not a very
persuasive basis for proving the existence of God. For that there are laws of nature is nothing

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surprising: to have anything at all, from cosmos to quark, is to have order. If this is all that
Gregory means, his argument at best reduces to the cosmological, or “first cause,” argument
that any chain of creating or sustaining causes requires a first member, which “everyone would
call God,” as Thomas Aquinas puts it (Summa Theologiae I q. 2 a. 3). Such an argument,
however, is not very convincing. Why not an infinite chain of causes, for instance? Or even
more to the point, why can’t things exist on their own? It doesn’t seem that the cosmological
argument rules out either of these two possibilities.

However, what Gregory has in mind seems to be something more specific. In certain passages
Gregory suggests that it is not order in general but the blending of opposites into a harmonious
whole that would have never happened spontaneously, but only through the power of a
Creator. The heavens accommodate contrary motions, and these motions give rise to
unmoving, static laws (Inscriptions of the Psalms I 3 [440 - 441]); heavy bodies are borne
downward and light bodies upward, and simple causes bring about complex effects (Soul and
Resurrection [25 - 28]). In all these situations opposites not only fail to annihilate each other,
but they even contribute to an overall harmony. The emphasis here is not on order in general,
but on unexpected order. Given what we know about motion and rest, heaviness and lightness,
and the rest, Gregory argues, we would expect to find them excluding, rather than
complementing, each other. The fact that they behave in unanticipated ways can only be
explained by the exercise of divine power.

Now one could object at this point that these phenomena are by no means surprising; they are
surprising to Gregory only because the scientific knowledge of the fourth century is not as
advanced as that of the twenty-first. However, it is not all that difficult to abstract the general
point from Gregory’s particular examples and to bring his argument up-to-date by replacing
motion and rest, heaviness and lightness, and so forth with modern examples of phenomena
that cannot be explained by any known law of physics (the “lumpiness” of the universe, for
example). Yet our hypothetical objector still has a point, as is particularly obvious to us who
are examining the thought of a fourth century figure seventeen centuries later. The fact that a
phenomenon seems to violate what we think we know of the laws of nature does not imply that
it really does violate those laws. Our knowledge may simply be too limited. So the fact that we
find order in nature that we don’t expect may simply be a function of the limitation of our
knowledge rather than of the intervention of God in the world.

The direct method whereby God’s energies are known is by examining our own moral
purification. It was observed above that Gregory’s concept of the divine energies is very
similar to the Western concept of grace, except that for Gregory, as for Eastern thinkers in
general, grace is due to the actual presence of God and not some action at a distance. As
Gregory puts it, “Deity is in everything, penetrating it, embracing it, and seated in it” (Great
Catechism 25 [65]). So we directly experience the divine energies in the only thing in the
universe that we can view from within–ourselves. But God’s energies are always a force for
good. Thus we encounter them in the experience of virtues such as purity, passionlessness,
sanctity, and simplicity in our own moral character: “if . . . these things be in you,” Gregory
concludes, “God is indeed in you” (Beatitudes VI [1272]).

Some scholars (for example, Balas, Metousia Theou, p. 128) argue that for Gregory energeiai
should be translated “operations” rather than “energies,” thus bringing Gregory’s concept of
God’s energeiai more into line with Aquinas’ concept of God’s power (Summa Theologiae I qq.
8, 25), or of God’s effects (cf. Summa Theologiae I q. 2, a. 2; q. 12, a. 12). But such an
interpretation will not do for two reasons. First, Gregory insists that God exists in God’s
energeiai just as much as in God’s nature (Against Eunomius I 17 [313], cf. Letter to
Xenodorus). He could not say that if God’s energeiai were merely God’s operations. Second, it
was shown above that Gregory uses the concept of God’s energeiai to explain how the “pure in
heart” can “see God.” Once again, one cannot “see God” in God’s operations, except in a

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metaphorical sense; but one can literally “see God” with the spiritual sense of sight (on the
spiritual senses, see below) if God is, as Gregory claims, actually “present within oneself”
(Beatitudes VI [1269]).

3. World
Gregory’s account of the creation of the world reflects the nature-energies logic developed in
his polemic against Eunomius. The account unfolds via an allegorical reflection on the first
chapter of Genesis, and closely follows the much earlier work of Philo of Alexandria. Like Philo
(Creation of the World 3.13), Gregory does not take literally the temporal sequence depicted
therein; rather, he envisions creation as having taken place all at once (Work of the Six Days
[69 - 72, 76]). Within this atemporal framework, the key “event” was the creation of the
firmament on the second day (Work of the Six Days [80 - 85]), for it is the firmament that
divides the intelligible world, created on the first day (Work of the Six Days [68 - 85]), from the
sensible world, created on days three through six (Work of the Six Days [85 - 124])–again,
broadly similar to Philo (Creation of the World 7.29 – 10.36, 44.129 – 44.130). Now the
intelligible world was by Gregory’s day pictured as a pleroma of Platonic forms existing as
ideas in the mind of God; for ever since the advent of Middle Platonism in the first century BCE,
the Platonic forms had been transmuted from self-subsistent entities (as Plato conceived them)
to ideas in the divine mind. The classic problem with this view, going as far back as Plato
himself, was to explain how these forms become instantiated in the material world.

Gregory recasts this problem in theological terms: how could God, who is immaterial, have
created the material world? The answer lies in the Aristotelian distinction between the
category of substance and the other categories–relation, quality, quantity, place, time, action,
passion (Categories 1 – 9)–which Gregory designates with the Stoic term “qualities”
(poiotetes). In themselves, qualities are ideas in the mind of God. But they can also be
projected out from God; and when that happens, they become visible. Now Gregory observes
that although we ordinarily speak of these immanent qualities as inhering in substances, all we
really perceive are the qualities of things, not their substances. It is but a short step to the
conclusion that a physical object is nothing more than the convergence of its qualities. Thus
matter as such doesn’t really exist; bodies are really just “holograms” formed by this
convergence of qualities. Consequently there is no problem of how an immaterial God could
have created a material world, for the world isn’t material at all (Against Eunomius II [949];
Work of the Six Days [69]; Making of Man 24 [212 - 213]; Soul and Resurrection [124]).

Elsewhere, Gregory explicitly uses the term “energies” to cover those qualities that are
immanent in the physical world. Energies, Gregory contends, are the “powers” and
“movements” by which substances are “manifested”; the energy of each thing is its
“distinguishing property” (idioma)–a technical Stoic term for a specific, as opposed to a
generic, quality. Gregory goes so far as to assert that apart from its energies a nature not only
cannot be known, but does not even exist. (Letter to Xenodorus).

Gregory’s position bears a curious resemblance to that of John Locke; for according to Locke
we know only the nominal essences of things, not their real essences. Thus substance is a
“something . . . we know not what” (Essay II xxiii 3). All we really know of substances are their
attributes, which constitute their nominal essences (Essay II xxxi 6 – 10, III iii 15 – 19). In this
light consider the following passage from Against Eunomius:

Even the inquiry as to that thing in the flesh itself which assumes all the corporeal
qualities has not been pursued to any definite result. For if any one has made a mental
analysis of that which is seen into its component parts, and, having stripped the
object of its qualities, has attempted to consider it by itself, I fail to see what will have
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been left for investigation. For when you take from a body its color, its shape, its
hardness, its weight, its quantity, its position, its forces active or passive, its relation
to other objects, what remains that can still be called a body, we can neither see of
ourselves nor are taught by Scripture. . . . Wherefore also, of the elements of this
world we know only so much by our senses as to enable us to receive what they
severally supply for our living. But we possess no knowledge of their substance . . . .
(Against Eunomius II [949])

In Gregory’s account of creation, the nature-energies distinction, developed to counter

Eunomius’ defense of the Arian heresy, becomes extended into a general cosmological
principle. The most important consequence of this extension is its application to the capstone
of the cosmic order–human nature.

4. Humanity
The fundamental fact about human nature according to Gregory of Nyssa is that humans were
created in the image of God. This means that because in God a transcendent nature exists
which projects energies out into the world, we would expect the same structural relation to
exist among human beings vis-a-vis their bodies. And in fact that is precisely what Gregory
argues concerning the human nous (a word that is traditionally translated “mind” but which by
the fourth century CE had submerged its intellectual connotations into the religious idea of its
separateness from the physical world). In fact, so central is the nature-energies distinction to
his conception of human personhood, that Gregory, again taking his inspiration from Philo
(Creation of the World 46.134 – 46.135), uses it to explain the two accounts of the creation of
human beings in Genesis 1 and 2 respectively. The original creation, in which God makes the
human race “in our image, after our likeness” (Gen. 1:26) is of the transcendent human nature.
The second creation, in which God “formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his
nostrils the breath of life,” (Gen. 2:7) is of the energies of the soul coupled with the body in
which they are present (Making of Man 16 – 17 [177 - 189], 22 [204 - 205]; Soul and
Resurrection [157 - 160]).

The most important characteristic of the nature of the nous is that it provides for the unity of
consciousness. How are my varied perceptions, deriving from various sense organs, all
coordinated with each other? Aristotle himself had addressed this problem by postulating the
existence of a common sense (On the Soul III 1 – 2). But Gregory moves beyond Aristotle’s
psychological explanation. Using the metaphor of a city in which family members come in by
various gates but all meet somewhere inside, Gregory’s answer is that this can occur only if we
presuppose a transcendent self to which all of one’s experiences are referred (Making of Man
10 [152 - 153]). But this unity of consciousness is entirely mysterious and so is much like the
mysterious nature of the Godhead (Making of Man 11 [153 - 156]). One is reminded of Kant’s
theory of the transcendental unity of apperception (Critique of Pure Reason, Transcendental
Deduction).

Yet the nous is also extended throughout the body by its energies, which constitute our
ordinary psychological experiences (Making of Man 15 [176 - 177]; Soul and Resurrection [41
- 44]). Furthermore, the nous may at different times be more or less present to the body.
During waking life the energies of the nous are present throughout the body. But during sleep
the presence of nous to body is much more tenuous, and at death is even more so (though not
absolutely nonexistent) (Great Catechism 8 [33]; Making of Man 12 – 15 [160 - 177]; Soul and
Resurrection [45 - 48]).

The parallels between the divine and the human extend all the way down to the evidential basis

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for the existence of the human nous. For the existence of the nous rests on a “design” argument
analogous to the argument for the energies of God. Indeed the body resembles a machine; and
because the latter is governed by nous, it is probable that the former is also. And just as
Gregory bases his indirect argument for the existence of God’s energies on the unexpected
order of natural phenomena, so here he argues that because the components of a living body
are observed to behave in a manner “contrary to [their] nature”–air being harnessed to
produce sound, water impelled to move upward, and so forth–we may infer the existence of a
nous imposing its will upon recalcitrant matter through its energies (Soul and Resurrection [33
- 40]). This should not be particularly surprising since Gregory regards the human body as a
miniature, harmonious version of the cosmos as a whole (Inscriptions of the Psalms I 3 [441 -
444]).

There are two further characteristics of the human nous according to Gregory. First, because
the human nous is created in the image of God, it possesses a certain “dignity of royalty” (to tes
basileias axioma) that is lacking in the rest of creation. For it means that there is an aspect of
the human person that is not of this world. Of no other organism can that be said. The souls of
other species are totally immanent in their bodies. They have only energies, in other words.
Only the human nous has a transcendent nature in addition to its energies. But that more than
anything else is what makes us like God. Now God is of supreme worth. Consequently human
beings have an inherent “dignity of royalty” just by virtue of being human (Making of Man 2 –
4 [132 - 136]).

Second, the nous is free. In an early work Gregory argues strenuously against astral
determinism (On Fate [145 - 173]). In his more mature reflections, Gregory derives the
freedom of the nous from the freedom of God. For God, being dependent on nothing, governs
the universe through the free exercise of will; and the nous is created in God’s image (Making
of Man 4 [136]). Once again, absent the theological emphasis, on both counts there is a broad
similarity with Kant (cf. Groundwork II – III); and that similarity will only become more
obvious when the ways in which Gregory applies these ideas are explored within the context of
his philosophy of history.

5. History
Early on, Christian theology developed a distinctive way of conceptualizing God. Rather than a
simple monotheism, Christianity held that God, though unitary, could be understood as also
existing as a Trinity of three Persons–a Father, the font of the Godhead; a Son, the Word (John
1:1-5) and Wisdom (Prov. 8:22-31) of God, incarnated as Jesus Christ; and a Holy Spirit, who is
sent into the world by the Father. Now Gregory lived at a crossroads in the theological
understanding of this doctrine. Prior to the era of the ecumenical councils, the first of which
was Nicaea, discussed above, the Trinity tended to be viewed as three stages in the outflow of
God into the world, with the Father as its source and the Holy Spirit as its termination. Yet
beginning with the Church councils, the Trinity gradually came to be understood differently, as
three distinctions to be made within God’s inner nature itself. Not surprisingly, both models of
the Trinity can be found in Gregory. Y et the first is clearly more congenial to his distinctive
nature-energies understanding of God than the second. Indeed, one might question whether
the second makes any sense at all in light of the typical Byzantine insistence on the
incomprehensibility of God’s inner nature: if God’s nature is incomprehensible, how can we say
it is both three and one–unless by doing so we wish to emphasize God’s very
incomprehensibility?

Not only is the earlier model of the Trinity more consistent with Gregory’s view of God as a
transcendent nature whose energies are projected into the world; it also adds to it a dynamic
and historical dimension that the bare nature-energies distinction fails to capture on its own.
As noted above, the Father is always transcendent; and at the other extreme, the Holy Spirit is
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God’s glory (Song of Songs VI [1117]): it “manifests [the Son's] energy” (Great Catechism 2
[17]) in the world. It is the second Person of the Trinity who is the most interesting because it
provides Gregory with the conceptual apparatus to explain God’s operation in history, for the
point at which the second Person enters the world becomes the point in time in which God is
more intimately present to the world than before.

Gregory’s philosophy of history begins with the fall of Adam from perfection. Earlier it was
noted that according to Gregory humankind was fashioned in two creations–one of the nature
of the nous, the other of its energies together with the body. The reason for the second creation
was that God foresaw that humans would sin and so be unable to reproduce in a disembodied,
angelic way; thus, they required bodies to allow them to propagate (Making of Man 16 – 17
[177 - 189], 22 [204 - 205]; Soul and Resurrection [157 - 160]). But the provision of bodies
brings in its wake the tragic reality of death and sin, the overcoming of which was the purpose
of the incarnation of Christ (Great Catechism 8 [33]).

Gregory’s Christology is the story of the entry of the second Person of the Trinity into the
world. In Gregory’s words,

For although this last form of God’s presence amongst us is not the same as that
former presence, still his existence amongst us equally both then and now is
evidenced: now he rules in us in order to hold together that nature in being; then he
was transfused in our nature, in order that our nature might by this transfusion of the
divine become itself divine–being rescued from death and put beyond the reach of
the tyranny of the Adversary. For his return from death becomes to our mortal race
the commencement of our return to immortal life. (Great Catechism 25 [65 - 68])

In saying that initially Christ entered “our nature,” Gregory is echoing the typical Eastern
Christian understanding of Christ’s saving work; for according to that tradition, Christ healed
the effects of the fall of humankind in the same way as he healed the sick in his earthly
ministry–simply by touching. Moreover, because, as Gregory of Nazianzus put it, “what was
not assumed was not healed” (Letters 101.5), Christ had to touch all aspects of human existence
from birth to death (Great Catechism 27 [69 - 72], 32 [77 - 80]). Thus the former had to wait
until the disease of human sinfulness had fully manifested itself (Great Catechism 29 [73 - 76]).
And by submitting to the latter, Christ offered himself in bondage to Satan in exchange for the
whole of humanity, whom Satan then had under his tyranny (Great Catechism 22 – 24 [60 -
65]). Precisely how, in Christ, the divine thus entered into human nature we can never know–
any more than we can understand the presence of our own souls to our bodies (Great
Catechism 11 [44]).But after the resurrection of Christ, the second Person of the Trinity is no
longer just “transfused in our nature,” but now “rules in us.” In other words, the second Person
is now immanent in the world in the institution of the Church; for “he who sees the Church sees
Christ” (Song of Songs XIII [1048]). Indeed, Gregory deploys, once again, his characteristic
insistence on the unexpected unity of opposites, this time in the Church’s sacraments–life
through death, justification through sin, blessing through curse, glory through disgrace,
strength through weakness, and so forth–to argue for Christ’s continued, miraculous presence
in his Church (Song of Songs VIII [948 - 949], XIII [1045 - 1052]). For this reason, Gregory
subscribes to a realist theory of the sacraments. As baptism is to the soul, so the Eucharist is to
the body (Great Catechism 37 [93]). In the former case, the presence of Christ “transforms
what is born with a corruptible nature into a state of incorruption” (Great Catechism 33 [84],
cf. 34 [85]). In the latter, Christ “disseminates himself in every believer through that flesh,
whose substance comes from bread and wine, blending himself with the bodies of believers, to
secure that, by this union with the immortal, man, too, may be a sharer in incorruption”–a
process Gregory calls metastoicheiosis, “transelementation” (Great Catechism 37 [97]).
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In the Resurrection, Christ “knitted together [the soul and body of humankind] . . . in a union
never to be broken” (Great Catechism 16 [52], cf. 35 [89]) and “recalled [our] diseased nature
by repentance to the grace of its original state” (Great Catechism 8 [37]). This is difficult to
understand unless one notes that Gregory describes Christ’s saving work in the language of the
Platonic forms (Great Catechism 16 [52], 32 [80 - 81]), which were classically construed as the
originals of which the things that participate in them are mere images. Thus the resurrection
and deification of Christ’s human nature are the prototypes of those to follow. The key idea
here seems to be, once again, that human beings were created in God’s image. Formerly, that
image was seen in the structural relation between the nature and energies of the human nous;
now it is projected onto the axis of history.

Participation in Christ’s resurrection guarantees the resurrection of the body on the part of
humanity. How does this happen? For one thing, as was noted earlier, Gregory holds that the
nous is never completely separated from the body anyway, so in a sense there is no paradox in
its revivification, But aren’t the bodily components scattered to the four winds after the decay
of the corpse in the grave? How can they ever be reassembled? Gregory indeed addresses this
problem and argues, strangely, that each particle of the body is stamped with one’s personal
identity, and so it will be possible for the nous to eventually recognize and reassemble them all
(Making of Man 26 – 27 [224 - 229], Soul and Resurrection [73 - 80]).

Similarly, the logical consequence of Christ’s deification is the apokatastasis–the restoration

of humanity to its unfallen state. Because evil is a privation of the good and is therefore limited,
Gregory believes that there is a limit to human degradation. At some point, everyone must turn
around and strive for the good. Besides, the ultimate good, which is God, is infinitely attractive.
Thus, Gregory endorses Origen’s (First Principles I 6.3, II 10.4 – 10.8, III 6.5 – 6.6) much-
maligned theories of remedial punishment and universal salvation (Great Catechism 8 [36 -
37], 26 [69], 35 [92]; Making of Man 21 – 22 [201 - 205]; Soul and Resurrection [97 - 105, 152,
157 - 160]). In other words, for Gregory as for his intellectual ancestor Origen, everyone–even
Satan himself (Great Catechism 26 [68 - 69])–will eventually be saved. This means that there is
no such thing as eternal damnation. Hell is really purgatory; punishment is temporary and
remedial. As Gregory puts it in a colorful metaphor, the process of purgation is like drawing a
rope encrusted with dried mud through a small aperture: it’s hard on the rope, but it does come
out clean on the other side (Soul and Resurrection [100]).

The final component of Gregory’s eschatology is his famous theory of perfection, which is
derived from his conviction, which he inherits from Plato (Theaetetus 176b1 – 2) through
Origen (First Principles III 6.1), that the purpose of human life is to achieve nothing less than
likeness to God (homoiosis theoi). But there would seem to be a problem here: if God’s very
essence is incomprehensible, how can we know what God is really like? The answer lies in the
life of Christ, whose purpose was to demonstrate what God is like–an idea Gregory also
borrows from Origen (First Principles I 2.8). Consequently, it is sufficient if we use Christ’s life
as a model for our own (On Perfection [264 - 265, 269]). Nevertheless, it remains that God’s
nature is infinitely removed from ours. But that doesn’t mean that striving to become like God
is pointless; it only means that the process of perfection is unending (Against Eunomius I 15
[301], 22 [340], II [940 - 941], III 6.5 [707]; Great Catechism 21 [57 - 60]; Making of Man 21
[201 - 204]; Soul and Resurrection [96 - 97, 105]; On Perfection [285]). This idea forms the
core of Gregory’s epistemology and ethics , which will be summarized below.

6. Knowledge
Gregory’s epistemological views are nicely brought out in his reflections on the life of Moses.
The central feature of Gregory’s very sensitive analysis is the sequence of three theophanies
that punctuate Moses’ life (Song of Songs XII [1025 - 1028]). Moses is pictured as one who has

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a thirst for utter intimacy with God, and the three theophanies are stages on his journey to that
intimacy. The first theophany is the burning bush (Life of Moses II 1 – 116 [297 - 360]). In a
traditional vein, Gregory takes light to be a symbol of knowledge. So the first stage of Moses’
progress is the acquisition of purely intellectual knowledge of God. This procedure is clearly
rational; and Gregory will be found in what follows applying that quintessentially rational
criterion–consistency–to the acquisition of religious truth.

To do this, Gregory recognizes, one must resort to philosophy as a source of conceptual tools.
But philosophy in his day was almost wholly associated with paganism. So Gregory’s attitude
toward philosophy is somewhat ambiguous. At one time he portrays philosophy, like Moses’
stepmother, as barren (Life of Moses II 10 – 12 [329]), and, like the Egyptian whom Moses
killed, as something to be striven against (Life of Moses 13 – 18 [329 - 332]). Later, he recites
with approval the common Christian interpretation of the Israelites’ spoiling of the Egyptians
as a lesson to Christians on the importance of appropriating pagan wisdom in explaining
Christian doctrine (Life of Moses II 115 [360]). But Gregory’s true position seems to lie
between these two extremes: philosophy is useful if properly “circumcised,” that is, culled of
any “foreskin” alien to the spirit of Christianity (Life of Moses II 39 – 40 [337]).

Of the same ilk is Gregory’s hermeneutical principle of distinguishing between the literal
narrative (historia) of a Biblical passage and the spiritual contemplation (theoria) of it. In the
tradition of Philo (Creation of the World 1.1 – 2.12) and Origen (First Principles I Pref., IV 1.1 –
3.5), he produces several arguments in favor of the allegorization of Scripture: (1) it is
practiced by Christ, (2) it is recommended by Paul, (3) it makes passages edifying that would
otherwise be immoral, and (4) it makes sense of passages that would otherwise be unintelligible
or impossible (Song of Songs Preface [756 - 764]). This procedure is obviously predicated on
the imperative of integrating Scripture into the entire matrix of worldly knowledge. Gregory
never doubts that this matrix should be internally consistent; and he unselfconsciously
employs the rule that of two claims that are mutually inconsistent, the more trumps the less
edifying.

Up to this point intellectual development is characterized by the rigorous application of the

rational criterion of consistency. But for Gregory the next two theophanies go far beyond the
veneer of wisdom that mere logical consistency provides. The second theophany occurs atop
Mount Sinai (Life of Moses II 117 – 201 [360 - 392]), and here we find not light but darkness.
Thus the Israelites were first led through the desert by a cloudy pillar; and finally they arrived
at the mountain of divine knowledge, which was wrapped in darkness. Thus when it comes to a
more profound understanding of God, the relevant visual metaphor is darkness, not light.
Similarly, the relevant auditory metaphor is silence, not speech (Ecclesiastes VII [732]). At
this stage Moses learns a much deeper fact about God–that all the language we use of God is
only superficial and that a truer understanding of God will only reveal God’s utter
incomprehensibility. One who becomes aware of God’s complete mysteriousness has,
paradoxically, learned more about God than the most articulate theologian.

At this stage there is no longer any reliance on the physical senses; indeed, as has been seen, at
this level sight and hearing shut down. Instead, the vision of God is mediated by the so-called
“spiritual senses,” an idea Gregory’s inherits from his theological mentor Origen (Song of
Songs I 4, II 9 – 11, III 5). God cannot be perceived with the external senses, but some sort of
mystical awareness of God is achievable internally. In this vein it is significant that, when
discussing the spiritual senses, Gregory most often appeals, not to the “higher” senses of sight
and hearing, but to the more intimate senses of smell, taste, and touch as metaphors by which
to describe them (cf. Song of Songs I [780 - 784], III [821 - 828], IV [844]).

The third and final theophany revolves around Moses’ vision of God’s glory from the cleft in a
rock (Life of Moses II 202 – 321 [392 - 429]). Moses, as Gregory interprets him, is one of those
who crave ever more intimate communion with God. Earlier he had requested to know God’s
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name; now he asks to behold God’s glory. So God directs Moses to the cleft of a rock and walks
by, placing a hand over the cleft to obscure Moses’ sight; only after God has passed is the hand
removed, but by now all Moses can see is God’s back. Thus Moses finally realizes that the
longing for utter intimacy with God can never be satisfied–faith will never be transformed into
understanding (cf. Against Eunomius II [941])–but nevertheless “what Moses yearned for is
satisfied by the very things which leave his desire unsatisfied” (Life of Moses II 235 [404]).
Because God is an infinite being, the desire to know God is an infinite process; but in Gregory’s
eyes this really makes it much more satisfying than some static Beatific Vision. The process of
becoming ever closer to God does not cease at physical death (which is, after all, just one
among many passing events punctuating human existence), but continues forever.

When reflecting on Gregory’s theory of knowledge as developed in The Life of Moses, one is
struck by his commitment to rationalism–this despite his ambivalence on the value of pagan
wisdom. Scripture for him is merely the starting point of the intellectual quest; and, given his
reliance on allegory as a tool of exegesis, even that is brought within the ambit of a rational
worldview. However, for Gregory the quest does not end with reason; rather, because God is
utterly mysterious and infinitely remote, the quest is capped by a mystical ascent that always
approaches but never reaches its destination. This intellectual dynamic is paralleled by a moral
one, which will be sketched in what follows.

7. Virtue
Gregory’s ethical thought explores the implications of the theme of the “dignity of royalty” of
the human person, which, as has been seen, derives from the idea that humans, and humans
alone, were created in the image of God. This is perhaps the most far-reaching theme of
Christian ethics. For it means that because there is a part of the human person that is literally
not of this world, human beings are possessed of an intrinsic worth which is unique in creation.
This idea obviously imposes certain obligations on us in relation to both ourselves and others.
To others we owe mercy (Beatitudes V [1252 - 1253]) and the Christian virtue of agape
(Beatitudes VII [1284]). To ourselves we owe the effort to overcome the deficiencies in our
likeness to God; for we are unable to contemplate God directly, and morally our free will has
been compromised by the passions (pathe). Thus with respect to ourselves we must strive for
intellectual and moral perfection (Beatitudes III [1225 - 1228], V [1253 - 1260).

Because he was committed to the idea that humans have a unique value that demands respect,
Gregory was an early and vocal opponent of slavery and also of poverty. Against the former
Gregory marshals three arguments (Ecclesiastes IV [665]): (1) Only God has the right to
enslave humans, and God does not choose to do so; indeed, it was God who gave human beings
their free wills. (2) How dare a person take that precious entity–the only part of the created
order to have been made in God’s image–and enslave it! (3) As humans who were created in the
divine image, all people are radically equal; therefore, it is hubristic for some to arrogate to
themselves absolute authority over others. Against the latter, he appeals, once again, to the
“dignity of royalty” theme–that poverty is inconsistent with the rulership bestowed on
humankind at its creation (On Compassion for the Poor [477]). Both slavery and poverty sully
the dignity of human beings by degrading them to a station below the purple to which they were
rightfully born; and although we may congratulate ourselves on having outlawed slavery, it is
important to remember that for Gregory poverty is no different.

Moral progress is defined by two phases. Initially we must pursue the Stoic ideal of apatheia
(passionlessness; cf. Diogenes Laertius , Lives VII 117), but in moderation (Beatitudes II
[1216]). However, Gregory makes it clear that this moderation is due only to the exigencies of
life in the flesh. At some point we must go beyond being satisfied with moderation and strive
for a life which, in its breadth, is one of complete, not partial, virtue (Beatitudes IV [1241]),
and, in its depth, is a matter of continual, unceasing perfection (Beatitudes IV [1244 - 1245]).
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The former idea, the unity of the virtues, Gregory derives, once again, from the Stoics (cf.
Diogenes Laertius, Lives VII 125); but the latter is entirely his own.

Again, Gregory distinguishes between the Old Law and the New Law, which is built on the Old
but goes beyond it (Beatitudes VI [1273 - 1276]). The Old Law deals with externals–works. But
the New Law deals, not with works, but with the psychological springs from which works
originate. To perfect one’s outward behavior is one thing; to purify one’s own heart is quite
another. Thus, for example, whereas the Old Law prohibited murder, the New Law forbids even
anger; and whereas the Old Law prohibited adultery, the New Law forbids even lust. Combining
this theme with the one discussed in the last paragraph, one must conclude that Gregory sees
moral progress as moving from a state of finite, external virtue to one of infinite, internal
progress.

Once again, the similarity to Kant is striking. Like Gregory, Kant distinguishes four kinds of
duty–perfect and imperfect duties to ourselves and to others (Metaphysical Principles of
Virtue Introduction). More importantly, he distinguishes between duties of right and duties of
virtue (Metaphysical Principles of Right Introduction III, Metaphysical Principles of Virtue
Introduction VII). And the differences between duties of right and of virtue are similar to the
distinctions Gregory draws between moderation and infinite perfection and between the Old
and the New Law. Duties of right tend to deal with externals and, as “thou shalt nots,” can be
completely fulfilled. Duties of virtue, on the other hand, tend to deal with the will and, as “thou
shalts,” can never be completely fulfilled. In fact, in his famous discussion of the postulate of
immortality Kant argues that the process of moral perfection is limitless and that if “ought”
implies “can” it must be possible for humans to engage in an unending pursuit of perfection
(Critique of Practical Reason Dialectic IV; cf. Metaphysical Principles of Virtue I 22).

8. Conclusion
This paper has tried to make clear what a rich resource of ideas we have in Gregory of Nyssa.
What is also of great historical interest is Gregory’s pivotal role in the development of Western
consciousness. Gregory takes numerous ideas from the Judaeo-Christian, particularly
Philonian-Origenist, tradition and from the pagan Middle Platonist and Neoplatonist schools,
digests them into a very original synthesis and in expounding that synthesis develops ideas that
anticipate later Byzantine thinkers such as the Pseudo-Dionysius and Gregory Palamas. Not
only that, but several of Gregory’s most important theories bear some resemblance to modern
thinkers such as John Locke and Immanuel Kant (though through what channels of
transmission, if any, is unclear–perhaps John Scotus Eriugena (c. 810 – c. 877), who quotes
him extensively, and the Cambridge Platonists of the seventeenth century). Given all that, and
given Gregory’s relative absence from most standard treatments of Western thought, I think
may be fair to say that Gregory of Nyssa is one of the most under-appreciated figures in
Western intellectual history.

9. References and Further Reading

a. Greek Texts

Gregor von Nyssa: Aus einem Briefe an Xenodorus. In Analecta Patristica: Texte und
Abhandlungen der Griechischen Patristik, edited by Franz Diekamp, pp. 13 – 15.
Orientalia Christiana Analecta 177. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Orientalium Studiorum,
1938.
This is the source for an important fragment discussing Gregory’s concept of “energies.”
Gregorii Nysseni Opera. Edited by Werner Jaeger, et al. Leiden: Brill, 1960 – 1998.

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This critical edition of Gregory’s works is rapidly replacing the much older Migne edition.
However the edition has not yet been completed.
Patrologia Graeca, vols. 44 – 46. Edited by J. P. Migne. Paris: Migne, 1857 – 1866.
In the above citations I have placed page references to the Migne edition (which is still the only
complete edition of Gregory’s works) in brackets.

b. Translations

From Glory to Glory: Texts from Gregory of Nyssa’s Mystical Writings. Edited by Jean
Danielou. Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1997.Gregory of Nyssa: Homilies on
Ecclesiastes. Translated by Stuart G. Hall and Rachel Moriarty. Proceedings of the
Seventh International Colloquium on Gregory of Nyssa. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1993.
Life of Moses. Translated by Abraham J. Malherbe and Everett Ferguson. Classics of Western
Spirituality. New York: Paulist Press, 1978.
On the Inscriptions of the Psalms. Translated by Ronald E. Heine. Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1995.
Saint Gregory of Nyssa: Ascetical Works. Translated by Virginia W. Callahan. The Fathers of
the Church, vol. 58. Washington: Catholic University Press, 1967.
Saint Gregory of Nyssa: Commentary on the Song of Songs. Translated by Casimir
McCambley. Archbishop Iakovos Library of Ecclesiastical and Historical Sources, no. 12.
Brookline: Hellenic College Press, 1987.
Select Writings and Letters of Gregory, Bishop of Nyssa. Translated by William Moore and
Henry A. Wilson. A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian
Church, 2d series, vol. 5. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1954. Note that Book II of Against
Eunomius in this edition is now regarded as Book IV (usually referred to under various
titles as a separate work), Books III – XII are now regarded as Sections 1 – 10 of Book III,
and the “Answer to Eunomius’ Second Book” is now regarded as Book II.
St. Gregory of Nyssa: The Soul and the Resurrection. Translated by Catharine P. Roth.
Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1993.
The Lord’s Prayer, The Beatitudes. Translated by Hilda C. Graef. Ancient Christian Writers,
vol. 18. New York: Newman Press, 1954.

c. Secondary Sources

Balas, David L. Metousia Theou: Man’s Participation in God’s Perfections according to Saint
Gregory of Nyssa. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Sancti Anselmi, 1966.Balthasar, Hans
Urs von. Presence and Thought: An Essay on the Religious Philosophy of Gregory of
Nyssa. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1995.
Barnes, Michel Rene. The Power of God: Dunamis in Gregory of Nyssa’s Trinitarian
Theology. Washington: Catholic University Press, 2001.
Callahan, J. F. “Greek Philosophy and the Cappadocian Cosmology.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers
12 (1958): 30 – 57.
Cherniss, Harold Fredrik. The Platonism of Gregory of Nyssa. New York: Lenox Hill
Publishers, 1971.
Coakley, Sarah, ed. Re-Thinking Gregory of Nyssa. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2003.
Harrison, Verna E. F. Grace and Human Freedom According to St. Gregory of Nyssa.
Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 1992.
Heine, Ronald E. “Gregory of Nyssa’s Apology for Allegory.” Vigiliae Christianae 38 (1984):
360 – 370.
Jaeger, Werner. Two Rediscovered Works of Ancient Christian Literature: Gregory of Nyssa
and Macarius. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1954.

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Keenan, Mary Emily. “De Professione Christiana and De Perfectione: A Study of the Ascetical
Doctrine of Saint Gregory of Nyssa.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 5 (1950): 167 – 207.
Ladner, Gerhart D. “The Philosophical Anthropology of Saint Gregory of Nyssa.” Dumbarton
Oaks Papers 12 (1958): 59 – 94.
Lossky, Vladimir. The Vision of God. Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1983.
Louth, Andrew. The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition: From Plato to Denys.
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981.
Meredith, Anthony. Gregory of Nyssa. London: Routledge, 1999.
Meredith, Anthony. The Cappadocians. Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1995.
Moutsoulas, Elias D. The Incarnation of the Word and the Theosis of Man According to the
Teaching of Gregory of Nyssa. Athens: Elias D. Moutsoulas, 2000.
Pelikan, Jaroslav. Christianity and Classical Culture: The Metamorphosis of Natural
Theology in the Christian Encounter with Hellenism. New Haven: Yale University Press,
1993.
Otis, Brooks. “Cappadocian Thought as a Coherent System.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 12
(1958): 96 – 124.
Stramara, Daniel F. “Gregory of Nyssa: An Ardent Abolitionist?” St. Vladimir’s Theological
Quarterly. 41 (1997): 37 – 69.
Weiswurm, Alcuin A. The Nature of Human Knowledge According to Saint Gregory of
Nyssa. Washington: Catholic University Press, 1952.

Author Information

Donald L. Ross
Email: dlr33@georgetown.edu
Georgetown University

Article printed from Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy: http://www.iep.utm.edu/gregoryn/

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