Letter 9: 1. Speech is really an image of mind: so I have learned to know you from your letters, just as the proverb tells us we may know the lion from his claws. I am delighted to find that your strong inclinations lie in the direction of the first and greatest of good things — love both to God and to your neighbour.

Basil of CaesareaMaximus of Madaura|c. 357 AD|basil caesarea
arianismillness
Imperial politics; Travel & mobility; Military conflict

To Maximus the Philosopher

1. Speech is truly an image of the mind, so I have come to know you through your letters — just as the proverb says we can know the lion by his claws.

I am delighted to find that your strongest inclinations point toward the first and greatest of good things: love for God and love for your neighbor. Of the second I find proof in your kindness to me; of the first, in your passion for knowledge. Every disciple of Christ knows that everything is contained in these two.

2. You ask about the writings of Dionysius. They did reach me — a great many of them — but I do not have the books with me and so have not sent them. My opinion, however, is this: I do not admire everything he wrote; indeed, I flatly reject some of it. It may well be that the heresy we hear so much about now — the Anomoean position — received its first seeds from him, as far as I can tell. I do not attribute this to any wickedness on his part, but only to his fierce determination to resist Sabellius. I often compare him to a woodsman trying to straighten a crooked sapling who pulls so hard in the opposite direction that he bends it past straight and warps it the other way.

This is very much what happened with Dionysius. While forcefully opposing the heresy of the Libyan, he was carried away by his zeal into the opposite error. It would have been perfectly sufficient for him to point out that the Father and the Son are not identical in substance, and thereby defeat the blasphemer. But to win an overwhelming and unmistakable victory, he was not satisfied with establishing a difference of persons; he had to assert a difference of substance, a diminished power, and a varying glory. So he traded one error for another and veered off the straight line of doctrine. His writings show a mixed inconsistency: at one point he rejects the term "co-substantial" because his opponent had misused it to collapse the distinct persons, and at another point he accepts it in his defense addressed to his namesake. On top of this, he made deeply inappropriate statements about the Spirit, separating Him from the Godhead that is to be worshipped and assigning Him a lower rank alongside created and subordinate nature. Such is the character of his work.

3. If I must give my own view, it is this. The phrase "like in essence," if read with the qualification "without any difference," I accept as conveying the same meaning as "co-substantial" (homoousios), understood in its proper sense. With this understanding, the Fathers at Nicaea called the Only-begotten "Light from Light, true God from true God," and so on, and then consistently added "co-substantial." It is impossible to think of light as varying from light, or truth from truth, or the essence of the Only-begotten as varying from the essence of the Father.

But if anyone strips away the qualification "without any difference" from the word "like" — as was done at Constantinople — then I regard the phrase with suspicion, as diminishing the dignity of the Only-begotten. We are accustomed to thinking of "likeness" in cases of vague resemblances that fall far short of the original. I myself prefer "co-substantial," as it is less open to misinterpretation.

But why not come visit me, my dear sir, so we can discuss these great subjects face to face instead of committing them to lifeless letters — especially since I have resolved not to publish my views? And please do not quote Diogenes' remark to Alexander at me: that "it is as far from you to me as from me to you." I am practically forced by poor health to stay in one place, like a plant; besides, I consider living in obscurity one of life's chief blessings.

You, I am told, are in good health. You have made yourself a citizen of the world, and in coming to see me you might consider that you are coming home. It is perfectly right for you, a man of action, to live amid crowds and cities where you can display your good works. For me, quiet is the best aid for the contemplation and mental exercise by which I cling to God — and this quiet I cultivate abundantly in my retreat, with the help of its giver, God.

Yet if you insist on courting the great and looking down on me lying here on the ground, then at least write to me, and in that way make my life a happier one.

Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.

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