The Reception of Athanasius in the Eastern Tradition

O holy father Athanasius, like a pillar of orthodoxy

you refuted the heretical nonsense of Arius

by insisting that the Father and the Son are equal in essence.

O venerable father, beg Christ our God to save our souls.

—Troparion to Athanasius^[1]

The Eastern Christian tradition has received Athanasius as a champion of orthodoxy and a pillar of the church’s faith. This is true of the Byzantine churches, but equally of the Maronites and the non-Chalcedonian Eastern churches (Coptic, Armenian, and Syrian churches).^[2] In the words of George Dragas, Athanasius’s “spiritual fame and radiance made him the spokesman of orthodoxy par excellence.”^[3] The issue in question is not whether Athanasius was well received and appreciated in the East but how he was received and what particular impact he had on the Eastern tradition. To examine this, we will first look at the proximate reception of Athanasius in Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nazianzus, Cyril of Alexandria, and the early monastic movement. Then we will briefly consider two controversies in the later Byzantine tradition in which Athanasius’s legacy played a role: the controversy over the use of icons and the collision with the West over the theology of the filioque.

Basil of Caesarea

General summaries of the fourth century often depict Athanasius and the Cappadocian fathers (Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus, and Gregory of Nyssa) as if they were runners in a relay race. As the story is told, Athanasius ran the long, hard leg of the race from the Council of Nicaea, finally handing the baton over to the three fleet-footed Cappadocians who (in turn) carried the race through to the Council of Constantinople and beyond. Though it makes too simple what is in fact a complex relationship, this rough depiction has much to commend it. According to John Behr, “While it would be too simplistic to present Basil as taking over the baton of orthodoxy from Athanasius and continuing in the path that he has thus far defined, Basil’s work does in fact complement that of Athanasius remarkably well.”^[4] Bringing nuance to this picture, Behr goes on to say that “all of this was not so much a straightforward continuation or development of Athanasius’ own defense of Nicaea, but Basil’s own proper contributions, complementing that of Athanasius.”^[5] Speaking in a similar vein, Lewis Ayres observes that “tracing the actual influence of Athanasius on his contemporaries is difficult,” and that “his influence on the Cappadocians is much more difficult to demonstrate.”^[6] Basil and the two Gregorys were plainly not Athanasius’s direct disciples. Which of Athanasius’s writings they read and what influence his writings had upon them remain open questions. Yet, from the direct testimony of Basil and Gregory of Nazianzen, it is clear that they saw themselves contending for the same faith and viewed Athanasius as a champion of the race that they were also continuing to run.

We are fortunate to possess six letters from Basil to Athanasius, and a further five that reflect Basil’s view of Athanasius.^[7] The focus of nearly every letter is the so-called “Melitian schism,” a division in the city of Antioch over which of two claimants was the rightful bishop. Basil favored Melitius while Athanasius backed Paulinus.^[8] In 371–72, Basil sent several letters to Athanasius in the hope of persuading him to throw his considerable support behind Melitius. In one instance, praising Athanasius, Basil calls upon the aged patriarch to use his influence with the West to help unite Antioch around Melitius:

But, to carry out these objects, who has more capacity than yourself, with your intelligence and prudence? Who is keener to see the needful course to be taken? Who has more practical experience in working a profitable policy? Who feels more deeply the troubles of the brethren? What through all the West is more honoured than your venerable gray hairs? O most honoured father, leave behind you some memorial worthy of your life and character. By this one act crown your innumerable efforts on behalf of true religion.^[9]

In the end, Basil’s appeal to Athanasius was not successful; the Alexandrian bishop died in 373 without bringing about a healing of the rupture in Antioch. But this did not cause Basil to lose his esteem for Athanasius. Writing (ca. 375) shortly after Athanasius’s death, Basil justifies his own pastoral action according to Athanasius’s counsel and example:

For after receiving the letter of the very blessed Father Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria, which I hold in my hand, and show to anyone who asks, wherein he has distinctly declared that any one expressing a wish to come over from the heresy of the Arians and accepting the Nicene Creed, is to be received without hesitation and difficulty, citing in support of his opinion the unanimous assent of the bishops of Macedonia and of Asia; I, considering myself bound to follow the high authority of such a man and of those who made the rule, and with every desire on my own part to win the reward promised to peacemakers, did enroll in the lists of communicants all who accepted that creed.^[10]

This narrow window onto the interactions of the two great figures reveals Basil’s deep respect and regard for “father” Athanasius. Though no mention is made of points of doctrine, the tone of Basil’s appeals and his imitation of Athanasius’s peace-making practice makes no sense apart from a basic agreement on the essentials of the faith.

Gregory of Nazianzus

During a sojourn in the city of Constantinople in 379–80, just a half-dozen years after the death of Athanasius, Gregory of Nazianzus delivered an oration dedicated entirely to the praise of the great Athanasius. Though undoubtedly hyperbolic at points, the oration reveals Gregory’s own deep appreciation for the conduct and teaching of Athanasius, and, crucially, it set the standard for how Athanasius would be regarded for generations to come.

Gregory opens by praising virtue and extolling Athanasius as one who excelled in all virtue: “In praising Athanasius, I shall be praising virtue. To speak of him and to praise virtue are identical, because he had, or, to speak more truly, has embraced virtue in its entirety.”^[11] Lauding Athanasius for his excellence in both intellect and activity, Nazianzen acknowledges that a full history of the great man is warranted (and that he himself hopes to compose such a history on the model of Athanasius’s own Life of Antony), but for the present he is offering a panegyric that has space only for recounting a few historical incidents.^[12]

Gregory expresses his admiration for Athanasius first of all for his knowledge of the Scriptures and the contemplative wisdom drawn from the holy writings: “From meditating on every book of the Old and New Testament, with a depth such as none else has applied even to one of them, [Athanasius] grew rich in contemplation, rich in splendour of life, combining them in wondrous sort by that golden bond which few can weave.”^[13] Endorsing the legitimacy of his election as bishop of Alexandria, Gregory applauds Athanasius for the balance he attained in challenging circumstances:

He was sublime in action, lowly in mind; inaccessible in virtue, most accessible in intercourse; gentle, free from anger, sympathetic, sweet in words, sweeter in disposition; angelic in appearance, more angelic in mind; calm in rebuke, persuasive in praise, without spoiling the good effect of either by excess, but rebuking with the tenderness of a father, praising with the dignity of a ruler, his tenderness was not dissipated, nor his severity sour; for the one was reasonable, the other prudent, and both truly wise.^[14]

Turning to doctrinal matters, Gregory commends Athanasius for holding the truths of the faith against the extremes of Arianism and Sabellianism. In contrast to the majority of bishops, whom Gregory judges to have fallen into impiety, he singles out Athanasius for his faithfulness, calling him a “pillar of the Church.”^[15] In a suggestive phrase, Gregory states that the emperor Julian (the Apostate) sought to overcome “Athanasius and the power of his teaching over us.”^[16] Gregory seems to acknowledge here the broad authority of Athanasius’s teaching for the Christian people, including Gregory himself.

Twice toward the close of the oration, Gregory displays his acquaintance with Athanasius’s writings. In the first, Gregory honors Athanasius, not only for defending the full divinity of the Son and holding to the Trinity, but specifically for being among the first to exposit clearly the full divinity of the Holy Spirit:

For, when all the rest who sympathised with us were divided into three parties, and many were faltering in their conception of the Son, and still more in that of the Holy Spirit . . . and few indeed were sound upon both points, he was the first and only one, or with the concurrence of but a few, to venture to confess in writing, with entire clearness and distinctness, the unity of Godhead and essence of the three Persons, and thus to attain in later days, under the influence of inspiration, to the same faith in regard to the Holy Spirit, as had been bestowed at an earlier time on most of the Fathers in regard to the Son.^[17]

Gregory here seems plainly aware of the Letters to Serapion in which Athanasius argues decisively for the full divinity of the Spirit. This was a matter most precious to Gregory; in his fifth and final theological oration, also given at Constantinople, he insists with great force on the full divinity of the Spirit.

In the second instance, Gregory lauds the Alexandrian for his intervention with the Antiochenes, helping them to recognize the sameness of faith in different formulations. To make the following statement, Gregory must have been acquainted with Athanasius’s Tome to the Antiochenes (written in 362):

Seeing and hearing this, our blessed one, true man of God and great steward of souls as he was, felt it inconsistent with his duty to overlook so absurd and unreasonable a rending of the word, and applied his medicine to the disease. In what manner? He conferred in his gentle and sympathetic way with both parties, and after he had carefully weighed the meaning of their expressions, and found that they had the same sense, and were in nowise different in doctrine, by permitting each party to use its own terms, he bound them together in unity of action.^[18]

Concluding the oration in a paean of praise for Athanasius, Gregory declares that “his life and habits form the ideal of an Episcopate, and his teaching the law of orthodoxy.”^[19]

In sum, Gregory defends Athanasius against the charges of his calumniators and presents him as a bishop of excelling virtue. He approves his teaching, showing some acquaintance with Athanasius’s writings, but even more he praises him for his conduct, presenting him as a model of the servant of God. This “Gregorian portrait” of Athanasius would become the standard version handed down in the Christian tradition.^[20]

Cyril of Alexandria

Both in the Christian tradition and in contemporary scholarship, Athanasius and Cyril of Alexandria are bound firmly together. Cyril is commonly seen as the true heir of Athanasius in doctrine, ecclesiology, and pragmatic church politics. Whether praised or excoriated, the two are inextricably joined, with Cyril viewed as the extension (and development) of Athanasius. There are, however, two distinct and divergent narratives, each one having ancient and modern advocates. The first narrative acclaims Athanasius and Cyril as great figures who stood firm against a serious doctrinal deviation; by their orthodox teaching and unflagging perseverance, they helped the church reach and maintain doctrinal  clarity  on  the  full  divinity  and  humanity  of  the  one  Son (Trinity and Christology). On this view, Cyril is Athanasius’s heir both in the excellence of his teaching and in the firmness of his character.  This  is  fundamentally  the  picture  that  Nazianzen  paints  of Athanasius.^[21]

The second narrative, one sharply critical of both figures, judges Athanasius’s teaching to be theologically unsophisticated and doctrinally flawed. Cyril repeats and re-presents this teaching, with flaws embedded, adding little or nothing of his own. Athanasius is the defective innovator; Cyril dutifully and uncritically plods behind in steps already laid out before him. Pastorally, this second narrative depicts Athanasius as the original “gangster-style” Alexandrian bishop whom Cyril imitated with precision and alacrity, outdoing his master in shrewd political maneuvering. Together, they serve as prime exemplars of the abusive, deceitful prelate who uses doctrine as a weapon for personal power and who rides roughshod over any who stand in his way.^[22]

Here, we will examine how Cyril of Alexandria received, applied, and developed Athanasius’s legacy, reserving a broader estimation of Athanasius’s teaching and character for the final chapter. One significant impediment we face is that Cyril almost never cites authorities that he freely uses. He names a source only when that author is beneficial for presenting his case—when, for example, he calls upon Athanasius, Basil, and others and quotes from specific texts—to undergird his christological teaching against the Antiochenes. By examining the few occasions when Cyril refers to Athanasius by name, we will obtain a basic understanding of how he viewed his predecessor; by tracking Cyril’s anonymous use of Athanasius’s writings, we can hope to grasp the basic contours of Cyril’s theological relationship to Athanasius.

One rare pre-Nestorian mention of Athanasius in Cyril’s writings appears in his Festal Letter for the year 420. Cyril is describing the incarnation of the Word, seeking to explain the conjunction of the Word with his “flesh.” He insists that the phrase, “the Word became flesh” (John 1:14), does not mean that the Word changed into flesh but that the Word united the whole of humanity to himself in an indescribable union. At this juncture, he calls upon the testimony of Athanasius to support his claim, referring not to a specific text but to the teaching of Athanasius on this point as found generally in his writings:

Surely, then, as our all-praiseworthy father and bishop Athanasius, the undistorted rule of the orthodox faith, has said as well in his own writings, what has happened is a conjunction in the same place of two realities by nature dissimilar, divinity and humanity. But there is one Christ from the two.^[23]

Cyril’s appeal to Athanasius as “the undistorted rule of the orthodox faith” shows the high level of authority that Cyril grants to Athanasius and anticipates how Cyril will appeal to Athanasius in the wake of the Nestorian controversy.

Direct appeals to Athanasius multiply when Cyril comes under attack from the Antiochene theologians and must defend himself against charges that his teaching is novel and unsound. One of the earliest anti-Nestorian works, Letter to the Monks of Egypt (429), provides a true paean to Athanasius. Cyril calls upon the testimony of his predecessor to show the orthodoxy and ancestry of the term Theotokos for Mary:

We have been taught to think this way by the holy Fathers. Our Father Athanasius, of illustrious memory, was an ornament to the throne of the church of Alexandria throughout forty-six years in all. He opposed an unconquered and apostolic wisdom to the sophistries of the evil heretics, and refreshed the whole world with his own writings as if they were some most fragrant balsam. His orthodoxy and godliness in teaching are confessed by all, and he composed a book for us concerning the holy and consubstantial Trinity where, throughout the third discourse, he calls the holy virgin the Mother of God. I will make use of his own sayings and the exact words are these.^[24]

Whether or not Cyril knew of Gregory’s oration in honor of Athanasius, his praise of the patriarch here resembles that longer work, underlining both the unimpeachable orthodoxy of Athanasius’s teaching and the godliness of his conduct. When in other post-Nestorian letters Cyril makes direct appeal to Athanasius’s authority, he generally quotes from the Treatises Against the Arians or the Letter to Epictetus.^[25]

Among scholars, no one doubts that Cyril saw himself as promoting the teaching—the theological “program”—of Athanasius. Norman Russell estimates that Athanasius was “the greatest influence on [Cyril’s] theological development.”^[26] Searching for sources of Cyril’s theology, Lionel Wickham draws the same conclusion: Cyril’s “clearest debt is to Athanasius.”^[27] The question is how to view the relation between the two figures. Is Cyril simply parroting the teaching of Athanasius or is there genuine development? If there is development, where is it to be found?

Cyril most clearly follows in the steps of Athanasius when teaching on the divinity of the Son and the Trinitarian reality of God. One of his earliest works, the Thesaurus, is largely a digest of Athanasius’s Discourses Against the Arians.^[28] In her magisterial work on Cyril’s Trinitarian doctrine, Marie-Odile Boulnois agrees that Cyril follows in the path forged by Athanasius and so “remains fundamentally Alexandrian,” but she concludes that Cyril, drawing on the technical language of the Cappadocians, elaborates his own unique synthesis. His primary accomplishment is a more richly developed theology of the Holy Spirit.^[29] Brian Daley concurs, arguing that Cyril is not just derivative of Athanasius and Didymus, as many scholars assume. Rather, Cyril presents a synthesis of Athanasius and the Cappadocians with “its own characteristic emphases and themes.”^[30]

What about the topic of Christology? Does Cyril follow the incarnational soteriology that Athanasius forged? John O’Keefe believes that he does: “The basic contours of Cyril’s Christology follow the same pattern as that established by Athanasius and are determined by his soteriological vision. Christ is the Son of God, the second person of the Trinity, understood in a thoroughly Nicene framework.”^[31] Khaled Anatolios reckons that Cyril “based his own Christological reflections in large part along the lines of his predecessor.”^[32] Obviously, Cyril is well downstream from Athanasius when the crisis surrounding Nestorius breaks in 429. New issues have appeared and new arguments are required. Cyril appeals repeatedly to Athanasius’s Letter to Epictetus as the foundation for his own teaching about Christ, but he does not simply repeat what Athanasius had said. He makes use of other sources as well, notably Gregory of Nazianzus’s Letters to Cledonius, but always puts his own distinct stamp on his teaching. Cyril is not simply a compiler of opinions; he readily draws upon many sources, Athanasius being the principle one, to compose a theological statement that is fully his own.

The doctrine of deification offers a further example of how Cyril follows Athanasius closely yet brings his own distinctive approach to bear. According to Norman Russell, Cyril follows Athanasius in viewing the incarnation of the Word as the ground for human deification. For both figures, “the deification (theopoiēsis) of the flesh by the Word makes possible the deification of the individual believer through a personal participation in Christ.”^[33] Yet, Russell judges that Cyril’s teaching on deification “represents a considerable advance on Athanasius” by virtue of its relation to the entire Trinity, its richer theological anthropology, and its inclusion of the Eucharist in the activity of deification.^[34] Though Cyril largely eschews the technical terminology of deification found abundantly in Athanasius, he enriches the doctrine itself.

Christopher Beeley has questioned whether Cyril’s achievements in Christology are really a reception of Athanasius at all.^[35] He puts forward Nazianzen as the dominant source of Cyril’s best christological insights; Cyril’s dependence on Athanasius only bleeds through when he fails to fully integrate Gregory’s profound insights. In short, where Cyril’s Christology shines it is due to Nazianzen; where it limps, the lingering  influence  of  Athanasius  can  still  be  seen.  Beeley  is  certainly warranted  in  claiming  Gregory  as  a  significant  source  for Cyril’s christological teaching, but the wedge that he seeks to create between the teaching of Athanasius and Cyril is unpersuasive. Beeley paints Cyril as rising above Athanasius’s dualistic Christology (due to Nazianzen’s benevolent influence): “Cyril’s happy embrace of divine suffering overruled Athanasius’s opposition to it.” But he then bemoans Cyril’s failure to maintain this commitment throughout his corpus to divine suffering because of Cyril’s “lingering discomfort with theopaschite language,” causing him to “abandon Gregory’s radical affirmation of God’s suffering in Christ.”^[36] But this is a serious misreading of Cyril. Throughout his writings, from beginning to end, Cyril could not be clearer in stating that the eternal Son and Word genuinely suffered, but only and always as “man” (anthropos), never as God in his divine nature. In this he follows Athanasius closely. Moreover, Beeley’s parsing of Cyril’s writings (for example, the Third Letter to Nestorius) according to a complicated dialectic of praiseworthy Gregorian elements and inferior Athanasian influences fails to persuade.^[37]

When one reads the texts of both Athanasius and Cyril together, the profound resonances and similarities become evident. Cyril plainly read Athanasius thoroughly and absorbed his thought deeply. Cyril’s reception of Athanasius is a matter not of adopting select passages or stray ideas here and there but of taking on an entire way of thinking about the divine economy and the place of Christ within it. As contemporary scholarship has recognized, however, Cyril is a profound theologian in his own right. The influence of many others besides Athanasius, Gregory of Nazianzen being one of them, contribute to this depth. But arguably the single greatest source for Cyril’s synthesis derives not from any of his predecessors but from his own close attention to the Bible, displayed in his massive commentaries on nearly the entirety of the Old and New Testaments.

Athanasius and the Early Monastic Movement

Even Athanasius’s severest critics acknowledge that he forged an effective alliance with the monks of Egypt and became their trusted ally and leader. Perhaps the greatest element of Athanasius’s legacy—and certainly the one for which he is most beloved—is his lasting impact on the monastic movement and the ascetic life.^[38] The chief vehicle was his Life of Antony, a work that within Athanasius’s own lifetime became standard reading and soon after his death enjoyed wide dissemination in both the East and West. But Athanasius also formed bonds of friendship and loyalty with the monastic communities of his day, achieving a cooperative relationship between the episcopate and the desert that would come to mark his successors, Theophilus and Cyril.

Gregory of Nazianzen praises Athanasius for both these accomplishments. Gregory notes that Athanasius “wrote the life of the divine Antony, and set forth, in the form of a narrative, the laws of the monastic life.”^[39] Gregory shrewdly perceives that in The Life of Antony, Athanasius did not merely compose an edifying biography but laid down the fundamental principles of the ascetic vocation. The impact of this Life on the ascetic imagination is incalculable. On the other hand, in Gregory’s eyes, Athanasius succeeded in bringing together the solitary and communal manifestations of monastic life, as well as the active and contemplative expressions of Christian spirituality:

During his intercourse with [the monks], the great Athanasius, who was always the mediator and reconciler of all other men . . . reconciled the solitary with the community life: by showing that the priesthood is capable of contemplation, and that contemplation is in need of a spiritual guide. Thus he combined the two, and so united the partisans of both calm action and of active calm.^[40]

In a study on Athanasius’s interaction with the ascetic movement, David Brakke investigates how Athanasius’s political and theological aims guided his relationship with the monks.^[41] Brakke proposes that “the Athanasian Antony is not first of all a patron, a teacher, or a party leader: he is simply the ideal Christian, the most dramatic example of someone who, thanks to Christ’s victory on the cross, is making his journey on the way up to heaven.”^[42] He recognizes that “Athanasius hopes to contribute to the formation of a Christian politeia by fostering an ethic of imitation that reflects his own programme of self-formation through imitation of the saints.”^[43] Yet Brakke’s lens for viewing The Life of Antony and Athanasius’s relationship with the monks is a political one; he seeks to offer “a more precise understanding of how asceticism advanced Athanasius’ political programme.”^[44]

Athanasius was undoubtedly tactical in how he courted relationship with the monastic communities, but his expressed appreciation for the ascetic life would seem to be more than just politically instrumental. In the words of David Gwynn, “Whether it is correct to speak of the ‘politics’ of asceticism is more open to debate. . . . To dismiss Athanasius’ alliance with the monks and virgins of Alexandria and Egypt as merely political manipulation is to do Athanasius and the ascetics alike a grave disservice.”^[45] Further, Brakke’s claim that “Athanasius removed intellectual contemplation of God from the centre of his spirituality, and instead defined the Christian life in ascetic terms as control of the body’s passions and cultivation of virtue” is one-sided.^[46] The Letter to Marcellinus on the Psalms and the widely disseminated work On the Incarnation offer outlines of a spirituality where intellectual contemplation of God finds a secure home.

The Reception of Athanasius in the Byzantine Tradition

Athanasius is a figure of great renown in the Byzantine tradition. He is named as an authority in three ecumenical councils (Constantinople II and III, Nicaea II) and was the subject of multiple panegyrics in the Byzantine period.^[47] Frank L. Cross traces the wider dissemination of his writings in the East to the mid-fifth century and concludes that “the manuscript tradition leaves little doubt that from the first they were divided into two main groups, the Apologetic and the Doctrinal Treatises.”^[48] How broadly Athanasius’s works were known and read in the East is difficult to assess with precision. We have evidence for the wide flourishing of The Life of Antony. John Behr also identifies On the Incarnation as a deeply influential work: “On the Incarnation, in particular, had a massive impact on later theology. It could almost be described as the defining exposition of Nicene theology, certainly as understood by the later Byzantine tradition.”^[49] Among the doctrinal works, the Orations Against the Arians and the Letter to Epictetus figure prominently, but the Letters to Serapion and Tome to the Antiochenes also have echoes in later writers. Athanasius’s apologetic works (for example, Defense of His Flight) were read and digested by Socrates, Sozomen, and Theodoret. Whether through Athanasius’s own words or those of his advocates, the details of his life filtered down through the tradition. Within this broad and positive reception of Athanasius in the East, we will briefly consider two contexts in which Athanasius’s legacy played a notable part: the iconoclastic controversy and the filioque controversy.^[50]

The Iconoclastic Controversy

The debate over the use of icons in the Eastern church broke into the open in the late 720s. The issue in question was whether the making and veneration of icons (pictures of Christ, Mary, the angels, and the saints) is a praiseworthy act or whether it violates the commandment against the making of graven images. The Byzantine emperor, Leo II, vigorously championed the anti-icon position; opposing him, many bishops and monks took a stand in favor of the veneration of icons—among them was John of Damascus. Writing in the late 730s and early 740s from Palestine under the rule of the Muslim caliph, John undertook a theological defense of the veneration of icons, providing a needed clarification of what veneration was and how the act of venerating icons not only did not violate God’s command but was positively expressive of the reality of the incarnation.

John makes reference to the testimony of Athanasius four times in his compendium of theology, On the Orthodox Faith, calling him “the blessed Athanasius,” “holy Athanasius,” “the divine Athanasius,” and “the renowned Athanasius.”^[51] He refers to Athanasius (and Cyril) favorably when speaking about how the divinity was united to the flesh in Christ in the incarnation, and he appeals to Athanasius’s Letters to Serapion, adopting Athanasius’s form of argumentation to show that the Holy Spirit is not among created beings.^[52] All this shows Damascene’s wider reliance on Athanasius’s thought. But notably, in his Third Apology, John makes a creative use of a selection from Athanasius’s third Oration Against the Arians (3.5) to undergird the practice of the veneration of icons. In the text John cites, Athanasius holds up the example of the emperor and his image to show how the worship of the image is equivalent to the worship of the one who is imaged.

If we use the example of the emperor’s image we will find this easier to understand. The image bears his form and appearance. Whatever the emperor looks like, that is how his image appears. The likeness of the emperor on the image is precisely similar to the emperor’s own appearance, so that anyone who looks at the image recognizes that it is the emperor’s image; also, anyone who sees the emperor first and image later, realizes at once whose image it is. Since the likenesses are interchangeable, the image might answer someone who wished to see the emperor after he had seen the image, “The emperor and I are one, for I am in him, and he is in me. That which you see in me you will also see in him, and if you should see him, you will recognize us to be the same.” He who venerates the image venerates the emperor depicted on it, for the image is his form and his likeness.^[53]

This is a fascinating reminting of an analogy drawn from worship of the emperor’s image. In the original context, Athanasius employs this example to show that worship of the Son, who is the image of God, is worship directed to the Father, so there is but one worship of both Father and Son. The image in this case is a person—the incarnate Word of God—who is rightly worshiped along with the Father. In the later context, John extends the analogy to apply to the written or painted image (icon) of Christ. In this case, the image acts as a window to what it images, and the veneration offered to the image is directed to the one who is imaged (in this case Christ).

This use of Athanasius’s teaching to speak to the question of the veneration of icons was replicated by later authorities. The Seventh Ecumenical Council, held at Nicaea in 787, cites in its fourth session the same passage from Athanasius as part of the testimony from the fathers in favor of the veneration of icons.^[54] Then, in the midst of a second outbreak of iconoclastic activity in the next century, Theodore the Studite calls upon this same text in Athanasius to justify the veneration of images.^[55] Though Athanasius probably did not have the veneration of icons in view when he composed this text against the Arians of his day, the later tradition extended its application in a way unforeseen but consistent with the theological trajectory of Athanasius’s thought.

The Filioque Controversy

The Latin addition of “and the Son” (filioque) to the Nicene Creed engendered a running dialogue, debate, and disagreement between the East and West that continues even today. As early as the seventh century, Maximus the Confessor, an Eastern father, became aware of this addition and the theology behind it. In his Letter to Marinus, he describes what the Latins mean by the addition and seeks to explain the filioque in a way consistent with the Greek approach that sees the Father as the cause of the Spirit’s procession. This conciliatory approach, one that makes allowances for differences in language, does not generally characterize either side in the debates that followed.

Athanasius first appears as a witness in a dialogue held between Greek and Latin representatives meeting at Nicaea in 1234. Both Athanasius and Cyril were cited by the Western participants in support of the filioque, but no texts from Athanasius are named and no agreements were reached.^[56] Writing around the same time period, Thomas Aquinas cites the authority of Athanasius to settle the question of whether the Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son: “On the contrary, Athanasius says: ‘The Holy Spirit is from the Father and the Son; not made, nor created, nor begotten, but proceeding.’”^[57] But Thomas is quoting from verse 23 of the Athanasian Creed, a creed not recognized by the East and not, in fact, composed by Athanasius.

At the Council of Ferrara-Florence in 1438–39, called in large part to bring about a reunion of East and West, Athanasius reappears as a key witness for the Western side of the debate. At the fifth session in Ferrara (October 1438), the Latin side brought forward a collection of patristic texts from both Eastern and Western fathers in support of the procession of the Spirit from the Father and the Son. Included in this catena was a reference to Athanasius’s First Epistle to Serapion. After the council moved to Florence, the debate was resumed in March of 1439 during the third and fourth sessions, and this same text from Athanasius again became a point of contention.^[58] It reads: “But if, in regard to order and nature, the Spirit bears the same relation to the Son as the Son to the Father, will not he who calls the Spirit a creature necessarily hold the same to be true of the Son?”^[59] Representing the Latins, John Montenero argued that Athanasius taught an order within the Trinity that effectively contains the teaching on the filioque. If the Spirit is dependent on the Son just as the Son is on the Father, then the Son has a role in the procession of the Spirit. Mark Eugenicus, responding for the Greek cohort, maintained that Athanasius’s purpose in this text (and in the entire work) was not to stress the distinctions in the Holy Trinity but to show that by the unity of will and operation we can see that all three persons are fully divine. On the Greek reading, Athanasius intends to say nothing more than that the Holy Spirit is conjoined and connatural with the Son.^[60]

In the following session of the council, the Latins brought forward a further Athanasian text that also appears in the First Letter to Serapion, coming directly before the one cited above.

As the Son, the living Word, is one, so must the vital activity and gift whereby he sanctifies and enlightens be one, perfect and complete; which is said to proceed from the Father, because it is from the Word, who is confessed to be from the Father, that it shines forth and is sent and is given.^[61]

In this text, Athanasius speaks of the Spirit coming from the Son, thus demonstrating for the Western party that “from” implies origin in the proper sense.^[62] The debate went forward, each side citing patristic authorities to buttress their position. Though the Athanasian Creed was included in the council documents that marked the union of the Catholic Church with the Armenian Church in November of 1439, it does not appear in the agreement with the Eastern Orthodox Church and does not seem to have arisen in the debates on the procession of the Spirit earlier that year. In the end, the agreements reached at Florence between Catholics and the Eastern churches were not sustained. The filioque remains a point of contention up to the present day, and Athanasius continues to be cited as teaching a view of the Spirit’s procession that at least provides a bridge between the standard theologies of the East and the West.

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