It is something of a Socratic principle that you cannot learn, and thereafter know, if you presume that you know and effectively hinder your ability to learn or acquire knowledge. This refrain is taken up by philosophers since at least the time of Plato and, to be sure, up to at least the seventh century C.E. (as witnessed in the writings of Maximus the Confessor) and beyond. It would also seem to be the epistemic foundation of the scientific method (I am open to correction here, since I am no scientist). Nevertheless, historical precedent aside, our title promises to treat of wonder in its usefulness and necessity. What do I mean by that? Allow me to supply a specific example from my own life, and not speak merely in generalities.

In college I learned in my Church History course about early monasticism and the desert fathers and mothers who flourished between the 3rd – 5th centuries C.E. With the peace of Constantine having taken hold, a select-many Christians felt the church was becoming too wealthy and flooded with crowds of common folk. These radicals left the city churches and fled to the outskirts or actual desert regions to take up their cross and follow Jesus (at least that is a simplified but fairly commonplace description of what took place). Not long after I learned about the development of monasticism, I discovered for myself the Sayings of the Desert Fathers (known as the Apophthegmata: a collection of sayings and stories from the desert communities of early monasticism). Available from Cistercian Publications, translated by Sister Benedicta Ward (SLG), I was able to learn eagerly of the lore of the “athletes of God.” I was enthralled to gobble up this book that could only be read piecemeal by any sane individual. Because the Sayings are so diverse, and many of them profound (although they are organized by alphabetical order of author in this collection), even though they are easy to remember, they are also difficult to digest. The literature of this period and context lends itself to the expectation that one might think and meditate on one saying or sentence for many hours, days, etc. The Sayings of the Desert Fathers are not read quickly like the modern novel.

Now let me come to the point of my illustration. For weeks and months I read and labored in study of these Sayings under the presupposition that this collection of tales was something of a one-off, existing in a historical vacuum. I thought we had little other texts to go on when it came to early monasticism. At least I assumed until larger monasteries were built, and writing and copying became more commonplace for monks (or so I thought). I read the Apophthegmata Patrum as if it were something like the fabled gospel-source ‘Q’ or the sayings-of-Jesus Gospel of Thomas, apart from the canonical Gospels, etc. Imagine my surprise when I learned, slowly but surely, that there was a whole host of texts, writings, and books from the same time period witnessing to the lives and flourishing of the desert fathers and mothers in Egypt and Palestine.

Such a discovery spawned unstoppable curiosity in me. Ever since I learned about the other historical testimonies to and even writings by the desert fathers, I have not been able to stop reading them (for those keeping track at home, it’s been about twenty years, and since the material is spiritually dense, and life gets in the way, I haven’t even come close to perusing it all yet). . . .

Perhaps for some this illustration will not make sense or prove anything. Inasmuch as certitude is the mother of ignorance, I would not put it out of the realm of possibility that others experience the world differently than I have. It is not my business to dogmatize the phenomenon of learning or education. Nevertheless, it has really become a commonplace in my own education that surprise and wonder are the catalysts that have catapulted my curiosity into places of great unknown. For me the ability to wonder is key to observation, and being surprised is an asset to learning and memory.

An appropriate way to conclude a short post like this would be a questions to the reader, such as the following:

• What has your education and ability to learn and remember things hinged on, in your own experience and practice? How do you learn best, and what helps you learn most?

• Has your own wonder or curiosity ever hindered your ability to learn? If so, how?

• What, in your experience, has hindered your own wonder, curiosity, and ability to learn? What dampens or discourages learning?

“When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream.” (Psalm 126:1, RSV)

As I hold in my hands the fifth and ultimate volume of The Philokalia: The Complete Text by its original English translators, I am doubtless struck with awe. I have not only had actual, somnolent dreams about the publication of this book; I first learned about the myth of its long-awaited translation into English fifteen years ago. To boot, Volume Four was published in 1995. So twenty-eight years have passed between the release of Volume Four and Volume Five. Among Anglophone devotees, the notable absence of Volume Five loomed with a large mystique over the varying availability of each volume.

I first learned about The Philokalia—appropriately—when I first heard about the Orthodox Church and the Jesus Prayer. Amid conversations about purported navel-gazing, warmth of heart, esoteric prayer postures, and prayer ropes mention was made of a pilgrim who crossed the landscape of Ukraine, Russia, and Siberia with three possessions: his chotki, the Bible, and The Philokalia—on pilgrimage in pursuit of unceasing prayer. This narrative is recounted in the book The Way of a Pilgrim which I happened to read long before I ever beheld a volume of The Philokalia. The pilgrim’s tale is often mentioned and associated ubiquitously among discussions of The Philokalia in the English-speaking world (and with good reason). It can also serve as a good introduction to the meaning and spirit of such an enormous anthology spanning the course of a millennium.

I first encountered The Philokalia itself while on retreat at an Anglican Benedictine monastery. Their library (from which both guests and community members can borrow) is a proverbial goldmine of monastic wisdom. They had The Philokalia and I devoured a good portion of Volume One during my visit. To my surprise the tradition of the Desert Fathers continued after their flourishing in the deserts of Palestine and Egypt through the 5th century. Much like learning that the Dark Ages were not dark, it was an epiphanic moment when I read the Philokalia and the literature of its collected authors.

What is The Philokalia? It is an anthology (n.b.: this is a genuine meaning of “Philokalia” from Greek. More literally put “love of the beautiful,” akin to the concept of florilegia) of texts, from the 4th to the 15th centuries, compiled by St. Makarios of Corinth and St. Nikodimos of the Holy Mountain in the 18th century. It is likely that some of these texts enjoyed wide readership in monasteries before being selected for publication in The Philokalia. Nevertheless it is worth noting that while the texts within The Philokalia discuss a number of ascetic themes, they were collected into one volume, published in Venice in 1782, primarily ordered around the subject of hesychasm.

What is hesychasm? Etymologically speaking, it is the habit of solitude, stillness; technically speaking, it is the entire endeavor of praying the Jesus Prayer repetitiously, attentively, whole-heartedly, with godliness as the goal (humility being the chief virtue). In any case, this is the primary program of The Philokalia as taught by the ascetic fathers, St. Symeon the New Theologian, St. Gregory of Sinai, and St. Gregory Palamas (to mention a few by name). Interestingly, some of the more specific admonitions concerning how to pray the Jesus Prayer (“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me”) fruitfully are contained within Volume Five of The Philokalia. There was actually some speculation whether the English translators hesitated to publish Volume Five on account of the specificity of its indications regarding hesychastic prayer. In all likelihood such a great pause in progress on The Philokalia in English was probably owed to the death of G.E.H. Palmer in 1984 and Philip Sherrard in 1995 (the year Volume Four was published). His Eminence Metropolitan Kallistos of Diokleia has said as much in recent years, including such indications in the Introductory Note to Volume Five.

Only recently did I learn about the publication of The Philokalia into Malayalam in a bilingual edition. This was published in 2006, under the umbrella of the Roy International Children’s Mission (R.I.C.). It was published only in India, but it did include a complete but unpolished translation of the fifth volume in English (and Malayalam). By the time I learned of this publication, I was unable to determine whether the R.I.C. had any available address, contact info, or current existence as an organization.

In 2020 Nun Christina (Anna Skoubourdis) of St. George Monastery in Oceania published an English translation of The Philokalia Volume V. While I did purchase a copy of this translation, I will admit that I have not read much of it. From the testimony of friends, however, I have received word that it is both a technically accurate and readable version of Volume V. Significant and frequently used words are interpolated parenthetically within the text (not merely treated with a glossary).

Why would I bother to purchase Volume V from St George Monastery, but choose not to read it? As with many hobbies in my life, with The Philokalia I have become a collector. I wanted to own this translation as a part of the history of The Philokalia in English if for no other reason. In addition, there were rumors going around for a few years that His Eminence Kallistos of Diokleia was finished with the translation of Volume Five and was just waiting for Faber & Faber to publish it. So I was fairly certain within the next two to three years we would see this come to fruition. Therefore, while I was eager to learn what lies within Volume V, I was not necessarily impatient.

We knew Volume Five by Palmer, Sherrard, and Ware was coming. We were on the cusp of its publication for five years. I wish to charmingly liken it to Christian hope: we beheld it as from a great distance after languishing without it for so many years. Especially for those not well-versed in the Greek language, this would be a necessary book to own. But when it finally appeared it was like a dream. I am still bemused with wonder at its arrival. Not unlike the disciples after the resurrection, we have a sense of bewilderment.

I have little more to say of the arrival of The Philokalia: The Complete Text, Volume Five. It only remains to be read, pored over, meditated upon, loved, and well-lived. After all, a good word is only well-received when it is acted upon. Thus, in a spirit of prayer I commend to you Volume Five, and hope that maybe someday we will attain to its blessing.

The above title is a bit misleading in its ambitions, because here I do not mean to fully elucidate the ins and outs of the Origenist crises; rather it is my desire to draw out the extent of some of the historical irony that can be inferred from the anathemas against Origen and the converse sainthood of some of those who were either his disciples or students. I want to be honest that this post would be better read and received as a reflective meditation than a scholarly examination. So I hope you will be patient and humor me, because while I think these ideas may seem simple, I believe they could offer some interesting insights into historical and contemporary ecclesial dynamics.

Attached to the annals of the fifth ecumenical council you can find fifteen anathemas primarily targeting the person and teaching of Origen of Alexandria, a third-century churchman whose specific and peculiar teachings about protology and eschatology came under attack by some fairly powerful ecclesiarchs. More specifically, Origen is well known for his universalist eschatology. His views on protology as well as the details of his cosmology are less than familiar to most, but put together with his overall schematic they spell out the recipe for his supposed condemnation. I say supposed because there is a good deal of debate as to the formal and official character of the anathemas in contemporary scholarship.

Scholarly debates aside, there is no doubt Origen’s views were popularly considered heretical and not merely controversial. The most learned and studied bible scholar of the Christian church in his time had most of his books burned, and his name blighted despite the fact that he was also one of the most widely read and studied by teachers of the Christian church (especially before his books were destroyed).

I want to point to a couple things that—unlike the truth and content of Origen’s writings—are not hotly contested. First, before St. Augustine and St. John Chrysostom Origen was probably by far the most prolific author of the church. And his writings were not only in Greek, they were also translated into Latin—at least some of them. Second, while Origen and some of his students a few centuries later were anathematized, many people who not only read his writings but also retrieved and popularized his teachings are still called saints and remembered in the diptychs of the church. To give a few examples: St. Gregory the Wonderworker was a direct disciple of Origen; the Cappadocian fathers were well-read of Origen. St. Basil the Great and St. Gregory of Nazianzus together compiled an anthology of Origen’s writings they thought beneficial; a whole host of fourth-fifth century saints read Origen and some even promulgated universalist views; Evagrius of Pontus, while not commemorated as a saint, was a prolific author whose monastic writings were preserved in monasteries, sometimes under a pseudonym; St. Isaac the Syrian was a student of Evagrius and was himself a universalist, whose writings were copied in monasteries worldwide. I apologize for the length of this list, but in reality it doesn’t do justice to the breadth and scope of Origen’s influence.

Admitting that Origen was anathematized, or at least broadly excluded from commemoration, what can we learn from the history of all this? First, we can point out that Origen was not merely prolific, he was certainly an extremely learned exegete of holy scripture. He was widely read for good reasons, chief among them his insight into the Bible. From his fourth and fifth century students he received the title, “the teacher.” Second, given that Origen was respected and widely read—albeit his views somewhat controversial—it is at least a little surprising that he was supposedly declared cut off from the church politic hundreds of years after his death. Third, since it really is doubtful whether the fifth ecumenical council condemned him, or whether the fifteen anathemas were surreptitiously attached to the acts of the council, it is all the more surprising that there was such an effort to scrub his name and memory from church history, going so far as to destroy as far as possible his books. Fourth, it is therefore all the more ironic that many of his students are canonized saints and that the influence of his teaching persisted.

Can any moral points be drawn from these evaluations? Ironic contrast alone does not prove vindication. However, the fact that there is a whole chorus of voices before the anathemas who openly praised Origen’s life and teaching, and another chorus who afterward borrowed, repurposed, or flat out continued his ideas to their conclusion in theology, should stand up to defend the man from his opponents. But I said I wanted to find a moral lesson from all this. Perhaps it should make us question our willingness to demonize each other as heretics, trying people in the court of opinion for who’s in and who’s out. Maybe we ought to treat people and their ideas with charity instead of looking askance at one another—give each other the benefit of the doubt.

Here I would pose some questions that might be worthwhile:

• What are the (un)intended consequences of slandering one another, either formally or informally?

• How can we work towards restoring people to the church and advocating for unity where such have been broken unnecessarily through misunderstandings?

• What sort of practices can be put in place whereby we can re-evaluate our previous judgments about people, doctrines, and things?

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