In her Gregory the Great: Perfection in Imperfection, Carole Straw dedicates a chapter to the “logic of asceticism” in Gregory’s thought.1 I call attention to Straw’s discussion of asceticism now, in the context of the Fall and Redemption (rather than in the preceding chapter), because I believe that her interpretation reflects a predetermined Augustinian framework for considering Gregory’s theological anthropology, his view of original sin, and the extent to which his ascetic outlook was a consequence of those theological commitments (rather than the reverse).2 Straw, of course, is not the only modern interpreter to view Gregory’s soteriology and theological anthropology through an Augustinian prism; Katharina Greschat offers a more recent rendition of that position.3 And however much it may be the case that Augustine’s anthropological pessimism overlaps with what we might describe as a general ascetic vision of human weakness,4 there were more theological options for understanding the Fall and Redemption available to Gregory than the Augustinian one.5 Particularly relevant is the extent to which Gregory’s understandings of the body and the potential of humans to contribute to their salvation distinguish his position from Augustine’s.6 While a few scholars have noticed that Gregory’s soteriology, and especially his understanding of grace, diverge from Augustine’s (many of these scholars criticize Gregory for it!), this chapter aims to show how Gregory’s particular ascetic commitments both enable and explain his understanding of the Fall and the possibility of human redemption.7
Whereas Augustine’s later views of the Fall and original sin were in large part forged by theological conflict (especially related to the protracted debates with Pelagius and Julian of Eclanum), Gregory’s reflections were steeped in a brew of personal meditation and were always expressed within a pastoral context.8 Like Augustine, the pontiff believed that humanity inherited Adam’s punishment (i.e., death and corruptibility),9 but unlike Augustine, Gregory did not argue that Adam’s sin corrupted the human condition to the point that it prevented Christians from the possibility of contributing freely to their salvation. The Fall gave rise to a series of human limitations such as hunger, exhaustion, and menstruation, but Gregory did not understand those frailties to be sinful in themselves.10 It was true, of course, that these physical limitations could become a source for temptation—the need for food could lead to gluttony, the need for sleep could lead to laziness, and the need to procreate would, almost certainly, lead to lust.11 Capitulation to those temptations could lead to sinful habits that were nearly impossible to overcome.12 In fact, Gregory often linked sin (whether Adam’s or everyone’s) to the willful pursuit of desire.13 We might characterize Gregory’s view as one that understands pleasure to be the danger and asceticism to be the cure.14 And, in framing the spiritual battle in such a way, Gregory’s position does resonate with certain Augustinian elements.15
By describing sin as the consequence of desire, and doing so within the context of pastoral instruction, however, Gregory was able to present a remedy for sin through the renunciation of desire (i.e., asceticism). And it is in this respect, especially, that we see the ways in which Gregory’s ascetic theology most tangibly offers alternatives to the Augustinian framing of a postlapsarian anthropological pessimism. Indeed, for Gregory, the ascetic life offers an escape from the endless cycle of sin and death. If Christians submit themselves to ascetic discipline and the supervision of a spiritual advisor, Gregory reasons, the appetite for pleasure can be rechanneled into love for God.16
As noted in the previous chapter, Gregory repeatedly argues that humanity is susceptible to vice, but he also counsels that individual vices can be overcome through penance and the cultivation of virtue. For example, Adam’s fall is sometimes described within the asceticizing idiom of gluttony, vanity, and avarice.17 But abstinence deliberately pursued, Gregory argues, wards off the sin of gluttony, humility prevents pride, and prayer averts worldly concern.18 As such, Gregory admonishes everyone (monastic and married alike) to the degree of ascetic discipline befitting their position in life: “I want to advise you to abandon everything, but I do not venture to do so. If you cannot abandon all worldly things, then hold on to the things of this world in such a way that you are not held in the world by them; so that you possess earthly things and they do not possess you.”19 In short, ascetic renunciation neutralizes, at least in part, the limitations of the Fall. It can even reverse the Fall through merit that thereby leads the Christian to God.
To comprehend the extent to which Gregory subtly positions his ideas as distinct from Augustine’s, it is helpful to recall that the pontiff typically resisted Augustinian language for “original sin.” Note, for example, that whereas Augustine employed the phrase peccatum originale (a phrase that he coined) more than five hundred times, Gregory used it on only five occasions.20 Even more significant is the fact that Gregory softened the theological consequences of the Augustinian doctrine by differentiating the actual sins of Adam from the culpability of his descendants for that sin.21 And, although he concurred with Augustine that children who died before their baptism would be consigned to Hell, Gregory’s explanation for this was a de facto rejection of Augustine’s emphasis on grace, predicated on the salvific value of good works.22
Perhaps the bishop of Rome’s most deliberate break from Augustine concerned the latter’s teaching that original sin passed from parent to offspring through the physical act of sex.23 On at least three occasions, Gregory contested that view. In The Book of Pastoral Rule, the Moralia, and his Libellus responsionum (equally designated in scholarship as the Responsa or the Libellus), the pontiff argued that sex could be free of lust.24 Even marital sex that lacked procreative intent, though not recommended, is pardoned according to Gregory.25 Thus, humanity shares Adam’s mortality through nature, not the procreative process.26
Without revisiting the countless scholarly appraisals of the fifth-century soteriological debate between the Augustinians and the so-called semi-Pelagians (who are generally thought to have derived much of their inspiration from John Cassian),27 I propose simply to outline Gregory’s own view of the relationship between grace and free will as he presents it in his biblical commentaries and public sermons. As I have argued previously, Gregory’s view is distinctively “participationist,” by which I mean that he believes that salvation is made possible by a mystical (i.e., unknowable in its details) fusion of God’s grace and freely chosen human initiative.28 For the most part, the pope advocates for this position in two ways: he defends the idea of the freedom of human action, and he subtly implies that there is an eternal reward for the performance of good works, especially works of ascetic renunciation.
For example, in the third of his Homilies on the Gospels, Gregory notes that “St. Peter could not have suffered for Christ, had he been unwilling” (nollet).29 This echoes a passage from the Moralia in which our author suggests that Paul’s effectiveness among the Gentiles stemmed from a combination of the saint’s efforts and divine grace.30 Similar assertions exist throughout the corpus.31 The impetus of each is encapsulated in the following salient example. Commenting on Job 4:16 in the context of a broader discussion about the importance of contemplation, Gregory turns to Moses’s reception of the Law as a quintessential meeting between God and humanity. Moses, Gregory notes, did not receive the covenant on level ground—he ascended Mt. Sinai. By extension, the Lord presents himself only to those who “advance much” (multum proficientibus).32 Just as Moses climbed the mountain to meet God, so, too, must humans climb (via contemplation) to accept God’s grace. Although no human can fully comprehend God in his substance, it is possible to speak of the “participation” of God’s faithful servants in the sense that our pursuit of God is a combination of our climb and his descent.33
Gregory’s frequent use of the asceticized language of virtue and vice, of course, provides a convenient mechanism for him to proffer that Christians are capable of choosing to do well. This is because the virtue/vice idiom allows him to link virtue to physical and spiritual achievement; it also enables him to propose that vice stems from a capitulation to desire and a lack of spiritual vigilance. In other words, the virtues are a measuring stick of ascetic progress; the presence of vice indicates a failure in the spiritual contest. So, too, hagiography provides yet another ascetic medium for conveying his participationist views by highlighting the stunning achievements of past and present ascetic saints.34
Because so many of Gregory’s statements on this subject derive from pastoral occasions (his biblical commentaries, sermons on the Gospel, and Dialogues all had pastoral motivations), the pontiff often exaggerates the benefit of pious acts (at times ignoring altogether the role of grace) in order to communicate the importance of a particular virtue. For example, in many homilies and particularly in the Moralia, Gregory identifies obedience as the ultimate expression of free will successfully applied.35 He maintains that it was disobedience that expelled Adam from his lofty perch and that it is obedience “of our own will” that will restore humanity to unity with God.36
Gregory’s voluminous correspondence further testifies to the ways in which his personalized instructions for moral reform encouraged ascetic behavior by holding out the promise of an eternal reward.37 So, too, the pontiff’s famous Pastoral Rule contains a series of pastoral prescriptions based on a varied set of spiritual and physical conditions.38 Like his hagiographic anecdotes, these enjoinders assume the salvific potential of human effort.
In short, there is a mutually reinforcing link between Gregory’s ascetic commitment and his theological interpretation of the Fall and Redemption. Not only does Gregory read the Fall through an ascetic filter that predisposes him to view Adam’s errors within a register of ascetic anxieties, but he also develops a sophisticated participationist soteriology that places an important theological value on ascetic behavior.39